Page 47 of Highland Storm

“I am no’ actin’ like a nun!” She didn’t like to be called a doxie by the doorman and neither did she like being called a nun by him. Mayhap a drink would help since, right now, she felt like she was going to cry. She didn’t like being a prisoner and being kept away from her ailing father. Perhaps if she convinced him to drink the Mountain Magic as well, he’d pass out and then she’d be able to escape. Then she’d head to the MacNab territory that wasn’t far from here. “I’ll drink some if ye do as well.”

He looked at the cup as if he were considering it and then raised it to his lips. Her eyes fastened to his throat as he drank it down as if it were naught but water. Then he pressed his lips together, closed his eyes partially and let out a satisfied sigh. “It only gets better with age,” he said, filling up the cup again and handing it to her. “Go ahead. Try it.”

“I will.” She grabbed the cup and took a small sip and tried to hand it back. He looked at her and chuckled. Kicking off his boots, he proceeded to remove his weapon belt. “What’s so funny?” she asked.

“I can tell ye’re a MacNab because ye’re afraid.”

“I’m no’ afraid of ye.” She watched as he removed his tunic next. Her eyes settled on his wide and sturdy naked chest.

“I didna mean me, lass. I meant ye’re afraid of the Mountain Magic.”

“I’m no’ afraid of it. I’m just no’ thirsty. Besides, it is no’ a drink for ladies.”

“I beg to differ.” He plopped down on the bed and stretched his legs out in front of him. “Caleb’s mathair, Kyla, is a little thing yet she can outdrink most of the men when it comes to Mountain Magic. I’ve never seen anythin’ like it. She is a remarkable woman and one of a kind.”

“I could drink it, too, if I wanted.”

“Dinna let me stop ye, lass.” He smiled at her, making her heart flutter as he held out the cup, lounging back on the bed. Hawke’s naked chest called to her and his smile made her heart flutter. “Come,” he coaxed her, letting his eyes sweep down her body. “Sit on the bed with me, Phoebe. I promise I willna bite.”

She stared at him a moment, then slowly uncrossed her arms and let them drop to her sides. “All right,” she answered in a soft whisper, padding across the room and reaching out for the cup. Her eyes interlocked with his as she raised the goblet to her mouth in an attempt to prove to him that she could be a remarkable, one-of-a-kind woman as well. She only took two swallows, but it was enough to make her choke since the whisky was so strong. She put the cup on the bedside table, coughing and clutching her throat with one hand.

“Lass, are ye all right?” he asked with a chuckle, sitting up and pulling her into his arms. Feeling lightheaded from the whisky, his action set her off balance. She leaned up against him, both of them falling back on the bed. In a prone position atop Hawke, Phoebe’s body pressed against his.

“I like this,” he whispered, reaching up and untying the ribbon from her hair, letting it fall loose around her shoulders. “Ye are a bonnie lass.” His fingers grazed the side of her cheek and Phoebe found herself lost in the depths of his bright blue eyes. Hawke looked even more handsome up close. And when he gently pulled her head toward him and lifted his chin, her eyes closed as their lips touched. A delicious shiver swept through her.

“So do I,” she admitted, sighing and rolling off his chest, lying on the bed next to him on her back.

“Have some more Mountain Magic,” he said, handing her the cup. “And tell me about yerself.”

She had wanted to trick him, seduce him, and play the game better than he. But with one more sip of the whisky, the tone of his voice started to sound as if he really cared. Instead of trying to deceive him, she found herself opening up to him.

“My mathair died six years ago, birthin’ my little brathair, Miles. I was Lady of the Castle then and raised him as if I were his mathair.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” They sat up next to each other drinking the whisky with their backs propped against the headboard. “Do ye have other siblin’s?”

She nodded. “I am the oldest, but my sister, Elspeth is fourteen and Agan is only ten. Do ye have siblin’s, too?”

“Well,” he said, pouring himself another cup of the golden liquid. “I do. My faither, as ye already ken, is Storm MacKeefe. My mathair’s name is Wren. She is an English noble. Renard is my older half-brathair. I also have an older sister named Lark, and a younger sister, Heather.”

“Ye are a guid warrior, Hawke. Did ye learn how to fight from yer faither?”

“And my grandda,” said Hawke. “Where did ye learn to throw knives? Ye are a pretty guid aim.”

“Thank ye. I learned on my own. I did it for protection. No’ only mine, but also that of my siblin’s.”

“How often do ye use it?” he asked.

“Only when I have to,” she answered. “I was attacked once by a man who wanted to use me for his pleasures. I was on the road alone, collectin’ herbs in a storm. An illness was sweepin’ through our clan and I wanted to heal everyone.”

“What happened to yer attacker?” asked Hawke.

“I – I killed him,” she said, feeling full of remorse. I didna mean to do it, but my blade went right through his heart.” Phoebe didn’t like the way it felt to take a life, even if it was a roadside bandit.

“Come here, lass,” he said, pulling her into his arms.

“Does it ever get any easier?” she asked.

“To kill?”