Page 23 of Scot of Desire
Bran’s pulse was racing. He didn’t know if he was angry at her for coming here, or thrilled because he wanted to kiss her and ask her to remove that revealing nightgown. As he sat before her, resting his elbows on his knees, he kept his gaze on her face, trying his best to avoid tracing her curves through the robe and chemise again as he had already done countless times since she had entered his chamber.
“I need tae talk about this marriage.”
“It will nae happen. How many times dae I have tae tell ye that –” Yet Bran was cut off by her shaking head as she looked away into the fireplace.
“Ye ken well enough deep down that it isnae something either ye or Tad can vow completely. Me grandfaither’s contract may be too binding fer us tae escape it.”
Bran rubbed a hand across his jaw. It was something he had been doing his best to try and ignore. Some alliances were binding, but this one had been made so long ago, he had no wish to believe it could still be valid.
“Dae ye think Cillian would be a cruel husband?” she asked, still looking into the fire.
“I dinnae ken the man.”
“Yet ye met him today. Ye ken about as much of him as I dae. What is yer judgement?”
“Ye care tae hear what I think?” Bran asked, his voice quiet. She turned to look at him again and nodded.
“I always care what ye think.” Her words weren’t helping matters. He felt intoxicated by her just being there.
“Dram?” he suggested, and she nodded again.
He stood and walked across the room, moving to a table where he had a flagon of whisky and a few glasses. He poured out two, then crossed toward her, being very careful not to let their fingers brush as he passed her one of the glasses.
“I think…” He waited until she looked up from the glass and into his eyes, “that Cillian Grant looks at ye like some prize. Because of that, I am quite certain that in marriage he would start by treating ye as some fine piece of gold he wears upon his person, but in time, he may grow bored and start hunting another prize.”
“Aye. I reckon ye are right.” She took a small sip of the whisky as he sat down once again on the stool. He was leaning forward off the stool, so close to her that if he reached out an inch more, he could brush her knee with his fingers.
Dinnae touch her. Dinnae take advantage of her being in yer chamber when she is this vulnerable.
Yet he couldn’t understand why she would come here dressed like this if she merely wished to talk.
“Ye can always say nay when ye reach the altar,” he said hurriedly, desperate to keep his thoughts on Ilyssa’s situation and away from her. “Ye can say nay, and the priest will hear ye loud and clear. The wedding would have tae be halted.”
“And what then, eh?” She nearly dropped her glass in sudden tension. “If I break the terms of me grandfaither’s alliance, then according tae the terms, the clans will nay longer be friends. They will be enemies. How long dae ye reckon it will be until Laird Gilroy Grant is at our borders trying tae take a chunk fer himself? This contract ended the last feud between the clans, which was over land. It is nae so simple as me saying nay, is it? If we go tae war, men could die,” she finished in a quiet and horrified voice.
Bran did not have the words to comfort her now and could only grimace. He had advised his elder brother often in matters that were diplomatic, he knew the importance of alliances being kept and of vows being adhered to as well. War could not only deplete clans but destroy the men and women that lived within.
They bring too much pain and destruction tae risk them as the people responsible fer the wellbeing of the clan.
“Yer clan would nae be alone,” Bran said, desperate to say something. “The Mackintoshes would always be with ye. Ye ken that.”
“Ye would commit yer people tae a war as well? Because of me? Now that is mad.” She stood hurriedly, drinking the last of her whisky and moving toward the fire. He followed her, a sudden yearning not to let her go too far. They ended up both with one hand on the mantelpiece, their tankards deposited there, as they faced one another. “Me happiness isnae worth it.”
“Then I’ll find another way,” Bran said, moving toward her. He was well aware he was bringing them as close as they had been the night before in his chamber, but he couldn’t stop himself. She was too tempting in that gown, far too revealing. “Even if we cannae break the terms of the treaty, I willnae see ye miserable fer the rest of yer life, Ilyssa.”
She smiled, though it was a sad smile, her hand stretching out toward him. His heart hammered in his chest as she caught the edge of the jerkin, clutching onto it. It anchored them together in the most thrilling way for him.
“Ye always have been the protector, have ye nae?” This time when she said the words, they were much softer than when she had said them the night before. “Ye protect all of us, and… and me, most particularly,” she said with plain curiosity. “Why, Bran?”
He had no words. He just moved that inch closer to her. Their heads were so near together that the kiss would be easy to take, ifhe would just do it. His lips hovered over hers and she didn’t pull away. If anything, her hand tightened around his jerkin even more than before.
“What’s happening between us?” she asked, her voice breathy. “These lines that have always been there. They’re blurred now, arenae they?”
“Aye, they are,” he whispered. His lips practically brushed hers as he heard her sharp intake of breath. Was that a breath of hope? Or something more?
Then he remembered why he was here. Bran was here to keep her safe and kissing her when they were alone together in his chamber, when she was wearing next to nothing, was not protecting her.
“Ye should leave,” he whispered, lifting his head. Her lips pressed firmly together in a harsh line. “Before we both dae something we may regret, Ilyssa.” He had softened his voice, trying to make his words as gentle as possible, but she had snatched her hand away from his jerkin as if she had been burned and turned to face the mantelpiece. There was sudden tension in her.
