Page 30

Aye.

Aye, leannán, I do. Odin’s bones, I do.

If Bryston didn’t kiss her, taste her mouth, mingling his breath with hers, he’d go mad. He cupped her face, and a ragged sigh escaped her as their lips met.

Fool,he chided. This can never be.

Mayhap,his heart countered. Mayhap it can, once Le Sauvage is dealt with.

Branwen parted her mouth, and he slipped his tongue inside, parrying and jousting with hers. He clasped her around her trim waist, needing her closer and yet closer still.

A small mewling moan escaped her, and she plunged her fingers into the hair at the back of his head, holding him to her hungry mouth.

A coarse laugh echoed from inside the inn, followed by the sound of glass breaking then an outraged, haughty male diatribe in rapid French.

Bryston eased away, reluctantly withdrawing his mouth from hers.

“Bryston?” She whispered, uncertain and confused, the warmth of her breath wisping against his open mouth. His breath came in short pants, a raging erection pulsing at his groin.

“Och, Branwen. I ken.”

And he did know, finding it as impossible as she to put into words whatever this was enthralling them both. He rested his forehead against hers while trailing a finger over her creamy cheek with his forefinger.

“Now isna the time, Branwen. We’ll discuss it later, I vow to ye.”

After this business with De La Beche and Le Sauvage had been dealt with.

She shifted away, stumbling over the bag he’d left by her chair.

He caught her elbow and steadied her.

Glancing down, she eyed the overstuffed satchel. “What is that?”

She brought her gaze up to meet his.

“A few things I picked up for ye. Gowns, gloves, and the like.” Items she’d never have asked him for, he’d learned.

“Thank ye. That was verra thoughtful of ye.” Her expression softened, her gaze seeking his as gratitude made her beautiful face glow.

God’s teeth.

When she looked at him that way, Bryston believed anything was possible.

Hadn’t the king recently awarded him The Most Ancient and Most Noble Order of the Thistle, and also bestowed estates upon him for capturing and bringing to justice those conspiring against His Majesty?

Bryston was respectable now, and wealthy, too.

Respectable enough for a woman like Branwen?

He’d never cared about respectability with Delphine, and self-recrimination and hot betrayal roiled in his gut.

“Shall we dine, lass?”

“Do I have time to change?” she asked huskily, her lips red and swollen from his ravenous kisses.

Was she embarrassed to wear the same gown a third night in the dining room?

“Aye.” He nodded and swallowed.

Hewasn’t the least hungry for food. Nae, what he wanted was the luscious woman before him. But could he break a vow he’d made to his dead wife?

Wouldn’t that make him the worst sort of disloyal bastard?

He greatly feared that the silver-eyed beauty had bewitched him already, and it was too late for doubts and recriminations.

I’m sorry, Delphine.

Forgive me, my sweet tropical flower.

I’ve failed ye, the treasure of my heart.