Aiden tilted his glass, toying with the liquid. He would let it run almost to the rim, as if he were going to let it spill out, then tip it back into the glass. He swirled it round and round.
Was it Hannah who’d taught him that trick? To swirl the whiskey to get air into it? Air changed the flavor, apparently, but only a refined palate like hers could taste it, no doubt. He took an experimental sip.
Aye, that’s right,he thought grimly.Nay different. Still nae good enough.
“So ye have achieved all of this,” Lucas continued, leaning forward and catching his eye. “But ye are still nae happy.”
Aiden met his gaze. “Who says I’m nae happy?”
“Me eyes say it. And I’m nae the only one. Folks have remarked upon it.”
“Am I negligent in me duties? Am I?”
Lucas groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “Of course nae. Lad, I am nae speaking of yer duties. I am speaking ofye. I am nae Theodore. I am yer friend, and I want ye to be happy.”
His voice echoed through the room. Even he seemed surprised to hear it. Perhaps he hadn’t been expecting to hear his own voice raised in that way.
Aiden didn’t immediately answer, and Lucas didn’t prompt him.
Only one mouthful of the whiskey remained. Swallowing hard, Aiden closed his eyes. The taste of the whiskey, poor as it was compared to Hannah’s, reminded him of her.
When he’d kissed her that last time, he’d tasted the whiskey on her tongue. The heavy, warm scent of it clung to her breath when she gasped or moaned. If he let himself sink, he could imagine the feel of her skin, warm and soft beneath his palms. Yielding but not too pliable.
How often had he gone over the memory of that night? Only a week ago, and yet it seemed like an eternity. Her pushed against him, her body warm, her ribs shivering as she breathed in and out a little too quickly. The way her thighs shivered, her wet heat, the scent of her hair tangled against his cheek. He thought of her smile, the way it widened slowly at first and then all at once. He thought of her crooked canine and the way her eyes crinkled.
His fingers tightened around the glass. He made no move to take the last sip.
In his mind, her lips and hands ghosted over his ruined back, tracing his scars almost reverently. And then, in a powerful image wiping out all those other images, he saw her face right before she closed the door behind her. Right after she left,after he’d told her that hewas leaving and that he wouldn’t reconsider. And, of course, she was entirely too proud to beg. He would never have expected it of her.
His hand tightened. The glass squeaked, and the whiskey inside sloshed wildly.
How could I have turned me back on her? The look in her eyes, the devastation, the misery… I let her down. Of course, I did. I let everybody down.
Nay, that isnae true. I am a good laird, nae like Faither. Nae like Magnus. A really good laird. Efficient. Kind. Fair. But as a man…
As a man, I’m nae good enough. Nae good enough for her. Maybe it’s good, then, that we parted ways. She’ll go her own way. She’ll marry someone else. Maybe Duncan will finally break down her walls, get her to look twice at him. He’s the sort of man a lass like Hannah should marry, is he nae? Decent, dependable, boring…
Crack.
The sound echoed, and it seemed to come from far away. Aiden blinked, wondering where the noise had come from.
Lucas sucked in a breath and rose to his feet. “Good God, Aiden! Yer hand! The glass!”
Aiden blinked down at the hand that hadbeen holding the whiskey glass. Shards of broken glass lay scattered over the desk, enveloped by a growing pool of whiskey. A curved piece was stuck between his thumb and forefinger, a reminder of how the glass was broken. Glittering pieces shone on his palm, caught in the creases. A shard had pierced the meaty part of his palm, and dark blood welled up lazily.
He sighed. “Did I do that?”
“Aye, ye did, and now ye are bleeding. Here, let me help.”
Lucas rose to his feet, drawing a strip of gauze from his pocket. He seized Aiden’s hand and turned his palm over to inspect it for embedded shards.
“Let me do it,” Aiden muttered, snatching the gauze and pulling back his hand. He bandaged the cut roughly, tightening the knot just a little too much.
“Ye are good at that,” Lucas observed. “Bandaging with one hand.”
“Call it a hidden talent. Now, are we done here?”
Lucas stared at him for a long moment. “I thought ye would be thrilled. Instead, ye are moping around like?—”
