“What is that?” Mari asked as Jamie unscrewed the top and tipped the flask.
“Uisge-beatha,” he answered. “’Tis the water of life.”
“Can I try some?”
“Nae. ’Tis better ye stick to the wine. It is watered down.”
Was Jamie giving herordersagain? Mari bristled, forgetting her recent resolve to be more tolerant. Just when they were having a nice conversation, Jamie had to spoil it by telling her what she was allowed to drink? “Did Bridget not send the whisky for both of us?”
“Nae,” Jamie said again as he took another swallow. “’Tis a mon’s fortification.”
“Really?” Truly, it was quite rude of him to drink something in front of her that he would not share. Mari eyed the flask as he put it down and then grabbed it quickly before he could stop her.
“Ye dinnae want to try that,” Jamie said and reached for it.
Mari scooted back and managed a deep drink before Jamie took the flask away. And then he stilled, his golden eyes watching her intently.
“Mmmm,” she said as the golden liquid slid down her throat, “it feels nice and warm—” She gasped for air as her stomach turned to a fiery pit. “Oh…” Mari doubled over, coughing and trying to breathe.
Jamie pulled her up against him, pressing her head to his shoulder while he held the wine cup to her lips. “Drink this. It will help put out the fire.”
Mari did not think she could swallow anything, but she was going to incinerate on the spot if she did not try. She grasped the cup with both hands, thankful Jamie did not let go. After the first cool swallow, the wine went down better, dousing the flames she was sure had dissolved half her insides. She had just about drained the cup when Jamie set it down.
“’Tis enough for now, lass.”
She did not argue with him this time. She was still having trouble catching her breath. “How can you manage to drink that stuff?” she asked when she could finally speak again.
Jamie grinned and put the flask away. “I told ye it was a mon’s fortification. When will ye learn to trust me?”
“I do trust you.” Mari blinked at him, rather owlishly. He was a bit blurry. “I would not be here otherwise.”
He raised both brows questioningly. “And where would ye go? The storm is still blowing outside.”
The storm. Mari hiccupped. She had forgotten—for only a minute, she reminded herself—about the storm. “Well, never mind then.” She blinked again, narrowing her eyes to bring Jamie into better focus. “Can you not sit still?”
“I am nae moving.”
“Ye—you—are so. You are rocking back and forth.” Jamie grinned, his dimple showing. Had she never noticed before he hadtwodimples?
“I think the whisky has gone to yer brain, lass.”
“The whissh…whisshky?” She remembered the nice, warm feeling she’d had before her stomach caught on fire. That glow was spreading all over her now. “Ish quite warm in here, ish it not?” she asked and flung the tartan off, leaving her clad only in the thin chemise. Jamie made a sound that was close to a growl.
“Did you shay shh…omething?”
His eyes travelled over her slowly, and then he closed them and rubbed his temples. “Ye had best cover yerself with the plaid.”
“Why? I am hoth.” She waggled an impish finger at him as he opened his eyes. “Do you not feel the heat?”
That funny sound came from him again, and Mari decided it was rather intriguing. She inched closer, tilting her head to study him—which would be easier if he held still—and then giggled.
He gave her a wary look. “What?”
“I wanth to kissch you.”
“Ye are verra drunk.”
“Perhaps.” Mari nodded—rather sagely, she thought—“but I still wanth to kissch you.”
