‘Come now, lady,’ he said, his voice deep and dangerous, as he lifted his head and met her gaze. ‘Margaret told me of your daring deeds this day. Surely, this—’ he glanced down at his injury and then back at her ‘—is nothing to worry over.’
All the confidence she had in herself fled as he opened his long legs to allow her closer. The gash went from under his arm towards his chest and she would need to see it better. Sitting on the stool would not work. Standing here would not work, either. She moved to his side and knelt next to him. Bringing candles closer, she reached out to test the length and depth of the wound.
He hissed at the first contact, his back stiffened and she drew back, glancing up at his face. His lips, the ones so recently kissed, thinned in what she knew was pain. Remembering where he kept his jug, Arabella found it and held it out to him. She was nervous enough, the thought of touching him and the thought of piercing his skin with needle and thread made her own stomach clench. As if reading her thoughts, he lifted it up to her mouth.
‘I think you need this more than I do, lass.’
His voice was as deep and smooth as theuisge beathain that jug he offered. She tilted her head a bit and let some slide into her mouth. Its heat trickled down her throat and into her belly, spreading through her. Licking the last drop from her lips, she glanced at him.
A mistake, that was. A huge error in judgement.
His mouth was on hers before she could take a breath, his tongue dipping inside, chasing the heady liquid towards her throat. Any sense of calm the brew had given her exploded as his hot mouth slanted across hers to taste her.
Brodie slid his hand into her hair and held her to him. When she would have eased back away, for fear of hurting his wound, she told herself, he would have none of that. His other arm came around her shoulders, holding her there.
Now the heat piercing her had nothing to do with the potent whisky but everything to do with the man. Her blood did not rush, but it thickened and heated with every caress of his tongue in her mouth. She opened wider and took it in more deeply, suckling his in response. Her breasts grew heavy against his naked chest and she fought the ridiculous urge to peel off her gown and feel the heat of his skin against hers.
Only when the feel of his hair tickled the sensitive skin in between her fingers did she realise she’d reached up to touch him. Without moving her mouth from his, while he plunged in and possessed her, she wrapped her hands around his neck and pulled him closer. She wanted...she wanted...she wanted...
Him.
The shock of that thought made her pull back and stare at him. His breathing came shallow and fast, matching hers. His eyes bore the glittery glaze of passion and stared at her mouth as though hungry for it, for her. Her body shuddered, recognising the extent of his desire and answering it with a throbbing tightening within her. His expression turned fierce, possessive, primal as he slanted his face and pulled her in to him once more.
‘Brodie.’
He stopped at the sound, his mouth scant inches from hers, open and ready to take hers. She blinked, trying to dispel the powerful attraction to him.
‘Brodie,’ the man said, louder this time.
He released his hold on her and she on him. Sitting back on her heels, Arabella tried to slow her ragged breathing. Her body did not wish to and she felt aching waves that pulsed through her. Then he stood and stepped around her, walking to the opening of the chamber to speak to one of his men.
When he turned back towards her, she tried to keep her gaze on the small crock in his hand. But her efforts failed for she could not help but notice how aroused he still was as he crossed the space between them.
How could she be so drawn to the one man she could never love? Where was her honour when all she wanted to do was fall into his embrace?
Taking a deep breath, Arabella prepared to do battle—with herself.
Chapter Twelve
‘You just thought of him, did you not?’ he asked quietly. His gaze searched her face and for a moment she did not realise to whom he referred. Then she did and the pain struck her. ‘And again just then, too.’
‘Aye,’ she said, turning her face so he could not stare at her in that manner.
‘And you feel disloyal to his memory because we...kissed?’
She nodded as tears gathered in her eyes, stinging her throat. If only...
‘Arabella, look at me.’
It took a few moments to gather her strength and meet his gaze.
‘I would deny it if I could.’
She waited, her heart pounding as she knew she wanted him to refute his part in Malcolm’s death. She’d waited to hear his explanation, his attempt to mitigate his part in it, but now she knew it would not come. It could not come because he was guilty. No matter if she wished it. Exhaustion and sadness overcame her then and her shoulders sagged.
‘Take your rest, lady,’ he whispered, kneeling next to her. ‘You have done more than I expected of you and you have earned your rest.’
‘Nay,’ she said, reaching for the needle and thread. ‘I’ll see to your wound, as Margaret asked me to do.’ She retreated safely behind the woman’s request.
