Chapter 22 #2
Glancing at her lips again as she chewed, he remembered claiming her mouth and her body in the cave.
The highlight of his life, to be honest. She should be furious with him for taking her so fiercely and with no regret, no apology.
Imagining it, he grew hard and hellishly lightheaded.
He cursed himself inwardly. The blood loss was still affecting him too much for such memories.
He didn't want to black out at the table and fall face first on his trencher.
He tried to focus on less appealing things.
"You two are blathering on so much I can hardly get a word in," Torr said, giving Brodie a mischievous look over Elsea's head.
"Amusing," Brodie grumbled, lifting his tankard so the passing servant could refill it. Whisky was what he needed.
Being away from the sea for so long grated at him and darkened his mood. Siting by Elsea only compounded his irritation. She tempted him, and he hated the weakness. He detested himself for being tempted.
Icy cold seawater was the only thing that could restore his sanity at this point. But he couldn't return to the sea until he bounced back from the blood loss. That could be awhile.
After the meal was over, the whisky appeared. The problem was his veins heated and his head swam after just two drams.
When the music grew livelier, his clansmen pushed back the tables, and couples flooded the dance floor, including Gavin, Torr, and their wives.
The loud music only made Brodie's head throb and drove home the point that he was too weak to dance.
Nor could he hold his liquor anymore, apparently.
Damn it. Likely, he would barely be able to climb the stairs.
He gave a fake yawn for Elsea's benefit. "If you will excuse me, I think I'll go up and take a wee nap." He pushed up, steadying himself against the table until the dizziness subsided.
"I'll help you get upstairs." She rose.
He loved the idea of her going upstairs with him, but 'twas too tempting by far. What would the others think? "I'm sure I can manage." He stepped down from the dais without much wobbling. Since she was determined to follow, he reached up and took her arm.
"Nonsense." After stepping down, she grasped his elbow as if he were escorting her, but she was the one leading along the side of the great hall. "What if you should pass out on the stairs, fall and injure yourself further?" she asked.
"You could celebrate my demise."
"Humph. Ridiculous," she muttered.
"I would nay wish to sully your spotless reputation, m'lady."
She frowned at him. "Stop being silly, m'laird."
A more delicate lady would've been furious and insulted at him for his sarcastic comment. He glimpsed a bit of hurt in her eyes.
"I should nay have said that, lass," he muttered on the quieter stairs as she climbed up behind him, her hands against his back to make sure he didn't fall. "You well ken I'm a vile boar."
"True," she agreed.
He snorted with wry amusement.
"And cup-shotten besides," she went on.
"Ha. It takes far more than a couple of drams for that."
"'Tis affecting you worse because of the blood loss."
"Och. Mayhap so." Truth was, he hadn't been this sotted since he was eighteen summers.
She held on to his arm as they proceeded down the corridor and into his bedchamber. A warm fire burned in the hearth, lighting the room.
"Do you want me to help you with your clothes?" she asked.
The suggestion was tantalizing, but he suspected he might black out if he attempted any sort of seduction right now.
"I can do it." He fumbled with his penannular brooch, unable to get it unlatched.
"Let me." She stepped forward.
With nimble fingers, she released the brooch, which drove fiery lust through him.
He could scarce inhale, and dizziness threatened.
The memory of what they'd shared in the cave near suffocated him.
He hadn't been able to see her stunning beauty then, in the pitch darkness, as he could now in the firelight.
"In the cave," he murmured. "I should nay have—"
She placed a finger over his lips, stopping his words, her beautiful azure eyes piercing his soul, pinning him to the spot. "I wanted you," she whispered.
He took her finger between his teeth and bit gently. How could he want to worship and devour every inch of a woman who had destroyed him?
Her eyes darkened as she stared at his mouth.
Taking her hand, he flicked her fingertip with his tongue, then drew back. "Do you still?" He kissed her palm.
Her breathing uneven, she nodded. "I will always want you. And I will always—"
It was his turn to place his finger over her lips. "Shh."
Her gaze searched his.
"You are trying to break the curse, bewitching lass," he said. "'Twill nay work unless you mean it."
She pulled back, frowning. "I mean it. Must you always be so vexing and ornery?"
"'Tis my nature."
She shook her head. "When first we met, you were a kind gentleman."
"Aye, well, someone turned me into a beast."
Besides, he'd been so smitten with her back then, his behavior had taken a drastic turn. He recalled placing the betrothal ring on her finger in the great hall of Kincreag Castle, while her whole clan looked on, smiling dreamily. That had been a dream for him, too, but 'twas easily shattered.
He did not see the cord of the necklace on her now.
Although the front of the gown reached almost to that enticing little dip at the base of her throat, most of her shoulders were bare, exposing a luscious amount of smooth skin.
Suddenly, he was aware his fingers were stroking her warm, silken neck and part of her shoulders.
"Where's the ring?" he asked.