“How is it ye know so much about yer sister’s dreams?”
“My father suffered the same affliction. Though to a lesser extent. Whenever he would fall under Nightmare’s spell, while at his desk, I would have to undo his cravat for him to shift from a restless sleep to one of calm. With Sarina, it is more intense. Dreams almost exclusively stalk her from the outside. They weave their harrowing tethers through her garments and then proceed on their way to distressing her soul. Removing her dress will help.”
“But I am a stranger to yer sister.”
“She will die if she does not come out of her nightmare. Would you prefer to have my sister’s death on your hands, my lord?”
Keeping Sarina alive was everything to Campbell. And nae just because she was the last hope he had left to sever the curse that stalked his family, but because her unique scent of rose and bergamot stirred the deepest depths of his core. And even if he never acted on that fact, on the notion he was certain Miss Ogilvy was his soul mate, he didnae want Sarina harmed. “Verra well. Though I will remove just her gown.”
“The one garment should suffice.” With a tilt of his head, Nevan set his gaze on Tipton. “Come, sir, we shall both wait in the parlor as I have no wishes to have my sister’s reputation sullied.”
With a cough that Campbell suspected came more out of shock than necessity, Tipton cleared his throat as he hurried from the room.
An eerie calm settled on the air.
He hadnae been solely in the company of a woman in ages, let alone in a bedroom with one.
Tending to her body.
Her ample assets mere inches from his hand.
What he’d give for Sarina to recognize him as he’d recognized her. To notice his natural scent, the one defining assurance a MacHendrie had found his eternal mate. But Sarina was nae of his world. She kent nothing of his family lineage except for whatever it was Charles had revealed to her. And he seriously doubted the man had divulged the secrets of Dundaire to anyone as he always seemed too occupied with finding a cure for the curse rather than shielding unsuspecting souls from the sins of this land.
A moan escaped Sarina’s mouth, forced Campbell’s attention back to the here and now.
He prayed to God he had the means to break this damn fever.
With a slightly trembling hand, he passed the cloth once more over Sarina’s forehead, then proceeded to drag the wet fabric over her cheek, under her chin and down her elegant swan-like neck until he reached the top of her breasts.
Heat radiated up his arm.
He gripped the cloth, the natural hue of the linen clashing against the rosy tone of Miss Ogilvy’s fever-infused flesh.
Sweat drenched her skin.
He really should pull his hand away, extract his fingers from the sin they could so easily commit, but he found he liked being this close to Sarina. Even if it did cost him his soul.
Sucking in a deep breath, Campbell inched his hand off Sarina’s chest. Nae only had he nae had a woman in years, but if he admitted to the truth, he hadnae even entertained the idea of sharing his world with someone. Tipton had been right in his comment earlier. Lycansay Hall had consumed him to the point he no longer kent what he wanted in life.
Maybe Fate wasnae wrong.
Maybe Sarina did indeed belong here.
With him.
For the better.
Chapter 7
Fate was a wicked beast, thought Sarina as she struggled through her dream, held on to the last bits of her sanity as an ethereal wind blew in from the north and swept away the bloodied cottage. A haze of mist, one that reminded her of what she thought Heaven should look like, took its place.
Never in all her years had she imagined she’d die this way. In a dream, possibly, but never while in wolf form and certainly never by way of a Roman’s sword. A visit from a harrowing specter invading her sleep was far more what she’d expected, though she had confronted many ghosts over her lifetime and still lived. So why death by a gossamer hand seemed more credible than the slice of a sharp blade, she’d never know.
Breath fled from her lungs.
At least that damned wolf suspended in plaster was no longer her worry, though she did wish she could have hugged Nevan one last time.
Thinking of her brother, she prayed he would survive without her,