She shivered at the suggestiveness of his tone but raised her chin defiantly, for she was determined not to show him any fear. At the same time, she sensed he was only trying to warn her to be cautious. He seemed determined to keep her at a safe distance.
He stretched out his legs and reclined back against the standing stone, then drank from the flask again. “Ah,” he groaned. “This is the best Scotland has to offer. How the earl does it I long to know.”
“I find it difficult to imagine you longing for anything,” she said. “Don’t you usual y just take what you want?”
He lifted his head. “Nay, lass. Otherwise, you’d be deflowered by now, and feeling very grateful for it.”
She exploded in a dramatic show of affronted laughter. “It is absurd how confident you are.”
“When it comes to myskillsas a lover, there’s nothing absurd about it. I’m very good at pleasing women.”
“The famous Butcher,” she pondered. “Good at lovemaking and chopping people in half. What an attractive set ofskillsyou possess.”
Amelia stared at the flask. She was thirsty, and there was nothing else to drink. And certainly the notion of sleeping like a baby had its appeal.
“I should prepare myself to be dazzled, should I?” She accepted the flask. “What if I swoon?”
“No worries, lass. You’lljust tumble over sideways, and the grass is soft.”
“You don’t say.”
Looking down at the flask, she swirled the contents around, then tipped it back and drank.
Well !She might aswellhave beenswallowing liquid fire.
As soon as the whisky shot down her gullet, a blazing inferno erupted in her stomach and she began to wheeze. “Youcallthis fine?” She spoke like a raspy old man.
“Aye, lassie, it’s stronger than theballs on abull.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “And you enjoy this?”
Continuing to hold on to the flask, for she was determined not to be bested by this celebrated Scottish drink, she took a moment to recover. In a moment or two, she would try again.
Tipping her head back, she looked up at the stars, and soon her thoughts drifted back to the events of the day. She thought ofElliottand how he had survived alone in the woods for two days.
“The drover we met saidElliottdidn’t have a mother,”
Amelia mentioned. “I am without both my parents now, but at least when I was a girl I had a mother I couldcallin the night when I had a bad dream and she would come and hold me.
I’llnever forget how it felt to be held in her arms.” She tilted her head to the side. “I don’t suppose you ever had that, or ever had tocallout for someone in the night.”
He seemed relaxed while he lounged back against the stone, yet his eyes were as intense as ever. “Icalledout plenty of times, and my mother always came.”
“You had nightmares? And a mother?”
“Despite what you might think of me, lass, I’m not the spawn of the devil.”
A touch embarrassed by her comment, she took another drink. Again the whisky burned her throat, but it went down easier than the first time.
“It might surprise you to know,” he continued, “that my mother was an educated woman of French descent. She taught me to read and write, and sent me away to be educated.”
Amelia drew back slightly. “Indeed, I am surprised. You were educated formally? Where?”
“That’s not a question I’llbe answering.”
Nevertheless, she tucked it away for later, because she wanted to know.
“How did your mother feel about your father’s harsh discipline?” Amelia asked. “I can’t imagine a scholarly woman would enjoy seeing her child treated with such brutality.”
