Chapter 19 #2
“Aye, I wouldnae even dream of missin' it,” Finn said, bowing slightly. “I’ll have another tale ready.”
Amara followed Rhys and Daisy down the hall, warmth from the fire still on her cheeks and wine humming in her veins.
They reached the fork in the corridor. One side toward Daisy’s wing, the other toward their chambers, and Rhys paused.
“I’ll take her,” he told Amara softly.
But before she could turn, a shout echoed down the hall.
“Rhys!”
It was William, his head poking around the corner with Myles trailing behind.
“Come on then, missin’ supper with the likes of us. The both of ye! Ye’ll both come to drink with us,” Myles called, already loosening his collar.
Rhys raised a brow. “Looks like ye have already been at the drink. Besides, Daisy needs to get to bed.”
A loud, booming voice carried down the dark corridor suddenly, startling Amara out of her slippers. “Oi! NURSE!”
They all turned to face the origin of the sound, and William leaned against the wall, a wide grin spread across his face.
“We’re celebratin’, aye? Nay war, Finn’s returned, nay more scowls at least for now,” he said with a shrug.
Myles waggled his brows as his eyes shifted toward the sound of hurried footsteps closing the distance to them. A wide woman came into view, a flush to her cheeks and her lips pursed so as to not say anything cross.
“Come on, then. Nurse is here. Both of ye!” William called out from over his shoulder. He had already made his way back down the stairwell, and Myles followed, taking the stairs two at a time.
Amara blinked. “Me?” Her eyes connected with Rhys for his decision.
“Aye, ye!” Myles called out, “Ye’ll keep our dark and stormy laird from throwin’ cups at our heads.”
Rhys looked at her. “Ye daenae have to…”
“Oh, nay. I mean…I want to,” Amara said, surprising even herself.
Rhys’s gaze darkened, but not in anger. The look on his face reminded her of the night they had spent together. His eyes just as dark and just as in need as when he knelt before her at the side of her bed.
“Fine,” he said with sinful grace. “But I’ll just be stayin’ for one drink. Ye may do as ye please, of course.”
Myles cackled in the background, mocking Rhys. “Pshh! One drink. Right.”
William whooped from the bottom of the stairs. “We’ll see about that one drink, Rhys. Now stop yer dallyin’. Let’s go!”
The group arrived at the tavern just as the last light gave out behind the hills.
Rhys held the door open and let Amara enter ahead of him, his hand brushing the small of her back on instinct, and she didn’t flinch away from it. Nor did she look back. She just stepped into the warmth and noise behind Myles like she belonged there.
And damn him, she did. She belonged everywhere… with me.
William rushed around him to catch up with Myles and the two started on, hunched together and speaking lowly about something secret, and then the two men exchanged some kind of agreement.
A bet.
“Now, let’s drink!” Myles said loudly, turning toward the rest of the tavern which elicited a loud shout from those already present, and an even louder shout followed when they all realized who said it and that the laird was there as well.
“Now this is how a victory feels, Rhys,” William said happily.
Rhys gave him a look. “There was nay victory. Nay battle.”
Myles answered for him. “Aye, but there was peace. And peace deserves a drink.”
They claimed a table near the hearth. The tavern was full and on the brink of rowdy.
The air was thick with firewood, ale, and stewed meat.
Someone started to play a fiddle in the corner and boots thudded lightly across the plank floor.
Familiar sounds that used to lull Rhys into the depths of the dark, unattached, numbness.
Amara sat across from him. The light caught her cheekbones and the hollow of her throat. Her hair shimmered in the glow like a candle smoke, and the gold threads along the bodice of her gown teased him like a hidden treasure peeking through the shoals.
“Drink? Drink? Drink?” William said, still standing and pointing at each of them individually. Though, he didn’t wait for a response before he disappeared.
Rhys leaned into the table. “It’ll get louder. Are ye well?”
“Aye, this isnae me first time in a tavern. Nor is it me first pint.”
Myles eyed her appreciatively, clearly impressed, and Rhys couldn’t help but feel the same.
William came back quickly with a tray of whisky knockers and an armful of pints. “Look alive!”
“Billy! For the love of all that is holy!” Rhys said, his voice instantly taking on a scolding tone which only made Myles giggle like a schoolgirl.
“Pay up, darlin’!” he shouted gleefully, as William set down the tray and the pints. “Called it! Sour as a lime!”
Rhys rolled his eyes as his men exchanged money. I was the bet.
“Now,” William started, “Lady Amara, have ye had a whisky knocker before?”
“I have nae,” she said, and a delicious blush crept up her neck and into her cheeks.
“Ye take it quickly, and then ye follow it with the ale… slowly,” William explained.
“The goal is to nae make a face, lass,” Myles said playfully, and they all watched as she reached for her own shot glass.
Rhys’s stomach flipped as her hand wrapped around the pint of ale and slid it toward her, the condensation dripping onto her delicate fingers almost made him flip the table between them.
“Do I take it all by meself me first time, or do ye join me?” she asked, and Rhys’s gaze lingered on her lips.
“Ye’ll nae be alone,” Rhys said plainly, licking his.
“On three,” Myles explained and lifted his whisky. The others joined him, but Rhys’s eyes were on Amara. He wouldn’t miss this experience for all of the world.
“ONE! TWO! THREE! GO!”
She watched as William and Myles threw their whisky back and slammed their glasses down, but Rhys reached out across the table to clink his against hers. “Ready?”
“Oi! Come on, now! We’ve said three and done ours!” William shamed them both, but Rhys wouldn’t hear it. He didn’t move until Amara nodded.
“Ready,” she said steadily.
“One, two —”
“Three!” she said, and threw the glass back before slamming it onto the table.
She wasn’t as quick as Rhys had been. The warm liquid had already snaked its way down to his stomach as she slammed her glass down. He was watching her. They all were. But alas, Rhys was watching her for a very different reason.
Her eyes met his, and she grinned, and Rhys felt his jaw slacken.
Is that a grin? Did she really just grin!
This woman just grinned after her first shot of whisky with Stone.
Cold. Devilish. Satisfaction. And as William and Myles both whooped, clapped, and hollered, all Rhys wanted to do was reach across the table, grab her by the top of her bodice, and crash his lips into hers.
He wanted to taste that look she had in her eyes and that grin on her mouth.
“Yer cheeks are flushed, lass,” he said, finally, leaning in so he could be heard under the volume of the other two next to them.
She looked up at him over the rim of her ale cup. “It’s the… ale.”
His voice dropped. “Nae. It’s me.”
Her lips parted. Just slightly.
He didn’t look away until he noticed William and Myles’s absence. They had both retreated back to the bar, and William gave him a thumbs up which either signaled that they were getting another round, or they were leaving them alone.
When he turned back to face her, Amara had braced her elbow on the table and was leaned forward, chin in her hand, eyes bright from the fire and drink.
God above.
He now hoped that William’s gesture was the former option because he needed another dram or two if he was going to keep pretending like he wasn’t thinking about what she tastes like.
His mouth waters at the thought of her legs resting on his shoulders as his tongue brought her to her climax.
“Ye’re quiet,” she said, tilting her head toward him. “For a man who usually shouts in war rooms.”
“Oh lass, I have nay need to shout,” he said. “Nae when everyone listens.”
She grinned. “Is that so?”
“Mostly,” he allowed. “Still working on ye, it seems.”
She nudged his boot under the table, deliberately. “Ye might have better luck if ye just tried harder.”
That did something terrible to him.
His body tensed. Not out of anger. Out of need.
He leaned forward slowly. “The look in yer eyes looks like it’s wrapped in sin itself tonight.”
Her breath caught almost imperceptibly. But he heard it. Just as a loud crash assaulted the tavern.
“Myles! Christ Almighty! Ye sotted mess!” Rhys heard the barkeep say loudly, pouring an entire pitcher of water over the bar toward the man. He had fallen down to the ground in a fit of laughter, breaking the chair he had been apparently sitting in, as he did.
William was of no help, keeled over in a fit of laughter next to him. The water didn’t miss either of them.
“Shite —” Rhys cursed under his breath, and slid from the table. Adjusting his tunic and belt as he stood and walked over to them.
He turned on his charm and winked at the barkeep, who stood on the other side of the bar with her hands on her hips exasperated.
“Got us kicked out after only one brew, lads?” Rhys said teasingly. “Sorry, Mona. I’ll replace the chair by morn.”
“Och! Chairs I have. Patience I have nae!”
“We’ll go. And the chair will be yers, lass,” Rhys said sweetly before turning to face his men. “Get up. Both of ye. Now.”
He watched as William helped Myles to stand, both men still laughing, and then his eyes met Amara’s across the room. Without him giving any indication, she rose from the table and met him at his side.
There’s a good lass… he thought, and his groin pulled almost painfully against the restriction of his belt.
“We’re leavin’ because these fools cannae hold their liquor.”
The night air was cool and smelled of peat and damp moss as they walked the winding path back to the keep. Lantern light flickered gently above the doors, and the distant noise of the tavern had faded to nothing but memory.
Rhys walked beside her with his hands relaxed at his sides. He hadn’t said much since they left. He didn’t need to. The silence between them had taken on a new shape. It was less like a void and more like something full. That, in addition to William and Myles cackling ahead of them, arm in arm.
“Ye handle yer liquor better than I expected,” he said at last, as they passed through the main corridor of the keep, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Amara smirked as they took the stairs in step with each other. “I could say the same about all of ye… although, Myles…”
“Oh, aye. That’s his custom. He’ll be right by mornin’. Billy will make sure of that,” Rhys chuckled and then stopped in front of her as they reached the landing of their floor. He was standing just close enough to make her heart stutter.
“Why does everyone call him ‘Billy’ when clearly he wishes to be called ‘William’?”
“Ah, ye’ve caught that grievance, have ye?”
“Well, I’m nae deaf. So, aye, I have.”
Rhys chuckled and slowly tucked a piece of hair behind her ear before answering. “William used to be quite tiresome about it. Which only encouraged Myles to continue the use, as well as the rest of the guard.”
“That’s rather unkind.”
“I suppose, but when Daisy started calling him it, he started correcting all of us less and less.”
“I see — ye’ve broken the man.”
“Och! Posh! Billy secretly loves it, which is why he has kept it goin’ for so long.”
“Sure, and I’m the Queen of France.”
He smiled, watching her eyes roll to the back of her head.
“Lass, I’ll be busy in the morning,” he said, reaching out to tuck a loose curl behind her ear. “But will ye meet me in the courtyard come afternoon? I’ve something to show ye.”
She nodded. “Aye. I’ll meet ye. I’ve nothin’ planned for tomorrow anyway.”
“I’ll have Nina set some things up for ye.”
Then, before she could say anything more, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheek, just to the edge of her mouth. It left a mark hotter than wine on her skin.
“Goodnight, Amara,” he murmured, and then he was gone.