when he shed his serious side. “Did you laugh with my father?”
“Aye. Sometimes.”
“I’m glad to know of it, as my memories of the man are mostly ones of him working, his time taken up by things other than family.” She glanced at the sketches the marquis had spread out for her viewing. “I never knew my father could draw with such detail. His letters to me were so horribly written, they often took hours to decipher. But these sketches are remarkable.”
“He was indeed an artist. These were typical of what he’d bring me after spending days in the outdoors. I believe he catalogued every flower, plant, and animal on the grounds of Lycansay Hall. Plus, there were many more works that came from his time spent in the outer woodlands of Dundaire.”
She marveled at the drawings. “I appreciate you sharing these with me, but I’d like to inquire about my father’s other belongings. Things that were more personal in meaning?”
Lycansay suddenly returned to his previous, more serious demeanor. “Tell me, Miss Ogilvy…”
“Please, call me Sarina. After last night, I see no reason why we need to keep things formal between us.”
“Yer brother was at my side for nearly the entire duration I was in yer company, Sarina. I assure ye, I kept things extremely formal between us.”
She let out a slight sigh. “Gracious, no, my lord, I was not referring to the whole divesting me of my gown ordeal. I meant the other, more embarrassing situation.”
“Come again?”
“My dreaming.”
The marquis leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingers on the desk’s edge. “Yer dream? Why would that concern ye?”
“’Tis not normal.”
“I doubt anyone’s dreams are normal, really.”
She shook her head. “You don’t understand. My dreams are…well…they’re…different.” She rose. “Please forget I even mentioned them. They’re nothing.” She moved away from the chair.
The marquis stood and reached for her, his big, strong hand gripping her wrist. “Never feel embarrassed in my presence, Sarina, as nothing in my world is normal. Ye can trust me. Please, return to yer seat.”
She retook the chair in front of Lycansay’s desk. “My dreams are not natural, my lord.”
“If I am to call ye Sarina, I insist ye do the same.”
“You wish for me to call you Sarina?” She couldn’t stop the laugh rising in her throat.
The marquis laughed along with her until several seconds later when he wiped his eyes and managed, “Campbell is my Christian name.”
“It suits you,” she said. “Far more than Lycansay, if I may say so.”
“Ye may.”
Settling back in the chair, she hesitated to continue about her dreams, but perhaps Campbell was right. Maybe she could trust him. After all, he hadn’t tossed her and Nevan out to the road despite all that occurred last night. “My dreams are not of my own making.”
“So Nevan said.”
Fear crept into her soul. “He did?”
“With quite detail. He was considerably concerned for ye last night.”
Nevan divulging all was the last thing she needed. And to think he’d been with Campbell’s cousin for the last two hours, revealing God knows what to the man. “I really need to fetch my brother, sir.”
Campbell stretched across the desk and gently touched her hand. “Please, ye have nothing to worry about. I want to ken about yer dreams.”
Maybe the man was the Devil after all. Who else would remain so calm when told that a woman’s dreams were not of this world? “I am cursed, Campbell.”
“Ha!” he said, slapping his free hand upon the desk. “Then we have more in common than I originally believed.”
She found it hard not to smile at him. “You have a way of putting people at ease, my lord.”
“I am nae certain everyone would agree with ye, lass. Especially, nae Ian. But all jest aside, I am truly intrigued to hear about ye dreams.”
“Nightmare stalks me from the outside.”
“Has it always been so, for you?”
“Yes, as far back as I can remember. Though I didn’t fully understand its workings until I happened upon my father asleep in his study one day. There were gossamer tethers circulating his cravat, trying to lace their spectral fingers through its fabric. When I later questioned Father, he explained all to me.”
Now would come the moment of truth, the moment when Campbell deemed her unstable.
“I find ye fascinating, Sarina.” Campbell stood and walked around the desk. He offered her his hand, which she more than eagerly took. “What stalked ye last night?”
She swallowed, not sure she should tell him about the wolf and the blood-washed cottage. “A dream