Page 13 of Claimed
As the evening wore on, and they chatted amicably about the events of the last few months, Drew found herself observing the man seated across from her.
Broderick wore a cream-colored léine, open at the neck, and Drew’s attention kept straying to that opening, where dark gold curls peeked over the top of the garment.
Dreamily, she wondered what the rest of his chest looked like, under the tunic.
Good Lord, ye really have over-indulged on the wine, Drew checked herself. Even so, her gaze still lingered upon him.
“Carr,” she said finally, enjoying the sound of his first name on her lips. She usually addressed him by his family name, but this evening the wine had relaxed her formality around him. “All these years ye have served my family … and I know very little about ye.”
He reclined back in his seat, watching her. “What would ye like to know, milady?”
“Yer kin … where are they?”
His mouth lifted at the corners. “All over Scotland these days … but my kin hail from Cork, in Éire. I was born there.”
“And do yer parents still live? Do ye have any siblings?”
He lifted the goblet to his lips and took a measured sip. “My parents died years ago. I’m the youngest of six sons. My father was once a wealthy man, a land-owner in Cork, but he spent every last bit of silver he possessed on finery, rich food … and women. He died a pauper.”
Drew raised her eyebrows. This tale was getting more interesting by the moment. “So ye set off to seek yer own fortune?”
He nodded, meeting her eye. His expression was veiled. Carr Broderick was definitely a hard man to read.
“No wonder ye and Campbell became friends,” she said after a pause. “Ye are both the youngest sons of big families, forced to make yer own way in the world.”
Broderick huffed a soft laugh. “We’ve always had that in common, aye.”
Drew took a sip from her goblet, still holding his gaze. It was strange really, but the more she learned about Broderick this evening, the more he fascinated her.
Why haven’t we ever spoken like this before?
The answer was simple enough, she supposed. Their positions at Dunan had been vastly different. While they’d lived there, she’d seen him only as one of her brother’s warriors.
“Ye are quite an enigma, Carr Broderick,” she admitted. “A man who never lets the world see what he’s thinking.”
He laughed once more, although his gaze turned watchful. “Aye … but there’s wisdom in that, Lady Drew.”
Her mouth quirked. “But haven’t ye ever wanted to take a wife … to have a family? It seems a lonely life ye have chosen.”
As soon as the words were out, she wished she could have chased them back into her mouth. Even for her, the question was too bold, too personal.
Broderick leaned back, his fingers sliding up and down the stem of his goblet. Breaking eye-contact with him, Drew stared down at his hands. They were big, but surprisingly graceful for a man of his broad build.
Blinking hard, Drew forced her gaze back up to his face. The wine was loosening her up far too much.
“Ye are right, milady,” he said finally. His tone was measured, neutral, giving no clue as to whether she’d offended him or not. “There have been times when I have questioned the road I’ve taken … but my life in The Dunan Guard was important to me. Until a few months ago, my loyalty to yer brother was unshakable.”
“But ye appear to live like a monk. Why?”
Once again, the words were too bold, and the moment they slid off her tongue, Drew clamped her jaw shut.
That’s it,she vowed.No more wine for me.
This time, Broderick smiled—and it was a slow, sensual expression that made Drew grow still. “What makes ye think I live like a monk?”
7
Stolen Moments
