Chapter Fourteen
Emer jumped when she felt the warmth of a hand on the small of her back. A familiar swarm of flutters filled her stomach when she realized to whom it belonged.
“Broccan,” she smiled up at him, stepping closer. “This is Darragh. He’s been a friend of ours since childhood, and he left with my brothers to join the army.”
Darragh grinned at the introduction. “Pleasure to meet you, Broccan. Emer tells me you’ve been a great help.”
“I suppose.”
Broccan’s tight-lipped response didn’t surprise Emer in the least. “Darragh’s family bought our old farm when Alannah and I moved the Hart’s Rest into town.”
“How long will you be visiting?” Darragh asked Broccan.
“Until I leave.”
Emer rolled her eyes at his growly tone, tapping him lightly with her hip. She’d had to remind him on more than one occasion not to intimidate her guests.
The pressure from his hand increased, pulling her closer possessively.
If Emer didn’t know any better, she’d say that Broccan was jealous. But she knew that wasn’t possible. He’d made it more than clear that he found her irritating, and she wasn’t about to change who she was just to attract a man.
Not that she was trying to attract Broccan. He’d simply made her realize how long it had been since she’d considered courting a man. Her body reacted to him in a way that she’d nearly forgotten.
Darragh here was the last man to lay a hand on her, and that had been seven years ago, when they were both young.
Sixteen, she’d been then. He’d been a good friend when her life turned upside down, but her brothers had gone off on him when they found out.
And that had been the end of that. She’d never even told Alannah.
Darragh eyed Broccan’s hand as it slid to a more conspicuous spot, perched on her hip.
“I’m to be married at midsummer,” Darragh offered.
“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Emer said. “I’m so happy you’ve found someone.”
“Máire’s a special woman,” he replied wistfully. “Have you married? I know Alannah is betrothed, but I always thought you’d wed first.”
So had she, if she was honest. She’d been the one who dreamt of having a family, not Alannah. She wasn’t jealous of her sister, though. Emer couldn’t be happier for her. Conan was a good man, and a good match for Alannah.
“I’ve been too busy with the guesting house.
” As explanations went, it was insufficient.
But his question had brought up feelings that Emer had long forgotten.
If Alannah left with Conan and they never found her brothers, would Emer be alone forever?
It was certainly looking that way. “Once they find the boys I can start looking again.”
Darragh’s brow raised, his gaze falling once more to Broccan’s hand. “Best of luck, there.”
She exchanged a few more pleasantries with Darragh, learning more about his betrothed and trying to ignore Broccan’s silent presence beside her.
The meal died down, some folk trickling out to Glasny’s for drinks and others wandering home to their beds.
With the Fianna gone, and their music with them, the diners didn’t stick around as long.
“Do you play music, as well?” she asked Broccan as they cleared one of the tables.
He glared up at her. “When forced.”
“Don’t worry,” she teased, “I don’t plan to force you anytime soon. But the guests loved hearing them play.”
They finished that table, carrying the dishes back to the kitchen and setting them on the counter to wash.
“He looked at you like you used to be his.” Broccan’s quiet words stopped her in her tracks. “I didn’t like it.”
He moved around the table until he stood just out of her reach. The intensity in his gaze held her captive.
The fluttering that followed her everywhere tightened into desire. It had been a long time, but Emer still recognized it. “I was his, for a time.”
Broccan’s sharp jaw ticked. “Do you still want him?”
“No.” Emer placed a tentative hand on his arm, rubbing gently in an effort to calm him. “You aren’t jealous, are you?”
His throat worked. Then he pulled his arm away. “Of course not,” he muttered. “I just assumed you were—” He stopped, his open mouth considering its options. “Never mind,” he backtracked. “Forget I said anything.”
Amusement tickled her. “You thought I was what?” She knew exactly what he’d been about to say, and she wasn’t the least surprised.
It was what everyone assumed. Everyone except Darragh, anyway.
But she could barely keep from laughing at the way this conversation was making him squirm, and she was determined to see where it went.
“I said forget it,” he grumbled, grabbing a rag and running away to wipe down a table.
Emer was after him in a heartbeat. “Oh, no you don’t. I order you to finish that sentence.”
His handsome face blanched.
Emer stifled a laugh, rolling her lips together.
“I thought you were inexperienced,” he growled at last. “There, happy?”
“Always,” she grinned. “Why did you think that I was a virgin?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“It’s what you meant, though,” she pressed. “Why did you assume that?”
“You’re young.”
Emer moved closer to him, forcing him to stop and look at her. “I’m twenty-three. I should have several children by now.”
“You’re younger than me,” he amended.
“Well, I may not be a virgin, but I’m probably far less experienced than you,” she told him, relenting.
“Isn’t that equally presumptuous?” he challenged. His voice was low, rough. Seductive.
Emer’s mouth went dry. “You’ve not had more than one lover?”
“Three.” He leaned down. “But not a single one in the last nine years.”
“Nine?” Emer had a difficult time believing that a man so handsome and skilled as Broccan hadn’t found a woman worth loving in nearly a decade, even with his temper.
“Nine.”
The whispered word danced over her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. “Why?”
He stood before her in silence, his jaw ticking as he chewed on her question.
Emer thought he wouldn’t answer, and was prepared to drop it altogether, when his voice broke over words she’d not expected.
“Teamair died nine years ago. I’ve never wanted anyone since I lost her.”
The pain in his gray eyes shattered her heart. It was a pain she knew too well—the pain of surviving. “She was your wife.”
“She still is.” He went back to wiping down the table.
Emer stood in shock for several moments.
In two short sentences, she understood Broccan, or at least the parts of him that had seemed odd to her.
He was still mourning his wife, and she knew that few understood how different that could look from one person to the next. In Broccan, it looked like anger.
Retrieving her own cloth, she worked on the table beside his, giving him some space, before asking, “Would you like to tell me a story about her?”
He shook his head.
She’d expected that, but she’d hoped he might feel like talking. “Would you like to hear a story about my parents.”
“Aye.”
“They were terrible romantics,” she smiled, thinking back to the first time she’d heard the tale herself.
“They met on a boat going upriver for the midsummer fair. My father said the boat brought him luck, so whenever he had enough money saved, he’d pay for use of one of the fishing boats.
He’d take my mom out on the river to watch the sun set and talk under the stars.
They made all their biggest decisions that way. ”
“What were their names?” he asked, moving onto the next table.
“Davan and Fia.”
His arm stilled. “You jest.”
Emer laughed. “Makes sense now, doesn’t it?”
“A stag and a deer.” He shook his head. “The Hart’s Rest.”
They finished cleaning up in amiable quiet.
Emer forced herself not to press Broccan for more information on his wife, though she was desperately curious what sort of woman had managed to tame him.
Had he been a different man then? Softer or gentler, perhaps?
That was difficult to imagine, but Emer knew it would take a good long time to get anything else out of him.
She also knew, perhaps better than anyone, that he needed to get it out. To stop keeping all his pain so close. No wonder he was angry.
Luckily, Emer had all the time in the world. And the patience to wait.