But that was only because he hadn’t made love to her yet. He’d spent every night of the last three months holding her as she slept, but soon, he’d beunderthe blankets with her, holding her naked body to his…and he was sure this level of self-denial wasn’t healthy. His sexual frustration was affecting his decision-making, for God’s sake!
“Try to smile, Lyon,” Keith hissed “Ye look as if ye swallowed vinegar.”
“I always look that way. It’s the scars.”
His brother snorted and settled at his side, arms folded in an identical pose. The man was broader in the shoulders lately. With Lyon “settled”—as he called the new hustle and bustle of the castle—Keith had begun to take his pugilismskills elsewhere, and was now gaining a reputation as a bare-knuckled champion.
“But ye cannae look that way today, because ye’re marrying the woman ye love,” Keith murmured. “Who, by the way, looks magnificent.”
His gaze jerked to his brother. “Ye’ve seen her? Is she feeling well? She’s no’ overwhelmed?”
“Yer bride is strong, Lyon, and fully recovered. She’ll no’ even limp down the aisle to ye, I vow. But…” Keith snorted and shook his head. “I suspect she’s as desperate for the wedding night as ye are. I’ve never kenned two people to deny themselves for so long!”
“She was wounded,” he grumbled, as he rolled his shoulders, then dropped his arms. “I didnae want to risk her healing.”
No matter how difficult it had been to keep from consummating their love.
Clearing his throat, he adjusted the sporran which rested against his kilt, preventing the tenting from being too obvious. “Besides, I dinnae need to take pointers on making love from mywee brother, eh?”
“Why? I have some good ones,” Keith quipped with a wink.
Lyon groaned, knowing his brother was finally—finallyspreading his wings and finding his own future. Months ago, he’d shied away from thanking Keith properly for all he’d done for Lyon after the fire, but now that he was leaving…
“Thank ye,” Lyon blurted.
When his brother glanced at him in confusion, Lyon cleared his throat and shifted his gaze across the great hall. “Thank ye for being here with me all these years. For fussing over me and dragging me back to life and worrying about me and helping me exercise.”
He couldfeelKeith’s eyes on him, but the younger man didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then he cleared his throat and said, “Dinnae forget dusting yer study.”
Lyon’s lips twitched, remembering how much of a beast he’d been when Mrs. Oliphant had rearranged his papers. “Aye, and dusting my study.” He took a deep breath and shifted slightly, so he could meet his brother’s gaze. “Thank ye, Keith.”
The younger man’s freckled face split into a grin and he dropped his arms. “I was glad to do it, Lyon. Ye needed me, and I needed a purpose in life.”
“And now ye’ve found another, aye?”
Keith, always better at expressing his emotions, clasped Lyon on the shoulder. “Now that ye nae longer need me, ye mean? Now that ye’re marrying the woman ye love and have a future enriching the minds of readers across Britain?”
“Aye,” Lyon growled at the teasing. “That.”
The younger man grinned and patted his shoulder again. “I’m going to London. One of my promoters tells me I have a chance at competing against the best the country can offer. I’ll train and I’ll fight, and I’m going to make a name for myself.”
Suddenly overwhelmed with pride for his youngerbrother, Lyon dropped his arms, reached out, and pulled Keith into a tight embrace, causing them both to grunt.
He pounded the redheaded man on his back, and felt Keith exhale and sink into the hug.
“I’m proud of ye, Keith,” he murmured. “I dinnae have cause to be?—”
“Dinnae be stupid,” his brother interrupted, poking him in the side. “Ye’re the one who let me practice against ye all these years.”
Keith’spracticeof the pugilism skills he’d learned at school were what had kept Lyon alive. Without the constant competition, the drive to push his muscles and body and mind to heal, Lyon would have wasted away after the fire.
He knew the truth; he owed his brother far more than he could ever repay.
“Anything ye need,” he announced gruffly, pulling away far enough to clasp Keith’s shoulders and pin him with a serious glare. “Money, introductions, anything. Ye tell me, and it’s yers.”
His younger brother might be illegitimate, but hewasthe son of an earl, and understood how beneficial such connections could be. His wry smile told Lyon as much.
“Thank ye, brother. I’ll take ye up on that. I’m going to win on my own merit, but getting into the right clubs and bouts would make things faster at least.”
