A rush of heat flooded through her and Nairna shivered, thinking of Bram’s shadowed face last night. The faint moonlight had revealed a strong jawline and a slightly crooked nose.
Dark brown hair, the colour of wet earth, fell past his shoulders. A beard hid his face, but it had felt silken against her mouth. And, saints above, his kiss could tempt a woman to hand over her very soul to the Devil.
The shy boy was gone, replaced by a fierce man she didn’t know. A man who had travelled through the gates of hell and emerged as a survivor.
‘When were you planning to tell me that you remarried?’
She screamed, bumping her hands against the lid of the trunk. Her heartbeat clattered inside her chest and she had wild thoughts of throwing a stocking before she realised it was only Bram.
‘You scared me,’ she breathed, touching her chest. ‘I didn’t hear you come inside.’
‘When did it happen?’ he demanded again, moving closer. There was anger carved into his features and she sensed that she had to tread carefully.
‘Three years after I thought you were dead.’ She held her ground until he stood directly in front of her. Nervous energy spread over her, but she held her ground. Not a word did he speak, as though he were fighting against his anger.
‘I didn’t know where you went last night,’ Nairna murmured. ‘You left so suddenly.’
‘I wasn’t certain you wanted me to stay.’ Bram’s eyes were weary and he studied her as if he didn’t quite know what to do or say. The more she studied him, the more physical needs she saw. Hunger, a few minor wounds and exhaustion permeated his bearing. Those, she could take care of. But there was something else beneath his expression, a haunted quality she couldn’t understand.
‘Did you care for him?’ he asked quietly. ‘The man you married.’
‘Iver was kind enough.’ She hid her shaking hands behind her back.
‘I suppose you wish I hadn’t come back.’ A grim look passed over his face and Bram folded his arms across his chest.
‘You’re wrong.’ Seeing him standing before her was a gift, one she’d never expected. It was as if she could blot out the years of her failures, starting over again. And the few memories she and Bram had had together had been good ones.
To change the subject, she said, ‘I’ve sent for food and a bath.’
Bram moved to stand in front of her. It was as if he were memorising her face, burning it into his mind. A blush warmed Nairna’s cheeks when he drew his thumb over her lips, his palm cupping her cheek.
Upon his wrists, she saw striated lines and a matching band around his throat. Nairna was caught between the desire to know everything and the stoic don’t-ask expression on Bram’s face. She didn’t know what she could say to put him at ease about the past, but it seemed best to say nothing.
He moved past her and rested his hands upon the edge of a table, his head leaning down. He looked as if he were in pain and she suspected he might need her help in the bath. Although it didn’t bother her to see a man unclothed, she didn’t know how Bram would feel about having her assist him.
Before she could ask, Jenny arrived with the food and clean clothing, which she set down while servants carried in the wooden tub, filling it with buckets of hot water.
‘Leave us,’ Bram ordered. The older woman hesitated before Nairna inclined her head and Jenny scuttled away.
When the door had closed, Bram regarded Nairna before touching the food. ‘Have you eaten?’
She nodded, startled that he would ask about her first. Then he turned to look at the meal Jenny had left. Though it wasn’t much—only some mutton stew and a few oat cakes—he studied it with hungry eyes, breathing in the scent as though he feared it might vanish.
‘How long has it been since you’ve eaten?’ she murmured, the truth suddenly dawning.
‘Two days,’ he admitted. He picked up the oat cake and dipped it in the stew, eating slowly as if to savour every mouthful. She half-expected him to attack the food, but instead he ate carefully and not nearly enough. He left most of the food unfinished, and when she started to clear it away, he stopped her. ‘Leave it. I’ll try to eat more later.’
He unlaced his tunic, eyeing the bath. Nairna wasn’t certain whether he wanted her to go or stay, but when he lifted the garment over his head, her breath caught in her throat.
Massive scars covered his chest, hundreds of red-and-white markings, as though they’d tried to cut the flesh from his body.
Oh, sweet God above. What had they done to him? Her stomach clenched at the injustice and she feared that the simple touch of warm water would cause him pain.
Seeing him like this made her want to take care of him again, to heal the physical darkness he’d suffered. How much torment had he endured in captivity? It frightened her to think of it.
Bram offered no explanation, but when he began to remove the rest of his clothing, Nairna turned away. She waited until she heard the slight splash of water before asking, ‘Do you want me to stay or go?’
He didn’t answer, so she ventured a glance. His knees were drawn up in the water, his back hunched over. She took a tentative step forwards, then another.
‘If you’d rather go, I wouldn’t blame you,’ he said at last. ‘I know what I must look like.’
She bit her lip hard, her ribs tight within her. There were no words to describe the scars carved upon his skin. ‘Tell me what happened.’
But again Bram gave no reply. Instead, he laid his head back against the tub and she moved towards him, offering a cake of soap.
He took it from her, seeming to understand her reluctance to touch him. The fear of hurting him made her nervous about assisting him in the bath. She reached for a drying cloth, placing it within his reach. An awkward silence descended between them, leaving Nairna with little to say or do.
She shouldn’t be this nervous. Heaven knew, she’d helped Iver in his bath dozens of times.
But this was Bram, a man she hadn’t seen in seven years. She didn’t know what would put him at ease, and the longer she waited, the more her apprehension attacked her self-confidence.
She reached out to touch his long dark hair, offering, ‘Do you want me to cut your hair?’
He caught her fingers. ‘It hasn’t been cut in seven years.’ His hand lingered upon hers and the wetness of his palm made her shiver.
‘I’ll take care of it for you, then.’ At least now she had something to do. Something that wouldn’t cause him pain.
His thumb rubbed slight circles against her palm. ‘I’m sorry, Nairna.’
There were years’ worth of apologies in those three words. She met his brown eyes with her own, and when she found herself leaning in, her heartbeat quickened. He was going to kiss her again, if she allowed it.
Her cheeks grew warm and it was hard to breathe. It had been so long since any man had given her affection. Iver had never bothered with it. She might as well have been a spare tunic instead of a wife.
Her fingers laced with his and she waited. Beneath the veiled desire in Bram’s eyes, she saw an unnamed emotion. Whether it was anger that she’d remarried or frustration of another kind, she couldn’t tell.
He let go of her hand and closed his eyes.
Nairna hid her disappointment and went to retrieve a sharp dagger to cut his hair. When she returned with the knife, Bram’s palms gripped the sides of the wooden tub. He steeled himself