Chapter Seven
Brodie kept watch on their surroundings but at the same time studied Skye. Spine stiff and shoulders straight, she broke a piece of bread and ate as delicately as if she were a lady in a castle.
Springtime of his seventeenth summer had been the last time the MacDonald had come to visit her while her father was still alive. Brodie had spent the whole day plowing the fields, making up the work his brothers had slacked on. Covered in filth and the mud left by days of relentless rain, he smelled of muck, sweat, and other things he didn’t care to think about.
He and his brothers were almost home when Skye trotted up to him on the proudest mare he’d ever seen, all smiles in a new plaid of the deepest green, which matched her bonny eyes. Her shiny blond hair billowed around her shoulders as if she were a goddess straight out of the myths her father used to read to them.
The horse, which had been a gift from the MacDonald, had taken one sniff of him, snorted, and backed away, but Skye didn’t seem to notice the insult, or that of her uncle’s as he nudged his horse toward hers as if to shield her from the common farmer blocking their path.
“Brodie, where were ye last night? I was expecting ye to come by,” she asked.
“I kenned ye had guests and didnae want to intrude.”
“Ye have to come with us to Kentillie. The laird has ordered a feast for Uncle.”
“Nae,” her uncle interjected as he nudged her to keep going. “Looks as if the lad has put in a full day and needs to clean himself and rest. The dinner is a small one, for family only.”
Brodie didn’t know what to say, just gritted his teeth. His uncle was the Cameron laird, and although he had that connection, he felt anything but regal in that moment.
Skye’s lips pinched as if she would protest but then said, “I will see ye tomorrow, then.”
He just nodded as they rode past, and his thoughts turned to how he would discover the truth about the man who looked down upon him and wished to give Skye to another.
Kerk, his oldest brother, sidled up next to him. “Did ye see that horse he gave her?”
“Aye,” was all he could manage as he watched them ride toward the castle.
“’Tis plain he thinks ye arenae good enough for her.” Brodie looked down at the calluses and new blisters forming on his hands. There was truth to the words. He turned to go, but his brother’s next statement cut even deeper. “Ye ken ye will never be able to give her what she is accustomed to.” His brother’s voice held sympathy instead of the usual taunt, which made it even worse, so he kept going without looking back.
Kerk was correct. He would never be able to give her the luxuries her uncle could. She deserved someone better, but despite that knowledge, he couldn’t let her go.
“I’ve heard the MacDonald laird is already planning a match for her,” Kerk called to his back.
Vowing he would redeem himself, he’d decided then to take his uncle up on the offer to become a spy and work with Alex Gordon and the Royalist Resistance to prove to the MacDonald laird he was worthy. And if he found out that her uncle was a traitor to the Royalists, so be it.
That night, he became the Royalist Raven.
Skye didn’t come to see him the next day or the several after that. Not until her uncle had gone did she find the time to seek him out, but by then, he’d been on his first mission. Because of its success, his resolve and his self-worth strengthened, minimizing the insecurities her uncle’s visit had dredged up.
But his brother had been right, and all his efforts toward redemption didn’t matter after Darach died. He’d been spying in Inverness when everything was taken from him.
The MacDonald had whisked her away, and when he’d tried to see her, he had near died from the beating. Then, he’d been given the news Skye was to wed a MacLeod. The union had never materialized, but it was enough for Brodie to realize Skye’s infatuation with him had ended. Still, he’d always wondered what had broken her betrothal.
A soft hand touched his leg and brought him back to the present. Skye’s. “Are ye all right?”
He nodded and shook off the memory.
They finished eating in silence, packed up, and were back on their way to Cameron lands shortly after. It would soon be time to find an inn and stop for the night. Still weary from lack of sleep and spending last eve in and out of the cold, he wanted to find them a place to stay before the nighttime chill settled in. He thought he heard rustling as they made their way through a narrow path between the trees, but an early evening mist had descended, and it was hard to distinguish anything in the trunks and brush.
An unfamiliar male voice ordered, “Halt right there.”
Every muscle in his body tensed as his gaze darted around to take in the threat. Five men caked in filthy, frayed gray coats emerged from behind the trees at the side of the road. He felt Skye shudder.
Scanning the mounted men for weapons, he was happy to notice what they did have were rusted and far inferior to his own. The horses looked almost as pitiful as the men, with coats dull from illness, or lack of nourishment and care.
He wasn’t sure whose land they were on, but he was fairly certain the men did not belong here. The ragged crew appeared as if they didn’t belong anywhere, possibly exiled from some clan. “Are we on yer land? What clan are ye?”
All were thin but one, and each appeared haggard, as if they had been scavenging for a long time and had not been very successful at finding much during the harsher than normal winter.
“Campbell,” the fat one with no hair shouted.
The leader cut his gaze toward the man with a threatening glance and put his finger up to his mouth as he shook his head.
The tip of a black flag with yellow writing hung from one horse—the standard of the Argyll’s Regiment of Foot, the force responsible for the massacre on Rathlin Island. Men capable of unspeakable cruelties, who had pushed hundreds of Catholic MacDonald women, Skye’s kin, over the cliffs to the rocks and surf below.
But this lot looked under-equipped, so perhaps they had been exiled from the Campbells. They must have done something fair awful if Argyll would let them go—the earl was desperate to hire whatever able-bodied men he could find so his Covenanters could wage war on the Royalist Resistance.
One man and a small lass probably looked like defenseless prey, but these scoundrels were going to be sorely disappointed. Aye, he appeared to be a rogue and simple farmer, but Brodie knew how to fight. Many nights he’d trained in secret, joining his cousin in the lists to learn the skills of all the Cameron guards.
Squaring his shoulders, he spoke with measured authority. “We are Camerons on our way home. We only seek to travel through.”
The man in the middle, the obvious leader, stepped forward. He was larger than the rest, but still almost half Brodie’s size. He wouldn’t be a threat; it was just the number of them that concerned him.
The man’s gaze traveled from him to Skye and raked across her as if the arse thought to claim her. When a shudder racked her, his blood started to heat, and he drew her closer.
“I’ll be takin’ the lass with me,” the man lisped, and smiled to reveal a jagged row of stained, yellow teeth with a large gap, leaving the impression of a soulless ghost in the darkness.
Along with the grime on his face, he had a jaundiced appearance and large bulging eyes that reminded Brodie of a rat. Those reddened eyes skimmed up and down Skye as if she were a piece of meat and he hadn’t eaten in weeks.
Brodie went into high alert. His fingers unconsciously dug into Skye’s ribs as his arm tightened around her.
“She is my wife.”
The arse laughed, a cavernous, guttural sound that raked Brodie’s nerves. “She’s worth a purse of gold. Leave her here and be on yer way, Cameron drunkard. I’ll even give ye the money for a pint, and ye can find another wench.”
Brodie muscles tightened as the men laughed. His breathing became heavy and measured when he realized there was more to the bandit’s interest in Skye than to spar beneath the sheets with a comely lass. This blackguard would die before he touched her.
“We ken who she is.” The man’s eyes darkened as he turned a gaze filled with malice to Skye then spit in challenge. “Argyll wants her. ’Tis up to ye if we take ’er alive or dead.”
Isobel had been correct.
“Nae, ’tis no’ me.” Skye was truly surprised.
The rat explained for him. “The order went out last night. Ye are Skye Cameron, niece to the MacDonald laird, no mistakin’ that hair o’ yers. ’And ’er over, wastrel, and we’ll see you have coin for the closest tavern.”
Now that Brodie realized she knew nothing of why Argyll wanted her, he wondered what Skye’s uncle had done to cause the earl to set a bounty on her head. What would these bandits do if they knew he was number two on Argyll’s infamous list of most wanted?
“Mayhap ye didnae ’ear me. We’ll take the bitch, and ye can be on yer way.”
Primitive fury exploded deep from his chest. It ignited a flame that could only be put out by destroying this threat to his woman. His only regret was that the man would not live long enough to grovel at Skye’s feet with the apology she deserved.
“What does Argyll want with her?” If he found out why the arse wanted her, he might be better able to protect her. Staring the rat down, he kept the other men in his peripheral vision as they fanned out around them.
“He didnae say. Only said deliver the wench alive or dead.”
“Ye willnae be taking her.” Scenarios played out in his head of what they would do to Skye before delivering her into the devil’s hands. He didn’t even want to think on what the earl would do to her. What the hell had she become involved in?
Brodie could almost smell the man’s fetid breath as he sneered through rotting teeth, “Draw yer sword, then. We cannae let ye pass.”
The group had surrounded them, cutting off their path ahead and any chance of retreat. His only shot would be taking them on in hopes they would scatter and give Skye the opportunity to maneuver around the motley group. If he could do that, his horse would outrun them, and she would get to safety.
Without taking his eyes from the circling men, he whispered in Skye’s ear, “If I fail, take off to Cameron lands and seek out Lachlan. This horse will get ye there. Dinnae stop anywhere.”
Brodie dismounted then pulled the sheath from his back. In one solid movement, he drew the sharp glistening blade his father had given him on his eighteenth birthday from its case. It pierced the silence that had fallen and gleamed despite the dim.
He sorely wished he’d spent more time training in the lists; he was skilled with a blade, but out of practice since he had to train by night and feign ignorance by day. The squat, balding man on his left lunged first, wielding a sword that looked as if it had never seen the winning side of a battle.
It was the prideful man who wouldn’t deny his clan. The man’s strike was no match for him, and he deftly evaded the blow. The man was not patient, nor overly skilled as he returned to swing wildly, missing his mark every time. Argyll had been desperate, indeed, to enlist such men in his army.
“Take him, Hog,” shouted one of the men standing by. Wheezing and snorting, the “Hog” was obviously out of practice as well.
Hog charged at him and raised his pitiful weapon, but instead of darting, Brodie stood his ground. He blocked the blow with a strong strike of his own. Under the force of his superior claymore, Hog’s blade broke. The man’s eyes widened and Hog hesitated. That split second allowed Brodie to swing again and strike just under the man’s ribs. Hog froze, his snorting turning to a gurgling as he stared at the wound then collapsed to the ground.
Squaring his shoulders, Brodie stood his ground to face the next man foolish enough to make a move. He glanced over to see Skye still on the horse and covertly maneuvering around the melee to make her way up the road. Smart lass.
A red headed brute stepped up. “Yer goin’ te die.” This man was hardiest of the sickly bunch and looked to be the only one who would give him a fair fight. Brodie took up a defensive stance with knees slightly bent and sword held by both hands in front of his torso. The redhead’s sword was polished and well cared for, and the man mirrored his stance, demonstrating skill and training.
“If ye go now, ye willnae meet his fate,” Brodie said as he bounced slightly on his knees, preparing for the coming assault. Flexing his fingers, he shifted his superior sword back and forth from hand to hand.
“Hog saved me life.” the man fumed through clenched teeth.
“Then dinnae let yerself be killed for his ignorance. I just want to take my wife and be gone,” Brodie countered, knowing he was dealing with possibly the only sensible one of the group.
Hog gurgled again. Both their gazes shifted to the bandit writhing on the ground.
“No,” screamed the redhead as Hog appeared to take his last breath.
Hog’s friend turned cold eyes and rage on him. Strangely, he picked this time to notice the man’s brows and hair were singed as if he’d been in a fire. The brute stomped forward to attack with a strong blow from the right. The strike was meant to hit just at Brodie’s shoulder, but he was able to inch back in time to avoid the impact.
His angry opponent had not been able to control the swing of the blade, and when he stumbled on the follow through, Brodie swung over and came down with his blade on his opponent’s back.
Doubling over and clenching his side, the man turned pale. Brodie recognized it as a killing blow and was surprised at how quickly he had taken the man down. He inhaled sharply to stay calm and keep a level head before facing the next challenger.
“Take him,” the leader ordered, waving an overly ornate knife. Skye’s gaze followed the amber encrusted hilt as if she were enthralled by it. It did seem a pricey piece for a bandit to possess, even if he had stolen it; he’d have thought they would have sold it for food. The scoundrel smiled triumphantly through his misshapen mouth as the other two men approached Brodie with swords drawn.
Molten fury coursed through his veins and quickened his pulse. He swung and cut the one on the right down in one blow, while the other man stared in horror at the blood spurting from his companion’s shoulder and midsection.
Looking like he was just out of his youth, the smallest and least threatening bandit paled and turned wide eyes on him. The young one’s arms shook as he attempted to hold up a sword that likely weighed more than he did.
A wail rent the air like the lingering sound of a horn. The leader screamed, “The bitch stabbed me.”
Skye, who’d apparently slipped from the mount and bested the man, ran toward Brodie. The scoundrel attempted to catch her, but fell to his knees, dropping the knife and reaching for his side. Brodie’s gaze returned toward the immediate threat.
The last man standing took one more look at his fallen comrades and their writhing leader and bolted toward the rat, stopping only to scoop up his ornate knife and continue into the woods. Instead of chasing the thief, Brodie yanked Skye behind him so he was between her and the leader.
The man raised one red palm, and blood spurted from the wound as his disbelieving gaze drifted between Brodie and Skye. The dirk she’d used to slice meat at lunch was lodged in the rat’s side.
Since the man on the ground did not appear to be a threat, Brodie turned to inspect Skye. Her limbs were limp. She stared at the man on the ground as he fell on his face.
She swayed, but he caught her before she collapsed. She looked at him with unfocused eyes, her breath uneven, then she pushed free and fell to her knees, gasping. He knelt beside her and rubbed her back, careful to keep one eye on the fallen man and the woods around them to make sure the last bandit didn’t return.
Her body shook as he held her, but a rustling sound from the bandit leader pulled him back. What if the last one had run for reinforcements? They had to get out of there.
“Stay here, love.” Reluctantly pulling her from his arms, he continued, “We must be on our way, but I need to clean up a bit.” She nodded, but he did not think she really understood a word he was saying.
As the steeds were sickly and easily identifiable, he corralled the bandit’s horses and encouraged them down the road back south. After dragging the limp bodies to the side of the road and retrieving and wiping clean the dirk Skye had used, he scooped her up and set her up on the horse.
“Are ye all right?” he asked. She nodded, but the vacant, far off look in her eyes told another story. He had to get her home and figure out how he was going to protect her from Argyll and his men.
He signaled for the horse to move, slowly at first so as not to jolt her, but then increasing speed. Away from the carnage, away from any danger. He didn’t know how many more men were waiting in the woods. And there were still Ross and Neil to consider.
Despite the peril being with him presented, until Skye could be returned to her uncle’s fortress, he was the only man that could keep her safe.
…
Trees whizzed past as their dark shadows grew longer and Skye shivered from the drop in temperature. This time of year, daylight was a commodity, and they had to take advantage of the warm rays before they faded into the evening.
Traveling at a fast speed was catching up with Skye, and her rear end hurt from the pounding of the horse, but Brodie was obviously trying to distance them from the violence.
He held her close, and she welcomed the embrace without question. He’d not judged her for putting a dirk in the man’s side. The bandit was the man who had grabbed her in the tavern, and she realized they must have been following her. If not for her actions, Brodie might not be with her now. Sinking into him, she savored the feel of being held in his arms. His firm hold on her had remained steadfast, and he’d not uttered a word since they’d left the site of the brawl.
Fear for him had been her utmost concern. There had been two men attacking him as she dismounted and sneaked up on the leader. And Brodie had been magnificent. He did not even have a scratch, and she had been determined he would not be injured because he’d worried about her.
The sun’s light dipped behind the trees. Hunger gnawed at her, and she had no idea where they were.
“Brodie,” she said hoarsely.
There was no response as they cantered along. Clearing her parched throat, she peeked back over her shoulder and tried again. “Brodie,” she said, much clearer this time. “Why would the Earl of Argyll want me?”
Stirling was the first place she’d visited off MacDonald lands since leaving Cameron lands years earlier, and she couldn’t think of anything she could have done to incur the earl’s wrath. The Covenanter leader apparently wanted her dead, and she needed answers.
“I dinnae ken, but I think ’tis best if ye stay with me until we figure it out.”
She nodded and accepted that she had felt safe back in the clearing with Brodie. He might disappear without explanations, but he had kept her well-guarded considering the odds against him.
“My uncle might ken what he wants.”
“Are ye sure yer uncle isnae in league with him?”
“Nae. He would never side with Argyll.”
Silence met her words, and she wished she could see what Brodie was thinking, but her position on the horse kept her from glancing into his eyes. He seemed to be holding something back.
“I’m starting to get hungry,” she said after they’d ridden along for a while longer. Brodie slowed the horse to a trot, but he didn’t say a word, so she continued, “’Twill be dark soon. How far do we have to go?”
“We will have to stop somewhere.” His voice held a resignation that said if he had the choice, he would continue on through the night.
“Is there another inn?”
They had passed a few, but he had told her the less they stopped, the faster they would get back to Cameron land. She tilted back into him unconsciously.
A nostalgia for Kentillie castle had kept her thoughts humming this afternoon, as she reflected on the people she had left behind. Once they arrived, she would see her friend Donella again. They had corresponded over the last few years, and she knew the girl was now married with a bairn.
Would they still be as close? Before her uncle had dragged her to his home, Donella had been the only one she had been able to talk to about Brodie’s absences. If she only had Donella with her on the Isle of Skye when the worst had come, then maybe she wouldn’t be so afraid of being on her own. If she’d had someone to help her navigate through all the pain, maybe she would have been able to put it behind her. But she’d been alone, and the memory haunted her every day.
She let out a breath and pushed the long ago memory away. She didn’t want to dwell on what she couldn’t go back and change.
“Aye. ’Tis another inn no’ too far ahead. We will stop for the night.”
“I hope ’tis no’ too late to get something to eat.” Her stomach gurgled at the thought.
“I will make sure we find ye something.”
“Brodie, thank ye for taking care of me back there.” She had spent so much time being angry at him over the years, she’d thought the words would be hard, but once they spilled from her lips, a lightness engulfed her as some hidden pressure bubbled up to escape.
“I wasnae going to let anything happen to ye.”
“I may have killed that man.”
“Aye, love, but ye did the right thing. Sorry ye had to go through that.”
Brodie’s arm tightened around her waist, but she didn’t want to think about how she had welcomed the embrace, or the kiss they’d shared earlier. How right it had felt to be in his arms with her lips pressed so intimately to his.
She had become lost, melting into him, her heart assuring her that he was different and wouldn’t leave her again. She felt protected, like he could and would defend her from this secret threat. He wasn’t the insecure lad of his youth who’d allowed his family to push him around.
But he’d still not told her where he disappeared to frequently, and she was to wed another. Despite the desire to feel his touch again, she couldn’t give in. She was to be married.
An inn slightly larger than the one they’d slept in last night appeared around a bend in the road. Billowing smoke puffed from one of the chimneys and welcomed them with the promise of shelter and food. Relief washed over her as Brodie slowed the mount.
A graying, plump woman greeted them after they had settled the horse and walked in the solid wooden door. “I’m Allina. Welcome to The Ruffled Feathers. Ye lookin’ for some food or lodgin’?”
“Aye, we are in need of both,” Brodie replied as Skye rushed over to the stone hearth where a fire blazed and crackled with dancing flames.
Brodie followed her with the lady in tow.
“Ye happen to be in luck. We have a room, and Patty just made up some venison stew.”
“Do ye have a private dining area?” Brodie asked, standing nearby while he continued to speak with the woman, but the conversation faded as Skye scanned the room.
In one corner of the common area, a family with three small children supped. The mother was spooning small servings of the stew into one child’s mouth. He rewarded her each time by clapping and opening his mouth again like a baby bird. The father was holding a small babe while the oldest, probably about five, banged the serving pieces on the table to try to divert the parents from their tasks. Skye tore her gaze away and skimmed the rest of the room.
A table was set up on an outer wall, and two well-kempt men, both with chestnut hair and the same nose, chugged ale as they waited for a meal. The inn’s patrons seemed peaceful, reassuring company after dealing with the bandits.
“Skye.” Brodie tilted his head for her to follow as the innkeeper’s wife led them through a door just to the left of the large stone fireplace.
It opened into a small private dining area with its own hearth. She was delighted by the space, but disappointed that the peat was not lit. The room was cozy but cool.
“Give me just a moment, and I’ll send in Ronan to get ye a blaze a’goin’.”
“Thank ye,” Brodie said as he took Skye’s hand and guided her to a seat facing the fireplace. “We’ll also take some ale and some of that stew.”
“Aye, and I’ll be right back with that ale,” Allina said as she rushed from the room.
Skye had expected Brodie to take a seat across from her, but he sat in the empty chair beside her. The rhythm of her heart increased at his close proximity. His leg brushed against hers, and she became intensely aware of his nearness and the way it sent shivers through her.
Collin, Collin, Collin. She tried to think only of her betrothed, but with Brodie beside her, it felt even more intimate than riding curled up next to him on the horse all day. That was a forced closeness, but this was of his choosing. But then again, she didn’t move to put distance between them. She must still be in shock from the idea that she’d killed a man.
After the day’s events, she’d loosened her guard, but she had to remain wary. No matter how close they were becoming again, he was not for her. She tried to remember Collin’s face, but all she could see was Brodie’s.
He turned to her. “How are ye?”
I’m falling apart is what she thought, as she fought the need to lay her head on his shoulder and beg him to wrap his strong arms around her.
“Ye did what was necessary. I am thankful ye had the dirk with ye.”
She blinked as his words sank in. Och, she was a fool. He was talking about the bandits, not her body’s treacherous reaction to his nearness.
She shuddered. Dirk, yes, that was mine. But there was something about her attacker’s weapon that looked familiar, like she’d seen it before. But that wasn’t possible.
“Will ye be all right?” He studied her with a worried gaze.
“I will be once I have some food and rest.”
Thankfully, Allina whirled back in with a tray, closely followed by a man with a cheery disposition to match hers. “I have some ale for ye and some cheese and bread while cook warms up the stew.”
“I’m Ronan,” said the man with her. “Pleased ye folks have stopped in for the night. I’ll just get ye a nice fire goin’ and let ye eat in peace.” He winked at them.
Allina offered Skye a cup, and she took it. After a small tentative sip of the ale to test it, she was happy to discover it was smooth and warm. It soothed her parched throat and gave her hope that the food would be better than that of the last inn.
“’Tis verra good,” she said, and Allina beamed.
Only moments later a blaze was roaring. She nibbled on cheese and enjoyed the ale until stew and more bread were brought in. It was perfect for the cool evening, comforting and familiar, reminding her of the many nights Brodie had eaten with her and her father when they were younger. As far back as she could remember, he had been part of her family, her hopes, and her future. Now those recollections were bittersweet. That time was so long ago, but the memories were still fresh enough to taunt her.
Brodie was uncharacteristically quiet, and she felt the need to fill the silence. “How is Donella?”
It had been the right thing to ask, because it brought him out of his silent brooding. He smiled. “She is well, and her babe has grown so much. He crawled fast and will probably be walking soon.”
“I have to admit that I am looking forward to seeing them.”
She projected the happiness, but her heart ached because she’d caught the gleam in his eyes when he’d mentioned the babe. Brodie had always loved children, and he’d told her how badly he wanted his own family and how he would be there for his sons, unlike his father, who was often away.
The memory angered her—he hadn’t been there for her when she needed him. He was still evasive about where he had been. It was just a reminder that she couldn’t trust this man.
“Ronald is a lucky man. They look so happy.” His wistful gaze slid down and then back up to hers with an emotion she couldn’t place. Was it real longing for her or a practiced seduction he used on every woman? Och, he knew how to knock a lass off balance.
Bounding back into the room, Allina held a small tray of tarts. Turning her attentions to the innkeeper’s wife, Skye focused on a topic she always wanted to talk about—cooking. “The stew was perfect, Allina. The combination of mushrooms and sage was genius.” Once Skye got back to the kitchens, she would have to try to replicate the recipe.
“Thank ye, lass. ’Tis one of Ronan’s favorites. It has taken me years to get it right. Let me ken if I can get ye anything else. The second door on the left up the stairs is waiting for ye when ye wish to retire.”
“Thank ye,” Brodie said as Allina offered him a small curtsy and left.
“How is Lachlan? I heard he married.” She picked up a piece of a tart and inhaled the buttery scent before taking a small bite.
Brodie’s eyes lit and both dimples appeared. “Ah, he is smitten. After Eileen, I thought he would never find another, but Maggie suits him.”
“He is a good man. ’Tis nice to ken he has found the right one.”
“They are expecting their first babe.”
“Do ye think they will be pleased to see me?”
“Aye, I ken they will.” He reached out and took the hand she still kept on her lap. The touch was reassuring, and her head screamed at her to pull away, but her heart thudded and thrilled at the touch.
How did he still do that to her?
Reaching forward with the hand not clinging to hers, he tucked a stray tendril of her hair behind her ear. Heat crept up her cheeks, and her breath hitched, and she sat mesmerized as her defenses fell away.
Trailing his fingers down to under her chin, he tipped her head up, and she watched, helpless, unable to flee, as he moved in to place a sweet, gentle kiss on her lips.
Remembering her betrothed, she shook her head and leaned back to escape his touch as she took his hand from her face and placed it back on his own lap.
“I need sleep,” she said as she stood and waited for him to do the same.
He rose, the look on his face anything but repentant. The corner of his mouth had curved up to reveal one of his dimples. Warmth spread through her, but she skirted around him and made her way to the stairs. The last thing she needed was for him to know how much he still set her heart racing.