CHAPTER 8 #2
By the time Ian and Alex returned to the hall, it was empty.
“Damn it,” Ian said. “I wanted to talk to Sìleas tonight.”
“Talk?” Alex said, elbowing him. “I thought your plan was to take that lass to bed and make a proper wife of her today.”
“She doesn’t make it easy,” Ian said, taking down the jug of whiskey and two cups from the shelf. “The looks she gives me could fry eggs.”
“Ach, Sìleas is just upset because you’ve kept her waiting.” Alex patted his chest. “Ye can be sure I wouldn’t have.”
“Oh, aye, for certain ye would be ready to jump into marriage,” Ian said, then tossed back his first drink.
“Not me, but we both know ye are the sort to marry.” Alex drank his own cup down and signaled for more. “Ye will do no better than Sìleas. That lass has fire in her.”
Before drinking down their second round, they clinked their cups together and chanted, “It’s no health if the glass is not emptied.”
“What can I do?” Ian said, wiping his mouth. “She acts as if she hates me. And she’s always running off with that Gòrdan Graumach.”
“Ye can’t let Gòrdan have her—he’s too dull for a lass with her spark.” Alex waggled his eyebrows. “I’d know what to do with that spark.”
“This is no time for your joking,” Ian said, his irritation rising. “And I’m more than a wee bit tired of hearing what ye would do in my place.”
“Who says I’m joking?” Alex lifted one shoulder. “Wouldn’t ye rather see her with me than with Gòrdan? Ach, she’d be wasted on a man with so little imagination.”
“I don’t appreciate ye speaking about my wife that way,” Ian said, clenching his fists.
“If ye are so foolish as to let Sìleas go without fighting for her, ye don’t deserve her.” Alex leaned forward, his expression serious. “And if ye don’t make her your true wife soon, ye are going to lose her.”
“She is my wife,” Ian said through his teeth. “And I intend to keep her.”
“Then you’d best do something about it,” Alex said. “I grew up with a bitter woman, so I can tell ye—a woman will only forgive so much before she comes to hate ye.”
That was a depressing thought; they both took another drink.
“Speaking of your folks,” Ian said, “when are ye going to go see them?”
“No matter which I see first, I’ll never hear the end of it from the other.” Alex blew out a long breath. “I’ll wait until the Samhain gathering, so I can see them both at once.”
“How many times has your mother tried to poison your da?” Ian asked, without expecting an answer. “Doesn’t it strike ye as odd that neither of them married again?”
“Praise God they haven’t undertaken to torture anyone else.
The only thing the two of them can agree upon is that I should make the same mistake.
They want me to marry and produce an heir.
” Alex shook his head. “Perhaps I should rescue Sìleas from Gòrdan. It would be no hardship to set to work on getting an heir with her.”
Ian reached across the table and grabbed Alex by the front of his shirt. “I warned ye not to speak of her that way.”
He was stopped from punching his cousin in the face by a light laugh behind him. He turned to see Dina saunter in from the kitchen.
“Fighting over me already, are ye?” she said.
“Don’t hurry to the cottage,” Alex said to Ian before he pushed himself up from the table. He put his arm around Dina’s shoulders and walked with her toward the door.
Ian tipped more whiskey into his cup and swirled the golden liquid. He’d take good Scottish whiskey over French wine any day. He felt the pleasant burn as it slid down his throat. Hell, he’d take bad Scottish whiskey over the best French wine.
What was he doing sleeping in a cold bed every night—next to Alex, for God’s sake. Sìleas was his wife, wasn’t she? She was sleeping in his room—in his bed, no less.
They’d said vows before a priest. Surely that meant something? True, he’d been ready to give Sìleas up, but that was before he’d returned to find her all grown up.
Lord help him, Sìleas had grown up fine.
He thought of her full breasts, the mesmerizing swish of her skirts as she climbed the stairs, the sparkle in her green eyes, the creamy skin that showed at her throat above her gown.
His cup was empty, so he took a long pull straight from the jug.
He wanted to see more of that creamy skin. To smell it. To run his tongue over every inch of it. And there was no reason he shouldn’t. Sìleas belonged to him. The church had joined them.
Damn it, he shouldn’t have hesitated. That was where the problem lay. All he needed to do now was show her he wanted to be a husband to her.
But was he ready to give up other women? Was he ready to say she would be the last woman he bedded? He thought about it for a moment.
Hell, yes.
He would show her just how much he wanted her. Sìl was a fiery thing, always was. She’d be everything he wanted in bed, he knew it without a doubt. And he’d be everything she wanted. She damned well wouldn’t look twice at that Gòrdan Graumach again.
He slammed his cup down on the table. It was time. His decision was made. By God, he was ready to commit himself.
It was going to be a night to remember.