"Matilda." His voice was a low warning. It was aimed at himself.
"I'm asking ye tae come tae bed," she said, her chin lifting. "Nae tae start a war."
"Ye'd think those were the same thing," he muttered. He finally turned.
She looked at him across the room. He took her in, her hair loose across her shoulders, her hands resting on the covers. He looked at the angle of her chin. Something flickered across his face, a raw emotion he quickly tried to mask.
"It's a large bed," she offered.
"It is."
"Ye've been sleeping in a chair fer almost two weeks."
"I've ken."
"Ivar."
He crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. He pulled off his boots with slow, methodical patience. Then he lay back on top of the covers. He stayed on his side, facing her, but he left a wide gap of white linen between them. He gave her the choice to close it.
She lay on her back and stared at the ceiling.
The candles burned bright in every corner. The fire hummed. There were twelve inches of pillow between them, and she was aware of every single one.
She turned her head.
He was already looking at her.
"Ye're staring," she said.
"Aye."
"Ye could look at the ceiling."
"I could but I dinnae want tae." He didn't move his gaze.
She held his stare in the candlelight. His eyes were dark and direct.
Heat climbed her neck. "Ye are insufferable even horizontal."
"New territory. I'm adapting."
She pressed her lips together. He watched her with a quiet intensity. "Good night, Ivar," she said, with what remained of her dignity.
The corner of his mouth twitched. "Good night," he said. Low. Close.
Matilda turned back to the rafters.
The fire settled. The candles flickered. She lay in the warmth and felt the impossible weight of him just inches away. His steady breathing, his absolute stillness. She thought about the library, the way he had held himself back, and the debt he was paying with his restraint.
Nae afraid.
She had told him. She had meant it.
She was not afraid. She lay there with the candles burning and his breath beside her and realized it would take her a long time to find the right word for what she was feeling instead.
She closed her eyes. Her breathing slowed. For the first time in longer than she could count, she did not count at all.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN