He nearly sighed in relief.
“My father thought we would fare better with Piers as my brothers and sisters are many. He couldn’t provide for us all.”
Her disclosure left him feeling envious. He’d always wondered what it would be like to have siblings. In fact, he’d had a baby sister, but he barely remembered her. She’d died when the English had raped his village—in his mother’s arms—cut down by the murderous bastards. Erin had been her name. How old would she be now? It gave him a prickle of guilt that he couldn’t recall. He’d been seven when he’d come to the MacKinnons. His sister had been mayhap two at the time of her death. And it had been nearly twenty-three years since he’d come to Chreagach Mhor. He pushed the memories away and resolved not to let Elizabet down.
Except that he already had.
Her brother was dead.
“We will discover who the bowman is, lass. Dinna fear. I willna allow him to harm ye.”
This time her silence was fraught with worry. He could hear it in her voice when she spoke again. “I hope my brother isn’t in danger.”
The lie weighed heavily upon him. “I’m certain he will be fine.” God help him for not telling her the truth. It would haunt him later, he knew, but it couldn’t be helped.
For the longest time neither of them spoke. Night sounds filled his ears. The scent of her drifted to where he lay shivering—sweet and warm.
“You must be cold,” she said after a time.
His heart beat a little faster. “A bit.”
“Would you... like the blanket?” she surprised him by asking. “I have the pallet, after all. ’Tis only fair you should have it.”
Broc was speechless at her gesture.
Not since his mother had anyone cared whether he’d eaten, whether he was cold, or whether he had a soft place to lay his head. Since he’d been a wee child, he’d fended for himself. That this Englishwoman would concern herself over his comfort—and more, that she would offer to ease his misery at her own expense—moved him more than he liked to admit.
His throat grew thicker yet. “Nay.” His intentions weren’t entirely noble when he suggested, “We could share it?”
He grimaced, waiting for her to become incensed by the proposition, but she surprised him by saying, “It is cold...”
Broc’s heart jolted.
Mayhap, for her sake, he should have refused, but she promised to warm him in a way he hadn’t ever been warmed before and he could not deny himself the sweet pleasure of her warm body at his side.
CHAPTER 10
Elizabet heard him rise and squeezed her eyes shut, listening to his footsteps as he approached. He stopped abruptly at her side, peering down at her and her heart beat wildly against her ribs. Her breath came labored as she waited for him to speak.
In truth, she’d hoped he would lie down with her, comfort her with his presence, but she hadn’t really expected him to acquiesce. Not since his return from Montgomerie’s had he made the slightest advance toward her, and he’d planted himself to sleep as far from her as he possibly could without putting himself out the door.
His actions confused her.
One minute he was telling her she was beautiful, kissing her passionately, the next he seemed loath even to look at her. And now he was standing before her in the darkness, waiting… for what?
“Are ye certain, lass?”
Jesu, but she wasn’t certain of anything at all.
Only now that he was standing before her, she couldn’t turn him away. Some little voice deep inside her sounded an alarm, but she strangled it. She swallowed and said, “Aye.”
She lifted the blanket, and her throat became suddenly too thick to speak. Her heart pounding fiercely as he settled beside her, she remained silent. He took the covers from her, drawing them high about the both of them, and the shock of his touch was physical. She had never lain with any man, not even to ease the chill.
He seemed so big, so solid, lying there. His heat permeated her entire body at once, and the chill of the night was forgotten as she lay shivering beside him.
Without a word, he drew her close, enfolding her in his arms. “You’re trembling,” he said.
Elizabet nodded in response. “C-Cold,” she lied.
