Chapter 11

Gilroy could still feel the rage thundering through him. Yet he was not an active man when it came to such rage. Solid like stone, with his hands feeling heavy like granite, he stayed fixed in his chair as he looked at Laird Tad in his room.

So close. We were so close tae losing her.

Gilroy released a short breath he had been holding, determined to keep his true feelings of rage as masked as he possibly could. One quick glance toward his son, Cillian, who sat on the edge of the stone windowsill nearby told him all he needed to know about his son’s feelings on the matter.

Two days before, their plans had nearly come to an end.

“Well,” Gilroy cleared his throat and began to speak, doing his best to keep his voice level. “How is Lady Ilyssa doing?”

“She is much recovered. She has her full strength again, and she is restless. Ilyssa has never been one for following orders and staying in her chamber,” Laird Tad said with a small smile, though it was fleeting. He sat in a seat nearby, staring at his booted feet beneath him rather than Gilroy. “As fer Bran…”

I didnae ask how yer friend was feeling.

Yet Gilroy kept the snapped and angry thought to himself, merely raising his chin a little higher as he listened.

“The fever hasnae yet broken. We have moved him tae his chamber now, and he sometimes wakes. The healer hopes he will recover soon. Ilyssa is constantly at his side.”

Gilroy exchanged an uneasy look with Cillian.

This isnae good. We’ll have tae dae something about it.

“Me laird,” Tad leaned forward. Before Tad had even spoken, Gilroy recognized this tone. Once again, he was going to do his best to get out of this arrangement. Gilroy steeled himself for it, his hands perfectly still on the settle chair’s arms. “About this betrothal.” Tad paused and reached into the pocket of his jerkin. He turned a sheet of paper over in his hands then leaned forward, proffering it to Gilroy. “Here is what I am prepared tae offer ye fer ending it. It has been agreed by me councilors.”

Gilroy took the paper. He smiled a little, pretending to be interested and unfurled the paper.

“A generous offer,” he said, his voice sweeping and grand as he always tried to be. “Much land, alliances, even an alliance with yer neighboring clan, Bran’s clan, I believe.” At his words, Tad nodded. Slowly, Gilroy folded up the paper again, placing it down on the desk between them. “But me answer is nay. I appreciate the offer, but me son wants his bride.”

Laird Tad’s face was immovable, practically indiscernible, though he glanced Cillian’s way. As he did so, Gilroy spied a muscle twitching in Laird Tad’s jaw.

He despises us fer this. He is just trying his best tae hide it.

“The land is a better off fer yer. Significantly so.”

“Yet we will keep tae the deal already made.” Gilroy stood, showing silently their discussion was at an end.

For a few seconds, Tad said nothing. He stared at the desk between them, and Gilroy wondered if Tad intended to battle for the sake of his sister’s future. Then Tad seemed to think better about making any future objection. The laird stood and offered a single bow of his head to Gilroy. He made to sweep from the room, but in the doorway, hesitated.

“A word of wise tae yer sister, me laird,” Gilroy called to Laird Tad. “She is too valuable tae risk her life fer the sake of a village child. That boy out on the ice was nothing but the son of one of our maids. She shouldnae take such a risk again.”

Laird Tad’s expression was not so easy to hide this time. He was plainly horrified.

“I’ll leave me sister tae act as her heart wishes. It is one of the finest things about her, her noble heart.” He flicked his gaze to Cillian. “May her future husband remember that.”

He bowed once more to the pair of them, clearly having no wish to stay any further in their company, then left the room.

Gilroy waited some time after the door had closed before he spoke again, determined to wait until Tad had walked away. Eventually, when he was certain that Tad would not be able to hear them, he turned to Cillian with raised eyebrows.

“We have a problem,” Cillian said, his voice husky before Gilroy could even speak of it.

“I ken.” Gilroy nodded.

“This Bran.” Cillian scoffed outwardly. “A politician he may be, but he has her heart. If we wish her tae stand in that church and nae refuse her vows, we must be rid of Bran fer good.”

“Very well.” Gilroy nodded. It was a matter of business now, just making the arrangements. “Then we shall be rid of him.”

Bran’s eyes shot open. He could hear someone in the room moving around. Someone had picked up a poker and was stirring the fire, he could feel the heat of it across the room, hear the cracking sound of the spitting wood too, but for the first time in days, it didn’t feel as if his body was radiating its own heat.

With sudden strength, Bran sat up in the bed, something he had struggled to do with ease over the last few days.

At his movement, there was a gasp by the fireplace. He looked around, seeing that Catreena nearly dropped the poker in her grasp in surprise. On the other side of the fire, Ilyssa was fast asleep in a settle bench, her feet curled up on a cushion beside her.

Catreena covered her mouth in amazement, her eyes wide and glinting in the firelight.

“Good evening,” Bran said as nonchalantly as he could and moved to the edge of the bed, pulling on a pair of boots he found there. “How much have I missed?”

Catreena put the poker down and hastened toward him. She kissed him at once on the cheek and pushed his hair back from his forehead, checking his temperature.

“How old am I, Catreena? I’m nae a bairn.”

“Ye had a fever. It has gone.” She smiled at once. “Bran, ye are nay longer hot tae the touch. How dae ye feel?”

“I feel… fine.” He judged this as he stood. The last time he had stood was when Tad had helped him from the healer’s rooms to his own chamber. He’d felt dizzy then, but now, there was no dizziness at all. “Thanks tae ye and Ilyssa, it seems. I feel quite well indeed.”

He moved to a bowl of water nearby and freshened up, splashing his face and washing his mouth out too.

“Dae ye really feel fine?” Catreena fussed at his side, blinking madly. It was with alarm he saw there were tears in her eyes that she was trying to fight. He laid a soft hand on her shoulder.

“Dinnae worry about me, sister. Ye must rest. Here, take this.” He found a handkerchief nearby and offered it to her. She snapped it out of his hand and promptly tapped him around the arm with it. “What was that fer?”

“Fer always trying tae take care of me. Is it nae time we took care of ye? Ye act like the faither of us all, but sometimes, ye need taking care of, Bran.” She whipped him with the handkerchief again for good measure. Bran felt so surprisingly well though that he simply chuckled at her attempts to reprimand him.

As he laughed, she stopped hitting him and moved forward to embrace him instead, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“Ye had me very worried fer a while there, braither.”

He held her back, laying his chin on top of Catreena’s head.

“Naught tae worry about,” he assured her. “I’m sorry I worried ye.”

“Speaking of that,” she pulled back and nodded at Ilyssa across the room. “She hasnae left yer side.”

“She hasnae?” Bran looked toward Ilyssa, his heart aching in his chest. The last time he remembered seeing Ilyssa, she was bending over him, her lips practically in the palm of his hand as she leant toward him.

That almost feels like a dream now.

“Maybe it’s time ye stopped parenting us all, and did something fer yerself instead,” Catreena said with a knowing smile. “I’ll go and arrange some food fer ye and let Tad ken how ye are feeling too. I may be gone some time.” She continued to smile as she picked up an empty tray of food that she and Ilyssa had evidently shared and left the room.

Bran waited until he could hear Catreena’s footsteps vanishing down the corridor. He turned to wash up a bit and change, pulling on a fresh set of trews, though he didn’t bother with a shirt, checking constantly that Ilyssa was fast asleep. When he felt fully clean and refreshed, he moved toward her, sinking down to his knees in front of the bench.

He didn’t wake her right away but gazed at her face in the firelight. Her eyes may have been closed but there were deep shadows under them. Clearly, she had stayed awake for long hours, helping to nurse him.

She cares fer me. As I dae fer her.

His heart was pounding in his chest as he reached out and laid a soft hand over her cheek. At once, her eyes shot open.

“Bran?” she whispered; her voice soft as her gaze found his.

“Evening, Ilyssa.”

“Evening? Ye just say evening tae me like that?” She brushed his hand away.

Bran leaned back, his stomach clenching tight as he feared he had done something wrong.

“Ilyssa, I –”

“Never, ever dae that again.” She thrust her hands down into his chest.

“If ye are trying tae hurt me, ye might have tae dae that a little harder.”

“Argh!” she raged loudly. She pushed against him, and he fell back, sitting down on the hearth rug as she fell into his lap. She punched him one last time in the chest and then flung her arms around his neck, embracing him tightly. The strength of her hug made his smile so big that his cheeks ached.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her as close as he possibly could.

“If ye ever, ever try tae save me life again and end up dying, I’ll kill ye.”

“Ye realize the madness of that?” he whispered with a laugh as they ended up rocking from side to side.

“Dinnae ye realize the madness of what ye did?” she cried aloud, leaning back. Her legs slipped down, and she ended up with her knees on either side of his hips.

Bran couldn’t take the smile off his face as he rested the palms of his hands at the top of her thighs, looking up at her.

“Ye could have died! Ye have been in bed with a fever fer days, and… and…” She had plainly now realized their position too. Her eyes widened as she looked down at his bare chest, then her eyes drifted down to where her legs were settled on either side of his hips, and his palms rested on her legs. “Bran,” she whispered. “Ye dinnae ken what it has done tae me these last few days, sitting here, watching ye fight this.”

“It is over,” he said firmly, needing her to be sure of his safety. “I am well.”

“We could have lost ye.”

“And ye think that thought wasnae on me mind when I saw ye in that water? I would have done anything tae get ye out of there.”

“Ye eejit.” When she called him this, something she had so often called him over the years, he smiled, thrilled when she smiled back.

They fell silent, their hands very near to one another on her legs. He shifted his right hand, the edge of his finger brushing hers. She inhaled sharply, her chest rising and falling with the movement. His eyes shot down to what she was wearing.

The red gown was revealing and intensely flattering. He stared at her curves in wonder, not wanting to be apart from her ever again.

She has been in me bedchamber fer so long. Stay, Ilyssa, and dinnae think of leaving.

“We need tae talk,” she whispered with sudden huskiness.

“About?” He raised his hands a little higher on her thighs, watching as her breath grew faster, her chest now straining against the cover of that red gown.

“About what happened in me chamber?”

“Dae we need tae talk?” he asked, leaning toward her. “Ye and I both ken what it meant, dinnae we?” He hovered his lips over hers, testing her, to see what she would do next. Her lips fluttered closed.

She didn’t need to say anything and pressed her lips to his.

The kiss was instantly fierce. It stole his breath, the excitement overwhelming his body as he slipped his hands up her thighs and took hold of her hips, rocking her against his body.

She trembled above him, her hands taking hold of his shoulders and anchoring the two of them together. They moved against one another, with Bran pushing that kiss further and further, so that his tongue tangled and dominated Ilyssa’s. When she was the one to trail her fingers down his bare chest, reaching toward the top of his trews, he growled animalistically.

I need her. I need her now.

He rolled the two of them over fast, moving her to her back. She gasped as they parted from their kiss, her hands moving to his chest, exploring him with increasing swiftness. Her fingers were intoxicating, the movement of her teasing fingers everywhere making his length hard and strain against his trews.

He moved down her body, dragging the hem of her gown up until it was tangled around her hips. She moved her hips against him, rocking them together, the delicious friction sparking something as heated as the fire beside them.

He bent down over her, kissing her abdomen and her hips, getting to every part of her bare skin that he could reach. She was moaning, breathily, her hands now gripping his shoulders as he hooked her leg over his shoulder, as he had done before in her bedchamber. He hesitated, hovering his lips over her center, wanting to see what she desired from him.

“Please,” she begged, her breath almost unrecognizable in its desire. “Please Bran.”

Hearing her beg him in such a way made him weak. He moved his tongue to her very center, with no prevarication, and entered her.