Page 85 of Moon Awakening

Marta had given Cait a tour of the keep from tower to cellar. It was more than twice the size of her brother's keep, which she found disconcerting. Not only did over two dozen soldiers have their quarters in the barracks below her and Drustan's rooms, but the housekeeper and her husband and their two children lived in quarters off the great hall. The laird's quarters were above the great hall along with a solar that the voluble Marta informed Cait was never used. Not since the laird's mother's day.

An image had risen in Cait's mind of Emily and her in the solar, surrounded by children. It had seemed so real, she'd had to blink her eyes to dispel it before attending to what Marta had been saying. But the image had come back to haunt her again and again and she could not stop herself from wondering if God had brought Emily to the Highlands, not for her brother… but for the Balmoral laird.

It was probably just wishful thinking, but she'd dreamed of it when she laid down for a rest after the housekeeper left Cait once again in her own quarters. She'd gotten very little sleep the night before and her pregnancy dictated she required more rest than usual anyway. She'd woken a while ago, both disturbed and intrigued by her dreams.

Drustan had still not returned.

Emily had remarked that Lachlan had said that he did not expect to see Drustan for a couple of days, which meant her husband had been released from his duties for that much time at least in celebration of their marriage. Apparently, he had decided after the lack of enthusiasm she had shown for remaining in his company that such a dismissal of his duties was unnecessary. Why that truth should make her teary-eyed she could not imagine, but she did her best to think of something else.

Goodness knew she had enough worries to occupy her mind. Not least of which was the fact that she had told a human the clan's secrets without asking her laird's permission. Should she tell Lachlan what she had done? If it were Talorc, she would, no matter how much she knew he might bellow. But she trusted her brother. She had yet to feel the same confidence in her new laird.

But should she tell Drustan anyway? If she did, he would no doubt tell his laird. Should she inform her husband about her brother at least? Her heart twisted at the prospect. Loyalty to her new clan dictated she do that very thing, but she couldn't. If she exposed Talorc's presence on the island, the pack warriors would go looking for him. If they found him on Balmoral land, they would kill him.

And if she did tell Drustan about her revelations to Emily, Cait would have to lie about why she had done it.

Was lying worse than withholding information? She didn't want to do either with her new husband and yet she felt she had no choice.

She was so intent on her chaotic thoughts that the first inkling she had of Drustan's presence was when her eyes focused enough to take in the fact that he was standing right in front of her.

She jumped with shock and her gaze flew to his. "Oh. You have returned."

He put his hands on her shoulders, his thumbs brushing her collarbones, his darkish red brows drawn together in concern. Green eyes probed her like fingers dipping into her soul. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she rushed out, terrified he could somehow read her thoughts. "Why would you think otherwise?"

"You did not hear me enter."

"How do you know?"

His mouth twisted mockingly, but he did not answer. Of course it was obvious she had not heard him enter. She'd acted like a scalded cat when she realized he was in front of her. Little surprise he asked if anything was the matter. He had not read her mind, not that he could. Even if they were true mates, mindspeak did not include being able to see into the other person's thoughts, only an ability to hear them when they directed those thoughts at you.

And she and Drustan were not true-mated regardless. She was his vengeance wife. No more.

"I…" Her voice trailed off to nothing when she noticed a bloody gash on his chest, a bruise on his arm and dirt smudges on the rest of him. She jumped to her feet, knocking his hands from her shoulders. "What happened? Was there a fight?"

Had they found Talorc? Her throat closed tight as terror clenched at her insides.

Puzzlement creased his features, as if he could not understand her reaction to such minor wounds. "I was practicing with the soldiers."

"Oh." Relief flooded her, quickly followed by concern. "I will get a damp cloth and cleanse your wounds."

"Wound. There is only one cut, but you can wash the rest of me if you feel the need." The sexy intonation in his voice sent her nerves rioting.

His teasing and concern were a huge improvement over his coldness earlier.

She scooted around him to cross the room to the fresh pitcher of water. She was clumsy getting the cloth wet, sloshing water onto the table as she poured it into the large basin. "I would be happy to wash you… if you like."

"Would you? Is it perhaps less onerous to suffer touching me than to suffer my touch?"

She gasped and swung around to face him. No expression showed on his face, but his eyes were alive with something that made her melt deep down inside.

Her gaze locked with his. "I did not mean to imply this morning that I did not enjoy your touch."

"You did not imply anything. You said it outright." Crossing his arms over the bulging muscles of his chest, he leaned back against the wall, his stance relaxed.

"But I did not mean it that way."

One brow rose in lazy query. "What other way could you mean it?"