His body relaxed, the tense muscles softening, his fierce grip on her hand easing. She felt the soft exhale of his breath on her cheek as the nightmare left him. She ended the verse and opened her eyes.
He was staring at her, his eyes heavy lidded, his expression unreadable. He wasn’t looking at some invisible shade or dreaming with his eyes open.
He was looking ather. Her breath caught in her throat, and she could not look away.
He didn’t speak. He squeezed her fingers, moved his thumb over her skin in a slow caress. He scanned her face and paused when his gaze reached her mouth. She saw his throat bob as he swallowed, felt desire flow between them. Even she recognized it, felt it flood through her body, heat her, chill her.
“Och, ’tis another miracle!” Angus said, wiping away a tear, breaking the spell.
Dair withdrew his hand from hers, turned away, rubbed his fingers over his eyes. “I’m all right now. Go back to your bed, lass,” he said softly. “John?”
“Here, Dair.”
“Please escort Mistress MacLeod back to her chamber.”
Fia did not get up at once. She hesitated, looking down at Dair, waiting for him to speak again, to say something about what had passed between them, but he remained silent. Doubt formed a hard knot in her chest. Had she imagined it? There was nothing left but to go. She rose, wiped her shaking hands along her skirt.
“Good night to you, Angus Mor,” she said softly.
She didn’t want John to carry her down the stairs. She didn’t want any man to touch her, save Alasdair Og. Fortunately John did not speak, and he set her down at the foot of the stairs and clasped his hands behind his back as he walked along the corridor beside her.
“He’s much improved,” he said. “I thought when Moire left—well, I suppose there are many kinds of healing.”
Fia swallowed. “Did he love her? Jeannie, I mean.”
He frowned. “As a cousin at least. Was hein lovewith her? That I don’t know. Perhaps ask Padraig if you wish to know.”
She swallowed and nodded, knew she wouldn’t.
“Lass, are you falling in love with him?”
Her eyes flew to his face.
“Don’t,” he said. “Dair Sinclair is a hard man. Not for beginners.”
Dair Sinclair was the handsomest, most dangerous man she’d ever met. He made her feel hot and chilled,alive,for the first time.
And he was going to marry Meggie.
She raised her chin, met John’s eye, and lied. “Of course I’m not!”
“That’s for the best.” He bowed low, a courtly gesture, and walked away. She stood outside her door and listened until his footsteps faded to silence. In the dark, all the weight of all the stones of Carraig Brigh settled around her, hard and heavy and unforgiving. She shivered as she fumbled for the latch.
In the darkness of her chamber, she unlaced her gown, tossed it over a chair, and dove under the covers to press herself against the safe, familiar warmth of Meggie’s back.
She closed her eyes, but all she could see was Alasdair Sinclair, staring at her mouth in the candlelight, looking for all the world as if he was about to kiss her. She put her fingers to her lips, wondered what it would have felt like.
She didn’t know. He hadn’t kissed her—and he never would.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“He scratched me!”
Dair glanced across the bailey at Niall Sinclair, who stood staring in horror at the crosshatch of bloody scratches on his arm.
“I thought we were friends, cat!” Niall said. “I brought ye half my oatcake.” Beelzebub stood unrepentant, growling low in his throat, his back arched, his fur standing on end. The oatcake lay in the dust, rejected.
Jock put down his hammer and strode over from the forge. “Ye canna make a deal with the devil. He’s bound to up the stakes.”
