Chapter 10 #2
She grinned. "Of course not." Her eager eyes searched his.
The urge to kiss her was so powerful he could not ignore it. He had to know. "You would nay dirk me if I steal a kiss, would you?"
Her smile widened, and she dropped her gaze, her face brightening with a blush. "Nay, indeed," she whispered.
His heart thudded like a war drum as he tilted her chin upward and leaned down to brush his lips across hers. Saints! What a paradise this was. As he deepened the kiss, she tasted of apple cinnamon scones and alluring female. Her arms slid around his neck, and he consumed her sweet mouth.
His common sense deserted him as he pulled her close against him and kissed her once more. But he was taking it too far; he forced himself to draw away. "Saints, Lady Elsea," he rasped. "What have you done to me?"
She licked her lips, her darkened yet startled gaze searching his. Had that been her first kiss? He refused to ask. If she'd kissed some other man, he didn't want to know. Arousal coursed through his veins like a river. He drew in a deep breath, trying to get himself under control.
"I must go. But I'll return." He kissed her forehead. "Wait for me."
She nodded, her lovely eyes filling with tears.
"Nay crying, lass," he whispered.
She bit her lip and shook her head, obviously not understanding what was happening.
He didn't either.
"Come back soon," she said, her gaze imploring him.
"I will." How could he walk away from her? He wanted another kiss, a much longer one. But he couldn't, else he would be here all day. The more kisses he stole, the harder it would be to leave. "I promise," he said.
She nodded.
"Have a care."
"You, too." She squeezed his hand, looking worried. He lifted her hand and kissed the back.
Disturbed and befuddled, he forced himself to walk out to the bailey where Gavin and Torr awaited him.
"Did you speak to her father?" Torr asked, low.
Brodie was still reeling from his unexpected, near obsessive reaction to her. His own thoughts and feelings mystified him right now. What the hell had just happened to him?
Brodie shook his head. "I must think on it. I refuse to make a rash decision."
Once Brodie returned to Farspag, he did nothing but think. In fact, he could hardly sleep. He wished he could talk to her now, kiss her, and far more. If he didn't act quickly, some other chief or laird would wed her, for she was stunning.
Six nights of contemplating, imagining, stewing, and yearning was all he could tolerate. He must see her again and ask her father for her hand.
A few years earlier, when Brodie's father had been alive, he'd shown Brodie two golden rings passed down through their family.
Different grandmothers had worn them over the centuries.
One had a beautiful sapphire setting which reminded Brodie of Elsea's darkened blue eyes after he'd kissed her.
He would give it to her as a betrothal ring.
He took a party of ten MacCain clansmen with him. He didn't wish to notify Gavin or Torr. They were probably busy. Besides, they would tease him mercilessly, and he had to think clearly in making this important decision.
He hoped he wasn't too besotted to make a rational judgment on the matter.
And he hoped he didn't regret it.
***
THE THIN, REDHEAD WOMAN strode toward Elsea in the dim corridor. She reached for the dirk on her belt but found none. The knife sheaths on her forearms were empty, too. Blast it!
The hag's green eyes glinted in the wavering candlelight when she stopped three feet away. "I told you, daft lass, to return to your clan and leave this place!"
"You are the witch," Elsea said. "I ken the truth now."
"Och, indeed?" The witch smirked. "Well, the truth is I will kill Brodie MacCain if you do not vacate Farspag."
"Nay! Leave him be! What has he done to you?"
"That is none of your concern."
"You have threatened me, too. I deserve to ken why."
"You wish to know? Very well."
A violent battle scene crashed into Elsea's mind, knocking her to the ground. She scrambled on her hands and knees among the pine needles at the edge of the fighting. What a time to have no knives or swords. Gasping for breath, she crawled behind a rough barked tree trunk and peered out.
Sword in hand, Brodie slashed and thrust at enemies attacking him from all sides. He struck a killing blow.
A scream threatened to burst out, but she was too terrified to even breathe. Something forced her head to turn, to focus on a young, bearded man she didn't know who fought Gavin MacTavish.
His face bleeding, Gavin used his targe to knock the enemy's sword away, then cut his throat with the dirk. The man fell backward and lay yelling and jerking on the ground, bleeding.
Elsea screamed and sat bolt upright in bed. Darkness surrounded her. No battle. "Saints preserve me," she gasped. Was the witch still here?
"What happened?" The deep voice advanced toward her, and the bed shook.
Heart thudding, she shrieked and tried to scramble away.
A firm hand locked on to her arm. "'Tis me. Brodie. I'll nay hurt you, lass."
"Oh." She stilled, her sanity returning by slow degrees. Breaths calming, she remembered she was not on a battlefield, but at Farspag. "What are you doing here? In my bed?"
"I'm nay in your bed," he muttered, releasing her. "I was sitting on the chair by the hearth. I suspected the witch might give you nightmares again. What did she say?"
"That she will kill you if I stay here. But why? I don't understand."
Brodie was silent for a long moment. "If she wanted me dead, she would've killed me by now."
"And then... she showed me a skirmish you and Gavin MacTavish were involved in. 'Twas so real, I felt like I was there. I saw the two men you and Gavin defeated in battle. It appeared they would've killed you if you had not killed them first. Gavin's face was bleeding horribly."
"Indeed. That's what happened in the ambush that took place about a year and a half ago. Torr was there too."
"How is the witch involved?" Elsea asked.
"One man who died in the battle was her son, Chief Silas MacRae."
"The young man with the beard?"
"Aye. She claims we murdered him, and she wants revenge," Brodie said
"'Twas nay murder, but a fair fight. What instigated it?"
"MacRae and Gavin's cousin, Alpin MacTavish, led the ambush on us. They emerged from the wood and attacked, wanting to take the MacTavish chiefdom."
"Are Gavin and Torr safe?" She had seen neither of them in a long while.
"Aye."
Elsea understood little of it and did not want to be involved. She hated conflict.
In the predawn murkiness, she could only make out the outline of his shoulder and arm in the ivory shirt as he stood beside her bed.
She would love to see him better. On the other hand, the darkness was entrancing, making their conversation more intimate.
It hid the glare he sometimes cast her way.
His delicious, masculine scent teased her senses.
"Do you remember anything else?" His deep voice so close gave her chills.
"Nay." She relaxed a bit more and placed her hand on his bare forearm below his rolled-up shirtsleeves. 'Twas hard-muscled, warm, and comforting beneath her palm. "I'm glad you were here when I woke from the nightmare. Even though you frightened me at first, I feel calmer now."
"Good." The firm but soothing sound of his voice brushed over her. Even though she couldn't see him now, his image was emblazoned on her mind. He was the most devilishly handsome man she had ever beheld. But she must focus on the dangerous details of her nightmare.
"Do you think Wilona MacRae truly will try to kill us, and if so, how?" she asked.
"She's a witch, so she might invent a method we could not conceive of."
"'Tis terrifying." And since much of her memory was missing, she didn't know why she'd been pulled into this. Was it because Brodie had saved her from drowning?
"I'll do my best to protect you," he murmured.
"I appreciate that. I wish I could remember... everything, so this would make sense."
"I do, too."
He was the only stable thing in her world since her head injury, but she had still not figured out what she'd done to anger him.
Slipping his arm from beneath her hand, he headed toward the door. "'Tis almost dawn. Will you be going back to sleep?"
"Nay. Not after that." She rose, wrapping the blanket around herself, then approached him at the door. "I thank you for your kindness." Tugging at his arm, she stretched up on her toes and kissed his warm, bristly cheek. Somehow that felt right, or... like she had done it before.
His hand darting to the back of her neck, he drew her close and captured her lips in a stunning, breath-stealing kiss.
Saints! His mouth was firm and devouring.
Intoxicating. She opened to him, kissed him back, as a powerful force crashed into her.
She had never experienced such a sensual, animalistic kiss.
Had she? Or... had he kissed her like this before?
Her mind reeled as if she were tumbling back in time.
Brodie pulled away, rasped a Gaelic curse, and slammed out the door.
Elsea's head spun, and she grabbed the doorframe to steady herself. After regaining her balance, she stumbled to the bed and crawled beneath the covers. That had been a startling, almost violent kiss, but—she gasped—it had not been their first.
A torrent of images flashed through her mind, memories of Brodie smiling in the sunshine, winking devilishly, scowling in a dim great hall while his friends teased him and laughed.
He wore various kinds of clothing—a fine doublet and tartan, leather armor...
shirtless, swimming in a loch... dancing with her, kissing her...
gazing at her with affection and dark heat, placing a sapphire betrothal ring on her finger.
"Oh, Brodie," she whispered. "I remember... oh, saints! I remember." She had loved him beyond all. She turned her face into the pillow, immersed in the heartbreaking and beautiful love they had shared.