Page 82 of Bond of a Bewitched Highlander

He wanted this meal over with. One of the men said grace, and the servants brought the food. He made certain Elsea had plenty on her trencher, then he started devouring his food—buttered bread, sea bass, pigeon, roasted carrots and parsnips. He was too busy chewing to talk to her anyway, and he was glad.

His mother leaned around Elsea and eyed him critically. "Brodie, you are eating like a starving boar pig," she whispered. "Slow down, or you will choke yourself."

Elsea bit her lip, squelching a grin.

He swallowed. "I am far more than five summers old, Mother."

Elsea snorted, and he feared she might be the one who would choke.

"Well, you've always been a saucy lad," his mother chided softly.

Elsea placed the napkin over her mouth, smothering a laugh, and her eyes glimmered with tears of mirth.

Blast it all! He hated being the butt of their jokes. Rolling his eyes, he continued eating in earnest, for he must get to the island soonest.

Elsea leaned toward him. "Did I thank you?" she whispered.

He drank a sip of ale. "For what?"

"Dragging me from the sea and saving my life."

He shrugged. "There's no need."

"Well, I wish to thank you."

"You're welcome," he murmured. He couldn't allow anyone to drown, now, could he? Unless it was the whoreson Talnaroch himself.

Thinking of the bastard, Brodie could not stop his mood from plummeting further. He shoved his chair back and rose. "If you will excuse me, ladies." After giving a brief bow, he leapt down from the dais and headed toward the exit. 'Twas time to slip into Dunrhyne Castle.

***

ELSEA FROWNED AS BRODIE strode across the great hall, his mother grumbling beside her.

He was leaving for Dunrhyne to rescue any female selkies held there, but she worried for his safety. He would take several males with him, but they might not be as well trained as Talnaroch's vicious men. And the witch could help the raiders again.

Elsea needed to remind him.

"Please excuse me, m'lady," Elsea said to his mother. "I must tell Brodie something." Not waiting for her response, Elsea hastened to the door and stepped outside into the cool, blustery evening. 'Twas the far edge of gloaming, and the wind had picked up. She stepped back inside, grabbed a cloak from a peg by the door, and put it on as she hurried down the steps. She drew the large hood over her head. 'Twas Brodie's cloak, for it held his masculine scent—salty sea breezes, Scots pine, wood smoke, and whisky blended with his special herbal soap.

Her earlier conversation with Finnian weighed heavily on her mind as she dashed across the bailey. Where was Brodie? Already outside the walls?

At the portcullis, she approached the guard who stood by the side gate, a key still in his hand. "Please unlock the gate. I'm going with his lairdship."

The stocky, gray-bearded guard frowned. "But a storm is approaching, m'lady."

"I must warn him of something dangerous. 'Tis of vital importance."

"Very well. Hurry back." The guard bowed and unlocked the small gate.

She dashed toward the cliff's edge, the wind hitting her face and dragging at her clothes as it raged overland. Below, the silvery whitecaps of the sea outlined Brodie's silhouette. Another man stood with him, a guard.

Brief snatches of moonlight beamed between the sailing clouds, partially illuminating the craggy stone steps down the cliffside. She must hurry before he shifted and left.

Halfway down, Brodie yelled at her. "Return to the keep!"

"Nay." Her heart ached, and the wind stung her eyes. A storm could be dangerous, even to a selkie. And the earl's men were deadly. She must warn him and tell him to have a care.

The guard said something to him.