“Have ye looked yer fill?” he asked softly.
She jerked, caught wrong-footed. “Oh, what?”
He turned his head to give her an amused smile. “Yer little glances. Have ye seen enough, or would ye like me to light a candle?”
She was glad that the dimness partially concealed her blush as she looked away. “No, I’m fine, thank you. I was just…”
“Just…?” He cocked an eyebrow at her.
She could not help noticing how elegantly shaped they were and cursed herself inwardly.
“I was… well, I haven’t really had a chance to look at you. Not really.”
His smile widened. “Have ye nae? Then ye should take this opportunity to look properly. Ye should ken the man ye married.”
She turned and stared boldly at him, cursing herself for noticing how much more handsome he looked with a smile on his face. How, even hunched, his shoulders took up plenty of space. His feet, planted firmly on the floor and set wide apart, with his kilt stopping just below his knees, gave her an unconstrained glimpse of his strong calves.
She sighed in despair. “It’s really not fair.”
“What isnae?” he asked.
She really had not meant to say that out loud. “N-Nothing.”
“Come, Lilly, willnae ye tell me the truth?”
She straightened up at the nickname, shocked at how much she liked to hear it from his mouth. “I-I was just thinking that you have no flaws. Not in your appearance anyway.”
He gave a rumbling chuckle, and his gaze darkening, “Ye daenae have any flaws yerself,” he said in a low voice.
She suppressed a shiver before rolling her shoulders back and straightening her spine. “Well, thank you for saying that, though we both know it’s not true.”
He tilted his head to the side. “We both ken? I daenae ken such a thing.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “My father had to send me all this way to find a husband, and you don’t think I have flaws?”
“I ken that the English werenae wise enough to appreciate yer…” He looked her up and down. “… assets. That’s nae yer fault, lass.”
She blinked a few times, her face warming at his words. “Well…” She was at a loss for words.
His knee bumped against hers as he went back to staring at the fire, and she tried to compose herself, feeling his touch like a brand.
“Would ye like me to stand so ye can take a good look at me?” he asked without looking away from the fire.
“Erm, no, thank you.” Her voice came out quite squeaky as she turned a little more so she was facing him, her knee still pressed against his. “I’m fine with what I can see.”
He grinned, turning to eye her. He reached out his thumb and trailed it from her jaw to her chin. “So ye daenae want to see more of me?” he asked softly.
Her eyes widened, and she spluttered, confused by his touchandhis words. “I… of course n—” She paused, not wanting to lie. “N-Not at the moment,” she finished primly before downing the rest of her whisky in one go. She moved her knee away from his in an effort to clear her mind.
He took her tumbler, stood up, and went to refill it. She watched him go, enjoying the way his kilt moved as he walked. Her vision blurred around the edges, and she blinked a few times to clear it.
Has the scotch already taken effect?
She was not one for tippling too much, as it was unladylike according to her father, but she did engage in the occasional bottle of port with dinner as well as anapéritif. So, she was rather surprised that one glass of scotch had her feeling so woozy.
I should leave before I make a fool of myself.
She opened her mouth to tell him so, and was surprised at what came out instead. “Tell me about your sister. What was her name? Sorcha?”
