Page 116 of Bond of a Bewitched Highlander

BRODIE SAT WITH GAVIN and Torr near the huge hearth in the crowded great hall, sipping whisky. Descending the stairs had not been as difficult as Brodie had expected. The lightheadedness was only marginal. Torr had walked in front of him and Gavin behind, to catch him if he should black out. His clansmen and women had greeted him with smiles, happy to see he was on the mend.

The noisy room grew quiet as the ladies descended the steps and entered, Brodie's mother first, then Dani, Cat and Elsea.

"Visions of loveliness." Gavin stood and bowed.

"Indeed, ladies." Torr followed suit.

Brodie pushed himself up and inclined his head. He moved to the side, holding to the chair back and waiting for the pain from the movement to diminish.

All four ladies wore elegant, colorful gowns of silk or velvet, but Brodie's gaze locked on Elsea. She was a vision in indigo. So lovely, in fact, his brain wouldn't function. Her dress was more modest than the other young ladies', but that didn't matter. She possessed the air of a demure debutante. The same entranced bewilderment he had experienced a couple of years ago, when he'd seen her for the first time, struck him. It seemed a lifetime ago and... 'twas hard to draw a breath.

His mother's arm was linked through Elsea's as they approached him.

He bowed slightly, and they curtsied. His mother smiled, then hurried away to the dais.

Brodie's gaze locked on Elsea and her stunning beauty. Damnation. He ground his teeth against the temptation of her as she inched closer. How was it possible to crave someone who'd destroyed you? Her blond warrior braids were gone, replaced by soft, feminine curls. He wanted to run his hand through them and wind them around his fingers.

"Well, look at you, bonnie lass," he murmured.

Her cheeks bloomed with rosy color, and she glanced down. "I thank you. You look rather handsome yourself." Her gaze lifted, dark azure filled with emotion.

'Twas like a punch in the gut.

He glanced away. What the hell was he doing? 'Twas madness to compliment her or look too deeply into her eyes.

"How are you feeling? Are you in pain?" she asked.

"I'll be fine." He offered his arm.

When she wrapped her hand around his elbow, a jolt shot through him like lightning. Her touch was light, and her heather honey scent stole his thoughts. Amid the crowd, they proceeded toward the dais and the high table.

"Lady Elsea looks lovely this eve, aye?" Giving him a pointed look, Torr reached down and handed her up.

"Indeed." Brodie lifted a brow. He was certain she was well aware of how fetching she was.

As Brodie moved behind Elsea, seated in the chair, her neck caught his attention. He remembered kissing her there on numerous occasions in the past. Little curled tendrils of blond hair escaped her chignon and teased at her smooth skin.

Torr had seated her in the chair beside Brodie's, the chief's chair, in the center. Besides, all the other chairs were taken, and he had no choice but to sit beside her. They were all playing matchmaker and trying to set him up. Frowning, he glanced around at Torr and Gavin, who were whispering to their wives. When the men visited, they generally sat on either side of him so they could converse easily, but with all the ladies present, they sat farther away. He glanced at his mother, and she sent him a wee, smug grin. He frowned in return. Blast it, he hated being manipulated, especially by her.

After the priest said grace, servants brought out food and drink. The scents of spiced wine, ale, fresh bread, and roast meat filled the air. They placed a platter before him and Elsea, containing a chunk of roast venison and a small loaf of bread.

"Smells wonderful. I'll cut it," she said, barely loud enough to be heard over the scores of clansmen and women talking, laughing, and thunks of tankards or trenchers on the wooden tables.

"Nay, I can." Brodie would not be seen as a weakling. He took his knife and sliced the bread into a few thick portions, the healing muscles of his chest aching in protest. He carved the roast thinly for her benefit, then served her half on her wooden trencher.

"Goodness, 'tis too much," she whispered. He relished her intimate tone. It took him back to a far more innocent time.

"Nonsense. I'm certain you must be hungry."

"You are the one who needs to eat plenty to help your wound heal and rebuild your strength."

He glanced at her, seeing no malice in her eyes. "Trying my best. Salt?" he asked, gathering a pinch between his thumb and finger from the salt cellar.

"Aye. I'm glad you're recovering quickly."

He remembered how much salt she liked and sprinkled it over her sliced roast. "Fast healing is a selkie trait." After salting his own roast, he took a bite.

"Oh, thank goodness."