She laid a row of cushions down the center of the bed, carefully dividing it into two sides:
His, and hers.
“Is that truly supposed to stop me?” He fell back on the bed, on his side—peering over the pillow wall at her with amusement. “I fully intended to have my wicked way with you. But now there’s this cushion, so . . .”
She burrowed under the coverlet, drawing it up to her neck.
“Now that you mention it,” he went on, “I dinna know how this strategy escaped Napoleon’s notice. If only he’d erected a barricade of feathers and fabric, we Highlanders wouldna have known how to get over it.”
“I don’t expect the pillows to keep you out,” she said. “They’re merely a guard against anything accidental happening.”
“Ah.” He drew out the syllable. “We canna have any accidental happenings.”
“Exactly. I might roll over in the night, and I know how you feel about cuddling. I should hate to take advantage of you.”
“Minx.” He sat up in bed and plucked the cushion from between them. “I’m here now. I’m flesh and blood, and I’m your husband. I’ll be damned if I’ll give up my place to a pillow.”
She held her breath. What would he do?
“I’ll sleep on the floor,” he said.
He took that pillow and the spare quilt from the end of the bed and began to arrange a pallet near the hearth.
Maddie told herself to be happy—it was safer that way.
Instead, she couldn’t keep from stupidly worrying about his comfort. The floor would be cold and hard, and he’d been traveling. Physical nearness was one kind of danger, but caring about him would be even worse.
“We’re adults with an understanding,” she said. “You’re welcome to share the bed. No barricade required. I’ll stay on my side and you’ll stay on yours.”
“I’ll sleep on the floor. I prefer it.”
“You prefer the floor to a bed?”
“At the moment, mo chridhe, I prefer the floor to you.”
Horrid man.
“You said you want to wait,” he went on. “I’d like to think my honor makes a stronger barrier than pillows. But tonight, it wouldna be prudent to put that theory to the test.”
After a moment, she said, “I see.”
He folded the quilt in half, spreading it on the floor. “It’s no matter. I slept on the ground for my first ten years of life. Never once in a bed.”
“Ten years of the floor?”
“Ten years of the cowshed or the sheep pasture, most accurately. Before the vicar took me in, I was an orphan raised on the charity of the parish. I stayed with whichever family would keep me—and that meant whoever needed a hand with the sheep or cattle that season. I tended the animals, day and night. In exchange, I had my morning parritch and a crust or two at night.”
Oh, no. This entire exchange was one step forward, two steps back. A mild insult—excellent. He abandoned her bed for the floor—better. But now, this tragic tale of orphan woe? It ruined everything.
How was she supposed to remember to dislike him when she was picturing a hungry, lanky boy with reddish-brown hair, shivering on the frosted ground all alone?
Maddie wanted to clap her hands over her ears and tra-la-la to drown out the pounding beat of her heart.
Instead, she punched her pillow a few times to soften it. “Sleep well, Captain MacSurly.”
What had she done? Just when it seemed she couldn’t pay enough ways for telling one silly lie in her youth . . . this happened. She’d agreed to marry a perfect stranger. One who cared nothing for her, and one she was in danger of caring far too much about.
But she wasn’t fully married to him yet.
With a bit of luck, perhaps she never would be.
Chapter Six
Logan hadn’t expected to get much sleep on his wedding night.
He hadn’t thought he’d be spending it on the floor.
But his rest was disturbed for an entirely different reason. It was distressingly quiet.
Everything he’d told Madeline was true. In boyhood, he’d slept in pastures or byres, surrounded by shaggy Highland cattle or bleating sheep. Since joining up with the Royal Highlanders, he’d been bedding down on a pallet surrounded by his fellow soldiers. It hadn’t felt much different from sleeping amid beasts, to be honest. There had been a certain comfort to it, with the nightly symphony of crude snorings and scratchings.
But while he’d passed many hours of pleasure with female company, he was not accustomed to sleeping near a woman. Cuddling? Never happened.