Page 33 of My Scot, My Surrender
“I don’t like crying.” She sniffled into his shirt and felt a rumble of laughter echo in his chest.
“And I don’t like losing my temper,” he said. “So we’re both at sixes and sevens.”
She peered up at him with a wry look, slanting her brows. “You wouldn’t know what a temper is, Sassenach. Trust me, with brothers like mine, I’m an expert.”
He matched her expression with one of his own. “I’m learning. My father, Monty, was quite even-keeled.”
“He was English, wasn’t he?”
“No. Scottish.”
“A Scot?” she replied. “If your birth mother was Scot as well as your father, then that makes you—”
“A bastard. They weren’t married, Sorcha. And considering I was raised in England, I don’t consider myself Scottish. I have no ties here. No family that I know of, nor that I want to know of. I know where I belong.”
She sealed her lips, swallowing a ready reply about a person needing to know where they come from.Whothey come from. Blood ties mattered, even if a man was born on the wrong side of the blanket.
A pained look shuttered his features, tugging at her insides. Sorcha knew she should pull away. The harsh way he’d admitted his regret about marrying her that morning had hurt something fierce. But resting against him now, sensing his vulnerability and hearing the steady, soothing rhythm of his heartbeat, made everything outside the cavern seem to disappear. It almost made her want to forget what he’d said, but words could scar just as deeply as a pair of claws. Or a sword. She shifted slightly and winced.
“Your wound?” he asked.
“A scratch,” she said, eyeing the grimy linen. “I’ll have to clean it properly and find some packing herbs to ward off infection.” She grunted, feeling a renewed wave of self-disgust. “I was careless.”
“Without you, Sorcha, more men would have died,” Brandt said quietly. “You acted bravely, and you’re one hell of a warrior.”
“You’re a competent fighter, yourself,” she said.
It felt like a truce. Like they were starting afresh. She offered him a slight smile.
“Only competent?” he asked, amusement lightening his tone and drawing up the corner of his mouth.
“For a stable master.”
“I have my skills,” he said.
Indeed, he did. Her gaze dropped to his sensuous mouth and darted away. Unconsciously, she shivered, recalling one of his skills in particular in devastating detail. Their eyes met, and she fought to conceal her thoughts from him. It was a losing battle. That stare of his could unmask the secrets of a saint, let alone her too transparent desires. Her cheeks flamed, and she licked her lips. His eyes fastened to her mouth, and the inadvertent motion of her tongue wiped the humor from both his face and hers.
It had to be the shortest-lived truce in existence.
“Sorcha,” he began and, knowing what he was going to say, she wriggled from his grasp.
“There’s no need to speak of it,” she said. “It was a mistake, like you said.”
Sorcha knew he’d growled the declaration to what he’d believed to be an empty tent. His conscience, perhaps, had been his only intended audience. Which made it even more painfully honest and impossible to ignore. When this was over, she would gladly give him Lockie and a dozen of her father’s horses for his trouble. It was the least he deserved.
Brandt scrubbed a palm over his face. “I was upset at the situation. And I was…frustrated.”
“Why?”
A sudden smile made his eyes crinkle. “Waking up in the arms of a half-naked woman can do that to a man.”
“Oh.Oh.” Her mouth went dry. He meant sexual frustration. Every nerve in her body came scorchingly alive. Sorcha couldn’t think, couldn’t formulate any response that required more than one syllable.
“Clearly, I’ve shocked the speech from you.” He made it sound like he’d won a badge of honor.
Bristling, Sorcha opened her mouth, closed it, and opened it again when a noise outside the cavern startled them both.Thank God, was her first thought, and then, Oh God, Ronan!
Brandt rocked to his feet, a hand in the air to signal her to wait. She heard the distinct sound of horse tack and an irritated nicker, probably ten yards away, closer to the river. Had Coxley followed them? Found them. Sorcha’s stomach collapsed. Brandt moved slowly to the cavern entrance…and then the tension along his shoulders fell away.
