Page 56

The ambient noise of the Great Hall seemed to instantly fade into a dull, distant hum. The heat radiating from the hearth was nothing compared to the sudden, scorching fire that flared in Caelan’s gaze. He looked at her mouth. He looked at the soft curve of her neck. He looked at her with a fierce, consuming hunger that brought the vivid memory of his lips crushing against hers rushing back with violent clarity.

She remembered the taste of him. She remembered the desperate, possessive grip of his large hands sliding into her golden hair in the solar. A delicious ache pooled low in her belly, making her shift restlessly in her wooden chair.

She caught him watching her. He knew she caught him.

For one agonizing, charged heartbeat, neither of them looked away. Then, realizing they were sitting in a room full of highly observant people, Caelan quickly broke the connection. He turned his attention back to Callum, his jaw tightening as he forced himself to focus on the conversation.

Mabel exhaled a shaky breath, picking up her cup of warm cider to hide the vivid blush she knew was creeping rapidly up her neck.

“Ye are glowing, little bird,” Rhea whispered, leaning close so only Mabel could hear.

Mabel nearly choked on her cider. She coughed delicately, setting the cup down and refusing to look at her older sister. “It is just the heat from the fire, Rhea. Morag built it up too high.”

“Aye, I am certain it is the fire,” Rhea teased softly, her eyes dancing with knowing mischief. She delicately picked up a piece of roasted apple. “Though I must admit, I have never seen a fire cause a lass to stare at a man’s mouth for five solid minutes. Ye were practically undressing the poor Laird with yer eyes.”

“I was doing nay such thing!” Mabel hissed defensively, her cheeks burning hotter.

“Mabel, I am yer sister,” Rhea murmured, reaching under the table to give Mabel’s hand an affectionate squeeze. “Ye daenae have to hide it from me. I see the way he looks at ye when he thinks nay one is paying attention. He watches ye like a starving man staring at a feast.”

“He is just being protective,” Mabel argued stubbornly though her heart fluttered wildly at Rhea’s observation. “He promised Papa he would keep me safe. That is all it is.”

Rhea offered a soft, sympathetic smile. “If ye truly believe that, then ye are as blind as a newborn pup. But I will let ye keep yer secrets for tonight.”

The doors from the kitchen swung open again. Isla bustled into the hall, carrying two large pitchers of fresh ale. The red-haired maid was practically glowing with excitement, expertly dodging a pair of hunting hounds as she made her way to the table.

“Fresh ale for the guests!” Isla announced cheerfully, slamming the pitchers down near Rowan.

“Ye are an angel, Isla,” Rowan declared, grabbing a pitcher immediately. “Unlike Morag, who actively wishes for me demise.”

“Morag just wishes ye would wipe yer boots before ye walk through her corridors,” Isla retorted smoothly, pouring a full cup for Duncan. “She spent all morning scrubbing the stones. If ye track mud in again, I willnae be able to save ye from the wooden spoon.”

“I fear nay spoon,” Rowan proclaimed bravely.

“Ye say that now,” Duncan muttered darkly. “Wait until she catches ye in the pantry.”

Mabel could not help herself. She laughed. It was a bright, clear sound that bubbled up from her chest and echoed warmly against the high stone ceiling.

The moment the sound left her lips, Caelan went still.

Mabel glanced toward the head of the table. Caelan was no longer pretending to listen to Callum. He was staring directly at her again, his gray eyes dark and dilated. The mask was gone. He was looking at her with such raw, unfiltered adoration that it physically hurt her to breathe. He was looking at her like a man starving at a feast. He held it for one heartbeat too long then looked away.

A sudden, overwhelming urge to close the distance between them seized her. She wanted to stand up, walk around the long wooden table, and slide onto his lap. She wanted to feel his heavy, scarred arms wrap securely around her waist.

Caelan dropped his gaze to his ale and did not lift it again.

“So, Duncan,” Callum said loudly, oblivious to the silent, electric warfare happening across his table, “I hear ye had a bit of trouble near the eastern bog last week. Something about a misstep and a very angry flock of geese?”

Duncan choked on his drink, glaring murderous daggers at Rowan. “Who told ye that? MacLarren, if ye have been spreading rumors about me patrols, I will gut ye on the training yard tomorrow.”

“I swear on me life, I said nothing!” Rowan laughed, holding his hands up in surrender. “Though it is a fantastic story. The great Captain of Blackthorn Keep fleeing from a dozen angry birds. Truly, songs will be written about it.”

“They were nesting!” Duncan defended himself, his weathered face flushing a dull red. “And they are vicious creatures. I would rather face a line of pikemen than a mother goose defending her eggs.”

“A wise tactical decision,” Caelan chimed in, his voice perfectly deadpan. “I have ordered the men to avoid the bog. We daenae have the manpower to wage a war against poultry.”

The entire table erupted into laughter. Even Duncan managed a grudging, reluctant chuckle, shaking his head at his laird’s rare attempt at a joke.

Mabel watched Caelan smile, a true, genuine smile that reached his eyes and transformed his face. The brutal, jagged scar slashing across his cheek did not make him look terrifying in this light. It simply made him look like a man who had survived the darkest parts of the world, only to find the light again.