Page 64 of The Highlander Steals a Virgin
“Storm’s close,” she said, glancing toward the window.
Rhys moved to latch the shutters, and when he turned, she was staring through the rain-streaked glass, her face unreadable.
“Me maither loved storms,” she murmured. “Said they were the world’s way of cleaning itself. Whenever one rolled through, she’d light candles in every room. Said the house should glow while the sky howled to show it just how unmovable it was.”
Rhys said nothing, sensing the memory went deeper.
“One night,” a soft chuckle escaping before she continued, softer now, “we were caught in it. Me faither had just begun his climb toward power, but that night… he was just a man to me. He pulled us both under his cloak, and we laughed, soaked to the bone. Me maither kissed his cheek. And for a few minutes, I believed they were in love. Now storms only remind me of his ire.”
She turned to face him then. Her arms folded loosely at her middle. “’Tis a strange thing, isnae it? How storms can bring out the best and worst in people.”
Rhys crossed the space between them.
“Aye,” he said. “They can.”
He didn’t touch her.
Didn’t speak again.
They stood in the silence as the wind howled outside for a while.
The storm had dulled into a soft, steady patter against the glass.
She turned from the window, heart still tight from the memory she’d shared. The caress of her mother’s laughter still clung to her skin, warming it slightly. The moment was so distant from her now, it felt borrowed. But Rhys didn’t move. He stood just behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat of him even without a touch.
“What will ye do now,” she asked quietly.
He didn’t answer right away. She turned slightly to face him, her voice a little stronger. “If ye arenae attacking Murdoch Keep… what then?”
His jaw twitched. The faint flicker in his eyes betrayed him.
“But ye now ken what ye will doifye decide to attack, then. And I’ve just helped ye.”
Rhys clicked his cheek, gaze unreadable. But he didn’t respond. He stepped toward her instead, and the question dissolved on her tongue.
He was so close to her now.
And suddenly, none of it mattered. His presence settled her warring mind like a balm. Her breath slowed, and her worry eased.
She dropped her eyes to the rug between them.
I havenae expressed me wishes well… such a mess of feelings – If he attacks, though, then what?
Sure, her father deserved retribution. For what he did to her. To Finn. To their people. But if she played a part in that destruction, even indirectly, that would mean she was just like him.
The thoughts coiled tight inside her chest.
Rhys’s fingers brushed hers. Just the barest of graze. Her breath caught, but before she could say anything more, he pulled away and nodded toward the door.
“I’ll walk ye back.”
Amara nodded, feeling a new sense of need to feel his lips against hers.
Their journey back to her chambers was silent. Their arms brushed once in the narrow corridor, but neither of them commented.
He paused beside her door when they reached it. “Rest well, lass,”
She looked up at him, suddenly at a loss for words.
