Page 58 of Bond of a Bewitched Highlander

Slipping his arm from beneath her hand, he headed toward the door. "'Tis almost dawn. Will you be going back to sleep?"

"Nay. Not after that." She rose, wrapping the blanket around herself, then approached him at the door. "I thank you for your kindness." Tugging at his arm, she stretched up on her toes and kissed his warm, bristly cheek. Somehow that felt right, or... like she had done it before.

His hand darting to the back of her neck, he drew her close and captured her lips in a stunning, breath-stealing kiss. Saints! His mouth was firm and devouring. Intoxicating. She opened to him, kissed him back, as a powerful force crashed into her. She had never experienced such a sensual, animalistic kiss. Had she? Or... had he kissed her like this before? Her mind reeled as if she were tumbling back in time.

Brodie pulled away, rasped a Gaelic curse, and slammed out the door.

Elsea's head spun, and she grabbed the doorframe to steady herself. After regaining her balance, she stumbled to the bed and crawled beneath the covers. That had been a startling, almost violent kiss, but—she gasped—it had not been their first.

A torrent of images flashed through her mind, memories of Brodie smiling in the sunshine, winking devilishly, scowling in a dim great hall while his friends teased him and laughed. He wore various kinds of clothing—a fine doublet and tartan, leather armor... shirtless, swimming in a loch... dancing with her, kissing her... gazing at her with affection and dark heat, placing a sapphire betrothal ring on her finger.

"Oh, Brodie," she whispered. "I remember... oh, saints! I remember." She had loved him beyond all. She turned her face into the pillow, immersed in the heartbreaking and beautiful love they had shared.

Chapter 11

Elsea had seen Brodie for the first time in the great hall of Kincreag Castle over two years ago. When his obsidian gaze had caught on hers, she forgot how to breathe. A gale storm spun through her, knocking her off kilter. His magnetic presence drew her with a frightening intensity that made her whole body vibrate. Having never felt anything like it, she retreated. Still, she could not stop glancing at him and his compelling, masculine beauty—midnight hair and brows, a shadow of stubble on his square jaw, high cheekbones... and those bewitching dark eyes. Had there ever been a more handsome man?

Nay.

His broad shoulders, trim waist, and thick arms beneath his fine Highland clothing proclaimed he was a formidable warrior.

When Torr told her his friend Chief Brodie MacCain wanted to meet her, she grew lightheaded with giddiness and nerves.

His hilt-roughened fingers near burning hers, Brodie lifted her hand and kissed her bare knuckles, his sensual lips and heated breath warming her skin. His enticing masculine scent of Scots pine, leather, and a hint of whisky intrigued her. Her pulse skittered.

Their first conversation about knife fighting in the middle of the packed great hall felt like they were alone in their own little world. Everything else faded away as he captivated her and drew her under his spell. She no longer wished to retreat. Nay, she barely stopped herself from stepping closer to him, touching him, yearning to be wrapped up in his enthralling presence.

When he graced her with that warm, inviting smile, he only grew more handsome. In a teasing, affectionate tone, he called her wee warrior, sending an amused thrill racing through her.

Encapsulated in a dream-like bubble, they shared a meal, laughed, and danced.

'Twas late when the cèilidh ended, but she could hardly sleep that night. She lay awake, wishing he had kissed her. Why hadn't he? Not enough privacy? His interested gaze had dropped to her lips several times during the evening, and she was sure she had stared too long at his, wondering what a kiss would feel like. She'd never experienced one before, had never wanted to... until now, and suddenly she was obsessed. Brodie was different. He appealed to her in every way.

The next morn on the stairs when the two of them had been alone, he'd bestowed that spellbinding kiss, and she'd tumbled over the edge of something profound. She had no name for the feeling, but it was a delicious, heavenly delight, an eager excitement to mesh herself to him. She wanted to fist her hands in his plaid and never let him go.

In that moment, her heart bound itself to his.

He'd left, and the following six days of his absence were naught but torture. Would she ever see him again?

When the portcullis had raised with the clanging of metal and chains, and horses' hooves pounded over the cobblestones in the bailey, she'd glanced out the upstairs window, so stunned her breath stalled. The orange light of sunset gleamed over his inky black hair and highlighted his smile when he'd greeted her brothers and shook their hands. Was he real? She burst into tears.

"What is it, m'lady?" Tilly asked.

"Brodie." Elsea gasped, her eyes locked on his face. "He came back."

"Oh, heavens." Tilly hurried to the window. "The handsome chief? Come now, lass. Your eyes will be red."

Grinning so hard her cheeks ached, she wiped the moisture from her eyes.

"Do you wish to change?"

"Nay." Not caring what she wore or how blotchy and red her face was, she dashed from the room.

"He came back. Thank you, God," she whispered as she descended the stairs.

By the time she reached the great hall, Brodie was greeting her father at the entrance. She halted behind her da, her gaze riveted upon Brodie's precious face. His entrancing gaze shifted to hers, and he smiled. Everyone stared at her, but she didn't care. She could not take her eyes from his.

"Lady Elsea," he greeted, his deep voice caressing. Like a dream come to life, he bowed and kissed her hand.