CHAPTER ELEVEN
LIZZIE
“Holy shit.” My eyes bugged out of my head. Edinburgh Castle was amazing. With it sitting at a higher elevation than the city that surrounded it, it looked like a beacon…a sentry. Brochan and I were in his Aston Martin. Yes, the man had an Aston Martin DB11 in charcoal gray.
“Can you imagine what it was like back in the day, before the city rose up around the castle?”
“Magnificent.”
“Fair warning. I’m going to want to see all the rooms and I will linger. Paint colors, fabrics…all day, Brochan.”
“So noted.”
“How many rooms does the castle have?”
“Sixteen hundred.”
I jerked my head from the tour book making myself a little dizzy. “Sixteen hundred. This might take longer than a day.”
He chuckled. It was a nice sound. “Only a few are open to the public.”
“Can you imagine your staff tending to sixteen hundred rooms? You’d need a huge staff, hundreds. The mind boggles.”
“How many rooms are in your place?”
Pleased that he asked I answered, “Four. I have a one-bedroom apartment. Bedroom, kitchen, living room and bathroom…simple and cozy.”
“And small.”
“Yes, very.”
We parked. There was a line to get in, but we didn’t have to wait. We were whisked passed it and shown to a private entrance. “What just happened?”
“I’m a benefactor. I don’t have to wait in line.”
We were led into the great hall. It was massive. There were swords along the walls, hundreds of them. And the beautiful paneled wood walls carried to the arc ceiling with its buttresses. A huge stone fireplace took up part of one wall and would have been perpetually burning back in the day. This room would have been where the clan spent most of its time according to our tour guide, a pretty woman with auburn hair and green eyes. Eyes that were undressing Brochan even while she delivered her spiel flawlessly. If he noticed, I couldn’t tell. Women and their bad boys, like death and taxes, one of life’s constants.
We walked around for hours. Right before one o’clock, we were escorted upstairs to see the cannon shot off the turret. History oozed from the place and how much I wished I could go back in time and see the castle in its heyday. So many people, if given the choice, would travel to the future to see what became of the world. Not me. There were so many moments in the past I wanted to see—dinosaurs, Ancient Greece, the discovery of electricity, the Wright brothers’ maiden voyage and the Highlands when it was ruled by clans. A violent and savage time and still I wished I could see it.
“What are you thinking?” Brochan asked.
“Just wishing I could go back in time.”
He had a thought on that, but instead asked, “Since you have a fondness for old buildings, how about we hit Inchcolm Abbey?”
“Lead the way.”
“Maybe we could stop and get something to drink.” It was exhausting touring through ruins.
The words had just left my mouth and we were turning a corner to find a sidewalk festival, one that featured beer.
“Scotch ale, you need to try it.”
“I’m not really a beer drinker.”
“This isn’t beer.”
Clearly Brochan took his ale seriously. It was a sampling, but with as many stands set up along the street someone could get good and drunk on the samples.
“Most towns have their own preferred ale. Microbreweries are popping up all the time.”
It wasn’t what we were discussing but the fact that we were discussing it. Brochan was usually so taciturn, so despite the fact that the conversation circled around ale, I was happy to be having one with him.
He handed me a paper cup. “Try this.”
My first thoughts were it was bitter and heavy. I could see the Highlanders back in the day drinking it though. It was thick enough to be a meal.
“By your expression, I’m guessing you don’t like it.”
“It’s bitter.”
“We’ll try another.”
We tried eight and with each sample, the taste improved but that might just be because I was now mildly drunk. He handed me sample nine and I grinned the grin of a slightly inebriated person. “You’re trying to get me drunk.”
“Then I’ve succeeded.”
I pointed at him in surprise that he was teasing me and the ale sloshed over the rim of the paper cup. “That was funny.”
“You need food.”
“I couldn’t eat food. My stomach is filled with ale.”
He reached for my hand and I froze. It felt nice, really nice, but it was the fact he had done it. He glanced back at me when I didn’t follow him.
“You’re holding my hand.”
“Is that a problem?”
“No.”
“Food?”
“Okay.”
Maybe it was because I was drunk but the cheese and crusty bread was the best I’d ever tasted. There were stands of jams, just jams. I tasted a few of those too. They were even selling seafood, like US festivals sold hot dogs and chicken fingers.
“Brochan, why do they call them chicken fingers?”
We were walking down the street, feasting on cheese. What kind of cheese I didn’t know, but I’d ask him later when I’d actually remember. He turned his head and regarded me before he said, “I don’t know.”
“Chickens don’t have fingers.”
“Good to know.”
“That makes me happy.”
“That chickens don’t have fingers?”
“You teasing me.”
He said nothing, but there was the slightest softening around his eyes.
We walked for a little while in comfortable silence before he asked, “How do you do it?”
“Hold my liquor? It’s a gift.”
He chuckled, the sound so sweet because it was so rare. I almost asked him to do it again.
“Find the happy.”
“Because otherwise she wins.”
He reached for my hand again. “We’ve more old buildings to see.”
I held his hand tighter. “And a restroom.”
We ended the day in a pub. I was pretty sure we’d walked the length of Edinburgh and I saw many of the restrooms in the city thanks to my binge on ale.
Once we were settled at our table, Brochan spoke, “I think we’ve seen enough old buildings to satisfy even you.”
“That was a lot of fun, thank you.”
“What were you planning for tomorrow?”
“I was hoping to see Culloden Moor.”
“It’s a few hours away. It might be best to check out and stay somewhere closer.”
“You want to join me?”
He didn’t answer right away and when he did my tummy quivered because there was so much behind his simple answer. “Aye.” He added, “I’ll make arrangements to have your car sent back to Tulloch Croft. We can take my car.”
“Drive to Culloden in your Aston Martin? Yeah, twist my arm.”
He grinned. “There’s one last thing you need to do today.”
Kiss you. I really wanted to kiss him. Badly. A mistake, no doubt, but I didn’t care. Instead, I asked, “What?”
“You need to try haggis.”
“No.” My stomach was already feeling a little queasy, that would surely send me over the edge.
“It’s not as bad you’re thinking.”
“So you say.”
“You can not travel to Scotland, to Edinburgh, and not try haggis.”
“Is that documented somewhere?”
He only arched his brow in reply before he added, “One bite.”
“I’m not getting out of this, am I?”
“No.”
“Fine. One bite.”
He ordered the haggis, I ordered the fish and chips and water and wine. I intended to wash the taste out of my mouth with everything and anything. I will say, it did smell good when it was placed in front of him. The bite was a huge mouthful and he knew what he was doing because the bastard had the nerve to grin as he handed his fork over.
“That is not a bite.”
“It’s a highland bite.”
“You made that up.”
“Eat.”
I studied it, sniffed it, and then I closed my eyes and got it over with. The joke was on me because it was good. “Is that mashed parsnips?”
“Yes. Not as bad as you thought, is it?”
“It’s good.” I forked up some fish. “This is better.”
It was thinking about our day that had me asking, “What do you know about your home?”
He leaned back in his chair and reached for his ale. “It was built by the Ferguson clan back in the twelve hundreds. In the seventeen hundreds a wealthy English lord bought it to appease his young wife’s wish to live in the wilds of Scotland. They didn’t live there long. As beautiful as the highlands are, back then it was a harsh environment to live in. A young, English rose wouldn’t stand up to the climate. Over the years it had a few owners, the last of which were Americans hoping to open a hotel. Good idea, bad location. They need to be closer to tourist areas for that to succeed. I bought it about ten years ago and dropped a small fortune into restoring it.”
“Well, it’s amazing.”
We were interrupted when a shadow fell over us. Looking up, unease moved through me to see Tomas. What the hell was he doing here? He wasn’t alone; a woman was with him. She was beautiful; tall, thin with long delicate limbs. Her eyes flickered to me and a chill moved down my spine before they settled on Brochan. “Hello, lover.”
It took effort to not react to her words, her intention I was sure. Brochan was much better at it than me. His expression was cold and blank.
“Have you met my girlfriend?” Tomas was being smug, his arm going around the woman.
Her eyes were only on Brochan. “Who’s this?” she asked as she slid her gaze to me. She wasn’t impressed with what she saw.
I was saccharine sweet when I held out my hand. “Lizzie.”
She looked at my hand like it was a sewer rat nipping at her designer shoes. Her red lips curled up into a snarl. “How do you know Brochan?”
How was that any of her business? Brochan agreed. “Not your concern.” Ice should have formed from Brochan’s cold shoulder.
I held her cool glare. “I don’t know him. I’m just using him for sex.”
She didn’t like that. Brochan on the other hand…his eyes warmed.
“How do you know Tomas?” I intentionally used her words back at her, but it had the added effect of talking about Tomas like he wasn’t there. He wasn’t so stupid that he didn’t pick up on the slight. If looks could kill…
She moved her hand down Tomas’ chest. “I don’t. I’m only using him for sex.”
I wanted to stick my tongue out at her. She was touching Tomas, but she was thinking about Brochan. It was clear there had been something between this chick and Brochan and he had been the one to end it because she wanted him back.
“He has some very interesting things to say about you, Brochan.”
It was the first time Brochan looked at her. If I had been on the receiving end of that glare, I would have peed myself. She wasn’t immune. I was tired of the conversation. They each had their own reasons for standing there, but I didn’t care. They weren’t ruining our evening with their bullshit.
I dropped my arms on the table and huffed out a breath in boredom. “Honey, I’ve got plans for this man. If you’re done with whatever this is, could you hurry it along?” I thought she might take a swing at me. I enjoyed twisting the knife. “Please go be outraged elsewhere because no one at this table gives a shit.”
“Nicely said, mo leannan.” Brochan’s fingers touched mine.
I didn’t know what that meant, but I liked how he said it. Sure, it was for the chick’s benefit and still my body warmed. His eyes shifted to our unwanted visitors. It was fascinating to watch the transformation, heat to ice in a blink. “You’re still here?”
She hissed, Tomas cursed. I swear it looked like one or both of them were going to hit him, both thought better of it. She stormed out, Tomas following in her wake.
“That wasn’t a coincidence,” I said.
“No.”
“She’s clearly scorned, but what was Tomas’ motivation?”
Brochan said nothing, but he was thinking plenty. He changed the subject. “What’s happening with Brianna’s estate?”
“You’re changing the subject, that’s fine, but he has it out for you. I don’t have to tell you to watch your back, but I will anyway. Regarding Brianna’s estate, no news is good news, I think. I’ve been assured the suit is frivolous, but I do want to see my father. I don’t want her to just not win.” I glanced down and played with my food. It was spiteful, cruel and still it was how I felt.
“You want her to suffer.”
“I do. We’re taught right from wrong. We’re taught to talk through our problems, to find a solution without violence. But it’s all bullshit.” I leaned closer and dropped my voice. “It’s why I understand what you do. Sometimes it really should be an eye for an eye. I admire that you have the conviction to be that balance.” Words failed me at the sight of Brochan. He looked dangerous and sexy as hell. He stood, dropped money on the table and grabbed my hand.
“What’s wrong?”
He said nothing as he dragged me from the pub. We reached his car. He unlocked the door and held it open. He sounded odd, distressed maybe, when he said, “Get in.” Something was brewing, but the trouble was I couldn’t tell if the storm was one I wanted to get caught in.
We spoke not a word during the ride back to the hotel. We reached my room. He followed me in but didn’t move any farther than the door. I waited, afraid he wouldn’t share what was going on in his head and even more afraid that he would.
He started to pace and even pulled a hand through his hair. Seeing a man usually so cool and reserved coming undone was fascinating to watch. He stopped and leveled those pale eyes on me. “People can empathize; Fenella and Finnegan, even Brianna, have tried, but unless you’ve experienced the truly ugly in the world even compassion can fall on deaf ears to someone touched by it.”
He moved closer and my lungs constricted because in that moment, as he bared a part of himself to me, I knew whatever happened from this point on I would never be the same.
“That day standing in the rubble of my nightmare, it wasn’t empathy you shared. You understood because that has touched you too.”
He moved so close and yet he didn’t touch me. Not physically, and still I felt him as if he were. We were bound by something stronger than lust and desire, even heartache and pain. We had both survived.
“I’m not looking to be saved, Miss Danton, but I’ve never wanted a woman as badly as I want you.” He brushed his thumb over my lower lip in an achingly sweet gesture. “But you need to know that road is a dead end.”
Dead end or not I’d been heading down it from almost the minute we met. “I don’t care.”
Those pales eyes warmed; they damn near burned as he moved them over my body. His hands followed, leaving a trail of heat that seared my skin like a thousand little fires were being ignited by his touch. He took his time, tracing the curve of my shoulder, the line of my collarbone, one finger running down my throat. My hands itched to touch him and yet I couldn’t get them to move. I was transfixed and hypnotized by the delicate, sensual onslaught his light touch stirred. His head lowered, my lips parted. A hiss of air escaped when he pressed a kiss to my neck, right in the spot that caused those lovely chills. Cool air hit my stomach as he lifted my shirt over my head. Slowly, he ran his hands down my body; his palms on my bare skin broke something loose inside me. I felt alive, truly alive for the first time in my life. He worked the zipper on my jeans then dropped to his knees to pull the denim from my legs. His fingers curled around the silk of my panties and he pressed his nose between my thighs.
He inhaled.
“So fucking sweet.”
Yanking the silk off, he buried his face there as lips, teeth and tongue feasted. The orgasm didn’t so much build as it exploded. I had never felt anything like it. Overwhelming, all consuming and slightly terrifying that he could bring that out in me.
He stood and I reached for the snap on his jeans, hoping to give back the beauty of what he just gave me. He stepped out of my reach and kicked off his shoes. He had boundaries and was making those very clear. And control, he had to maintain it even during sex. His focus never left me as he slowly undressed. I squeezed my legs together when he dropped his jeans and briefs. He fisted his cock and pulled. My mouth watered. He was beautiful. I was under his spell, totally and completely, captivated as I watched him pleasure himself. He knew what he was doing, stirring me, teasing me, readying me for him.
It was then I noticed the condom.
“Let me.”
He ignored that and rolled it on. My stomach flipped, my heart skipped a beat and my clit spasmed when he moved me back against the wall. His fingers dug into my thighs as he lifted me and wrapped my legs around his waist. I tried to kiss him; he turned his head and buried his face in my neck.
It was deliberate, the way he claimed me. He was barely holding it together, easily seen from how ragged his breathing turned, and yet he entered me like he was making a statement. He wouldn’t kiss me, he wouldn’t let me kiss him, but he took his time joining us. That was very telling; the smile wasn’t one he would see. I didn’t rush him because I was enjoying the torture, every magnificent second of it. He filled me so completely it hurt a little before he stopped moving. The first quiver of the next orgasm started those delicious chills. He touched my chin, lifted my gaze to his and when he had my complete attention he started to move his hips. Slowly at first, the moan dragged from my throat because it was torture, the sweetest torture. Then it turned rough and wild as his control slipped. A scream tore from my throat as my body found its release, my nails dug into his shoulders as I jerked my hips into his rhythm to prolong it. A growl rumbled up his throat, right before his body stilled, his cock pulsing and twitching inside me. I tightened my legs around him and held him there. It was several minutes before he carried me to the bed for round two.