Stretching in bed, Coll stirred from the incredible dream he’d saturated himself in during the night and cranked one eye open. Sunshine streamed through the window and he blinked against the vivid brightness and groaned. In no way was he ready for this new day.
He heaved the fur covers over his head and eyes closed, brought the vivid and dreamy image of Fiona—completely naked and lying underneath him—back to glorious life. When he’d bounded from his bath last eve, he’d found her in his chamber with clear desire flaring in her eyes. He’d walked across to her, tipped her back and claimed their first kiss and hell, it had been an incredible kiss. Her mouth had softened under his then as he’d deepened his possession, she’d returned his passion and naught could have pleased him more.
His illusion of her had been intense. She’d allowed him to strip her nightrail from her, to slide her into his bed and permit his touch. He’d sucked on her glorious nipples, stroked over her creamy flesh and even dipped his fingers inside her hot channel, and while he’d touched her, she’d trailed one finger over the head of his cock and made his balls clench so damn tight. His shaft had swelled to a throbbing peak and then she’d smiled, like a vixen, and he’d gotten completely lost. Together they’d come, soaring right into the heavens and for the first time in his life he’d finally felt complete, as if she was right where she belonged, with him and only him. A dream of course, which it always would be considering he’d walked away from her sixteen months ago.
He’d allowed her to wed another man, and now he was set to wed another woman.
A woman who’d be here before the end of the week, which meant he needed to get moving. His clansmen would be awaiting him and he had much to do this day, including a visit to Ardan House so he might meet his new sister-by-marriage. A smile returned to his lips. He certainly had no intention of keeping Duncan from his chosen one for any longer than necessary.
He pushed the covers away and sent something white fluttering off the end of his bed. Scooping it up, he went ramrod straight. Was this a woman’s nightrail?
Strange. That hadn’t been—wait—surely his encounter with—nay, his time with Fiona had surely been a dream. Aye, he’d been exhausted after almost an entire day riding in the saddle, but even so he’d never mistake the real Fiona for the illusion he’d created. He eyed the connecting door between his chamber and the next one.
Nightrail in hand, he strode to it, hauled the door open and marched inside. Sunshine beamed in through the open window and shimmered across the thick burgundy bedcovers gracing the bed. Next to the corner dressing screen, a side table held a dish of bright hair ribbons and an ivory brush and comb. He snagged the brush and plucked a long strand of red hair from within its bristles. That shaft of hair definitely belonged to a woman, and ironically it was same long length as Fiona’s. Twining the length around one finger, he strode to the ambry and flung the burgundy curtain wide. The interior rail held a score of gowns, all neatly pressed in an array of deep colors, from forest-green to midnight blue and rich red. Fiona’s favorite colors, ones which always brought out the rosiness in her cheeks and made a stunning contrast against her pale skin.
Ah hell. There had to be an answer for this.
He lifted the soft cotton of the nightrail to his nose and breathed in the delicate scent of white roses. How had he missed that? ’Twas definitely Fiona’s scent, only if she was here, then why on earth was she here? And where was Matthew? He hadn’t noticed the man about the keep when he’d arrived last eve.
Damn. If she hadn’t been an illusion and he’d actually touched her, while she was wed to another man, then Matthew had every right to slice his head from his shoulders, no matter their marriage was in name only. That made no difference. She was a taken woman.
He tossed Fiona’s shift onto her bed since it was clearly hers and stormed back to this own room. From his trunk, he pulled out a clean pair of pants in a faded brown leather, donned them and a loose-sleeved white tunic. Feet stuffed into his leather boots, he belted his sword at his side and stalked to his side table.
Splashing water from the jug into the basin, he muttered several unrepeatable words. What a right royal mess he’d now gotten himself into. Soap in hand, he built up a lather and slapped the suds on his jaw, gripped his dirk and scraped the stubble from his jaw.
“Coll?” A knock rattled the door. “’Tis Duncan. We need to speak.”
“Come in.” Aye, they most definitely needed to speak. Why hadn’t his brother warned him of Fiona and Matthew’s arrival?
Duncan strode in and shut the door, his padded cotun slung over one shoulder and his blue trews fastened at his waist and black tunic open at the deep V. “We need to speak about Fiona.”
“You’re damn right we do.” Another scrape of his blade, his anger at himself flaring higher. “I noticed she holds the connecting chamber to mine. Why is she here? And why the hell didnae you mention her arrival to me last eve?”