"That wee scratch won't even leave a scar."
He was a tough bear of a man, wasn't he? Unwilling to show any weakness. He certainly hadn't been weak last night when he'd held her against the wall and done things she'd never imagined possible. Suddenly, she felt the urge to fan her face. Overheated as she sat by the newly stoked fire, she arose and paced across the room to the window.
"Reid couldn't find me," Cyrus muttered.
She turned. "What do you mean?"
"Before daybreak." He glanced at her. "Reid looked for me in my chamber when Fraser was leaving. If I had been there instead of in the tower, I might have stopped Fraser from striking out on his own."
"Oh." And… what? He held her responsible for diverting his attention, for sidetracking him when he should've been guarding his brother?
"I blame myself," he growled.
"'Haps you wish to blame me as well," she challenged.
"Nay. 'Tis on me alone."
She stepped toward him. "'Tis not your fault Fraser makes rash decisions."
"I've had to keep an eye on him since he could walk. He's always gotten into one scrape after another. He has no fear."
She sat down across from him. "Sounds like you."
"I take calculated risks but have never been reckless. Except for mayhap… last night." He lifted a brow, sending her a dark and mysterious glance.
Heat rushed from her face down her chest, but she refused to avert her eyes. She would show no shame or weakness before him. She knew their indulgence had been irresponsible. But they couldn't go back and change it… nor would she want to. It had been one of the most astonishing experiences of her life.
"'Twas reckless. Imprudent and…" She pressed her lips closed and stared into the fire, just as hot as their tryst. She could think of many words to describe it but should keep them to herself.
"And?" he prompted.
"'Haps I should stop there. You well ken what happened."
"Indeed." The most extraordinary bedding ever. Cyrus observed Elspeth, wishing she would say more. He yearned to know what was in her fascinating mind and what she had thought of their erotic encounter. 'Twas obvious she'd enjoyed it. Her eager responses to him played out in his mind, her sweet female moans and gasps. He had never heard such arousing sounds coming from one of his lovers. Hell, he couldn't even remember who his past lovers were. She had erased them from his memory.
She arose to her feet and headed toward the door. "I'm growing hungry. Would you like to break your fast?"
"Aye." Cyrus followed Elspeth out the door, glad in one way that she'd changed the subject. But in another, their attraction was too intriguing to ignore. Finding his attention drawn to her swaying hips, he remembered the soft, smooth skin of her supple derriere. Sharp arousal spearing him, he forced his eyes upward, focusing on a point over her head as they entered the hall.
As well as her luscious physical attributes, he admired her strength and composure since her injury. In such a situation, a lot of the women he knew would've wrung every last drop of sympathy from those around her, regardless of how minor the wound had been. But Elspeth was a survivor, ready to charge after Fraser to bring him to safety. Prior to last night, he might have wondered if it was because she was enamored with Fraser and his flirtatious charm. Now, Cyrus was near certain she was not. He hoped she looked upon Fraser as a friend or brother.
Brother? Why the devil had that word popped into his head? Fraser would never be her brother by marriage. Cyrus had to stop thinking of such ridiculous things.
After she bid Gracie to bring them porridge, bread, butter, and jam, he sat down beside her at the high table.
When he'd talked to Fraser about staying away from Gracie, his brother said he hadn't realized the serving maid was so young. He hadn't seemed overly interested in the lass anyway. Cyrus figured his brother simply had a habit of staring at any pretty female.
Thankfully, before he left, Fraser had also seemed to give up on seducing Elspeth. Sitting beside her now, felt right and comfortable to Cyrus.
He didn't want to think about the night before. Though he knew 'twas lunacy, he was finding it hellish yearning for someone he could never touch again.
As they ate, he could hardly keep his attention on his bowl of porridge. With a small knife, she spread dark brambleberry jam on the bite of buttered bread, then ate it and licked her enticing lips. How could he have become so dull as to enjoy watching a woman eat?
"Saints," he hissed under his breath.
Her gaze flew to him. "What?"
"Naught. Just cannot believe how daft Fraser has been."
