“How can you possibly know? You haven’t touched me—there.”
“It’s how you react to each of our kisses or when I touch you. It how you touch me. You’re tentative at first, but your natural courage and curiosity pushes through. You’re not a liar, so I don’t think you’re pretending,” Brodie answered. Laurel flinched, then winced.
“Brodie, I have lied, and you know that. I’ve lied countless times since I’ve been here. White lies to flatter other ladies, nasty half-truths to be mean. Full-fledged lies to get what I need since I don’t receive pin money.”
“Have you lied to me?” Brodie asked.
“No. I—I could have. More than once, but I haven’t. I don’t want to.”
“Do you think you will continue to lie if your circumstances changed?” Brodie prodded.
“Only if it protected you or someone I care aboot, if it kept our clan safe.”
“Those are understandable reasons. Laurie, I don’t fear you lying to me. You enjoy telling me the blunt and painful truth far too much,” Brodie chuckled, and it rumbled against Laurel. She closed her eyes and sighed. “Are you comfortable?”
“Immensely,” Laurel yawned.
“Do wish to sleep more?” Brodie stroked her hair.
“I’m tired, but no, I don’t want to sleep. I’d rather spend time with you,” Laurel admitted shyly. “Would you tell me more aboot your mother?”
“Och, naught would make me happier than to stay here and tell you stories,” Brodie grinned. “My mother had hair as dark as a raven’s wing and eyes the color of the most aged whisky. She was a wee thing. Barely came to my chest by the time I was three-and-ten.”
“I suspect you were not a wee lad at three-and-ten,” Laurel pointed out.
“Mayhap not, but she could still skelp me even at the size I am now,” Brodie chortled. “When I was a wee bairn, she used to take me riding with her. I would sit before her on her gelding. I would beg her to go faster and faster. She indulged me to a point, reminding me that what I want and what I can do isn’t always the right thing to do. She refused to gallop with me, insisting she wouldn’t risk me falling. She reminded me that we might want to, and her horse could, but it wouldn’t be right. It was one of the most valuable lessons either of my parents taught me. But I loved those rides. She would laugh and make up stories aboot the fae she swore lived in the forest and our loch. She laughed a great deal back then.”
“She sounds wonderful,” Laurel said wistfully.
“She was. I wish she were alive for you to meet her. I think you would have found a kindred spirit,” Brodie mused.
“Will you tell me more?”
Brodie and Laurel settled onto her bed, lying beside one another as Brodie told her one story after another about his childhood. He told her aboot his cousin Kennan who married Laird Grant’s younger daughter. And Laurel mentioned she knew the laird’s other daughter Cairstine well, and that her friend Madeline recently married Fingal Grant, the laird’s heir. Brodie regaled her with tales of the mischief he and his younger brother Dominic got into when they were children. Laurel learned about Dominic and his wife, who awaited them at Kilchurn.
As the afternoon progressed, they moved onto stories about Laurel’s childhood. Brodie was wary to ask, unsure of what he would learn. But he discovered Laurel had a happy childhood until her parents sent her to court. He understood why leaving her idyllic life had been so traumatic once he learned about how involved she’d been with her clan and even how close she and Monty had once been. The more Brodie learned about the life Laurel had, the more resolved he was to offer her what she missed. He knew she was no longer a child, and she couldn’t have all the whimsy and carefree days she’d once had, but he could offer her the respect that she’d earned among her people. And he could offer her the chance to be at peace with herself. It was late afternoon when they sighed in unison before smiling. They could no longer avoid returning to the Privy Council chamber if Brodie were to review and sign the betrothal contracts.
