“Aye, how would it feel, lass?” he asked, lifting his hand toward her face. As he turned it so that he could skim down her cheek, she closed her eyes and waited for . . . for . . . The moment before his hand touched her, she shook her head and stepped back.
“Can you hear my thoughts?” she asked, putting a short distance between them. “Who are you?” In truth, she should be showing him respect and not naysaying him, but she wanted to know. He was unlike any man she’d ever met.
“I am William, the king’s man.” He bowed slightly to her as though she was worthy of such regard. “I come to meet with your lord.”
“He is not yet returned,” she blurted out.
In spite of her father’s warnings not to speak of Lord Hugh to outsiders, she just had. Did he hear her thoughtsandcontrol her speech? His mouth curved into a smile then, easing the masculine sharpness of his features.
“I suspected as much,” he said. “Where is your father?”
Brienne glanced over her shoulder and in the direction of their cottage and the smithy. “He is working in the smithy now.”
“Ah, so he made the weapons you brought in your wagon?”
Finally gathering her scattered wits about her, she did not let the words leave her mouth. It would be unwise to be caught speaking to a stranger, let alone giving him information about anything that involved Lord Hugh. He was not tolerant of those who spilled his secrets or spoke unwisely about him.
“My father is there, if you wish to speak to him.”
The warrior, for that was what he was, turned and looked back toward the woods and then at the village as though deciding which path to take. When his foot took a step away from the village, her heart ached.
She needed to ask him . . . She wanted to speak to him. . . She wanted to know . . . everything. If he left now, Brienne knew she would never discover why his presence seemed to strengthen her powers when no one else’s ever had.
Except for Lord Hugh, her true father.
“Will you return?” she asked.
“I have business with your lord,” he said, nodding. Then, with a quick glance over her shoulder, he disappeared into the thick copse of trees faster than she thought a man could move.
The crunching and crackling of leaves behind her told her of another’s approach. Now she understood William’s hasty leave-taking—he did not wish to be seen here. Puzzling over it, Brienne turned and watched as James made his way to her.
“Are you well, Brienne?” he asked. “My mother said you left hastily when she spoke to you.”
“I am well. I will apologize for my rudeness,” she said.
He took a step closer and towered over her. Taller but thinner and not as muscular as the warrior who’d stood with her, James did not upset her feelings or cause the heat to blossom within her.
“She did not speak of rudeness, she but worried over you.” He lifted his hand and lightly placed it on her arm. “As I do, Brienne.”
A fortnight ago, even earlier this day, she would have welcomed his touch and his company. Nowthough everything in her world had tilted and changed. She had changed. Now . .
“I spoke to your father, Brienne. He said I may court you.” The hope she heard in his voice, full of promise and a shared future, made her stomach tighten. “If you consent, we could be married in the spring.”
James tilted his head down and touched his mouth to hers. It was a warm and gentle kiss. He canted his head, and his lips pressed against hers until she opened to him. A slow, tentative slide of his tongue into her mouth startled her. He drew back in response.
“So, will you, Brienne? Will you take me as your husband?”
As his brown eyes searched hers for an answer, she considered that only a fortnight ago, he would have been the perfect husband for her—the son of the miller marrying the daughter of the blacksmith. They would live in the village with their families, as generations had before them.
A perfect match.
Except that she was not the blacksmith’s daughter. She was the get of one of the most powerful and terrifying lords in Scotland, who’d recently taken notice of her. She held some power within her that allowed— nay, pressed—her to control fire. The burning place on her arm flared then, reminding her of the unknown and that this possible future as the wife of James, Dougal’s son, was simply not possible. As she tried to choose the right words that would kindly dash his hopes, he shook his head.
“I am not pressing for your answer now. I know you would speak to your mother and father now that the offer is made to you. Take some time to consider how good a marriage we would make.” James took a full pace back and smiled at her.
All she could do was return it in silence.
“I must return to my father now that I know you are safe,” he said, leaning in for a quick kiss. “I will seek you out later.”
