Veiled Desires by Tracy MacNish

Author:Tracy MacNish [MacNish, Tracy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Zebra Books
Published: 2014-12-29T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

Emeline awoke slowly, coming to consciousness as if from a long journey. For a few moments she wondered where she was, glancing around in the darkness for a familiar sight to ground her in reality. Her whole body felt warm, weighted to the bed. As she grew more awake, she realized it was Rogan’s arm holding her down, draped across her. Memory came flooding back. His slow, even breathing stirred her hair, and his body lay curled around hers, like husband and wife. His heat permeated her whole being, the warmth of flesh and blood that cannot compare to fire or wool.

Emeline held perfectly still and lay in Rogan’s embrace, eyes closed, savoring it for as long as it would last.

Too soon she felt him move, the sounds of his breathing deepen. He rolled slightly away, pulled out of the embrace.

“What time do you think it is?” she asked.

“We slept the day away. It must be after eight.”

He withdrew from the bed, moved to the window and pushed open the curtain to peer out the wavy glass. From her perspective she could see it was dark, the only light visible that of candles and oil lamps lighting windows. The glass sparkled, sprinkled with droplets of water.

“’Tis raining. Again.”

Rogan sounded annoyed, frustrated. She smiled, though he could not see her for the darkness. “Fine English weather,” she murmured, remembering her mother speaking those words many a time.

Rogan grunted, began feeling his way around the room, hunting for a candle and flint. “We will have to stay the rest of the night. We’ll leave in the morning.”

Emeline stayed buried under the covers, her belly fluttering with the nervousness of not knowing what would come next. Would he take her back to Jeffrey? she wondered. Would he come to the bed and decide to accept the offer of her body? He seemed so large to her, as if he filled the room with his presence, and she could not help but be very aware of his every movement.

She heard the scraping of flint, saw the flash of light grab the candlewick and begin to burn, illuminating Rogan in its golden glow.

“You look like a rogue,” she said, referring to his undone, rumpled shirt, his unfastened breeches, his bruised skin and tousled hair. He also looked like a man just risen from a lover’s bed, but she did not say that.

Rogan gestured to the chamber pot in the corner, raised a brow in question. At her reticent nod, he left the candle on the table and opened the door, went out in the hallway, and waited until she’d finished her ablutions. Emeline grabbed her cloak and wrapped it around her body, the wool still damp and cold, chilling her skin as she changed places with him, waiting in the lonely dark hallway while Rogan saw to his own needs.

“Come back in,” he murmured quietly, opening the door again.

“Thank you.” Feeling unaccountably shy, she hung the cloak back up and climbed back into the bed where the quilts still held their warmth.

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