Chapter 7

Ilyssa closed the bedchamber door before her and looked around the corridor. This late at night, it was flooded with moonlight, white and silver in every direction she looked. Fortunately, there was no yellow light from a candle, anywhere. She was completely alone.

She looked back at the closed bedchamber door behind her. She knew she should go back to bed, that she should forget everything that had happened over the last two days, but she had tried for hours to sleep with little success.

I have tae see him.

She was cold wearing just her nightgown and robe, but it still didn’t stop her as she moved away from the door. She raised her hands over her arms, feeling the goosebumps as she walked down the corridor. Her breath was clouding the air in front of her. She continued on despite the coldness bidding her to turn back. She walked all the way to the west wing of the house, unseen by any guard.

When she found the door she knew led to Bran’s bedchamber, for her brother’s was two doors down, she hovered outside of it.

This is bold of me. He may turn me away, reprimand me, and urge me tae go back tae sleep.

Yet she also knew that her need to see him could not be dampened with reasoned words.

I have tae see him.

She reached for the door handle and turned it, stepping inside fast, without even thinking about knocking in case someone came upon her at any second in the corridor.

The first thing she saw in the room was the giant bed covered in wolf furs and warm blankets. The next thing were the orange flames in the fire grate, with a copper bathtub beside it, steaming with hot water.

Her eyes shot to the figure beside the bath, not just shirtless, but wearing nothing at all.

She gasped as Bran’s head shot toward her, his eyes as wide as her own.

Bran was standing there in his full glory with not a stitch on him. Not only were the carved muscles of his chest on show, but the perfect ‘v’ shape of his hips that led down to his length was visible too, half hidden in short hairs.

I ken every part of him now.

“Ily – wait!”

She turned away fast, without thinking, and shot so quickly toward the door that she banged her head on the door jamb.

“Ah!” she said in surprise, teary-eyed at the sudden pain now shooting through her temple and into her eyes. She reached for the door, blindly, trying to pull it open and escape.

As her hand found the handle and she pulled the door open, it was suddenly snatched out of her grasp. The door was kicked shut and she turned, leaning against it, her eyes shooting open.

Bran stood before her, no longer quite bare as he was hastily fastening a pair of trews around his hips.

“Good evening,” he said, an amused smile on his lips. “Well, ye have never had a problem with seeing me shirtless before. Ye didnae run off when we all went swimming in the lochs.”

“That was nae all of ye!” she cried in sudden panic and waved a hand between them as he finished tying his trews. She glanced down at his hips, her cheeks heated red, then she looked back up at him again.

“Well, that answers the question about how much ye exactly saw. Everything, then?”

“Bran!” she hissed. “Let me go.” She turned to the door to find that he had shoved his foot against it, keeping it shut. “Bran,” she hissed at him again.

“Ilyssa, let me look at ye.”

“I beg yer pardon!?” She flung herself around on the door again, trying to keep her back as flat as possible as the wood, so she was not tempted to curl herself into his bare chest.

“Yer head, Ilyssa. Ye hit yerself hard. Come, let me see.” His fingers took a gentle hold of the back of her neck as he angled her head toward him, the better to see the wound.

“I’m fine,” Ilyssa insisted. “I didnae hit meself that hard.”

“Nay, course nae. Ye just nearly knocked yerself out.” He shook his head. “I need the light, come this way.”

“I need tae leave.”

“Says the woman who just burst intae me room without knocking. Ye should hardly be surprised ye got an eyeful.”

“Oi!”

“This way,” Bran continued calmly, taking hold of her hand and towing her toward the fireplace. When she swayed, the knock to her head having had an effect on her after all, he kicked a small stool in place before the fire and urged her to sit down. She flopped down, her vision swaying a little, though she was very alert when he stood before her, examining the bruise to her temple. It basically brought his crotch to her eye level.

She stared at the fastening of his trews, her mouth suddenly very dry indeed.

“I think ye’ll be fine. Ye’ll have a bruise though,” he warned as he stepped back from her. She allowed herself to breathe again as he increased the space between them and stopped running his fingers across her head. “People will ask how ye got that.”

“Nay problem.” She mussed her dark hair and covered the spot on her temple.

A strange silence fell between them. He hovered by the fire, leaning an elbow on the mantelpiece. His manner was very serious now, a stark contrast to the jesting that had been in him seconds ago.

“Ye shouldnae be here, Ilyssa.”

She didn’t answer. She sat straight on the stool, suddenly annoyed. Yes, she knew she shouldn’t burst in on him unannounced when he was trying to bathe, but was it wrong to want to see him? After all she was going through, she had to talk to someone!

“I needed tae talk tae someone.”

“Ye have Catreena fer that.”

“She’s asleep.”

“Ye could have woken her.”

“Have ye ever tried waking Catreena up?” Ilyssa rolled her eyes. “She willnae thank ye fer it.” Yet it was plain he was no longer in a mood to jest. He was still staring at her, brazenly, refusing to look elsewhere.

“Ye shouldnae come like that tae me room, Ilyssa,” he began again.

“I didnae ken ye would be bathing.” She waved a hand at the bathtub behind them.

“It’s nae about that,” he said, his voice suddenly sharp, though it was also quiet. “Look what ye are wearing. Or rather, what ye are nae wearing.” She looked down at her clothes. Her robe had opened, probably as she was trying to flee, her front only covered by her nightgown. Despite how close she was to the fire, her nipples were still pert, plainly visible through the white material of the chemise.

“What about it?” She tried to be nonchalant, brushing it off.

“In the name of the wee man.” He suddenly turned away and crossed the room, moving toward the bath where he tipped another steaming bucket of water inside. “In case ye hadnae noticed, Ilyssa, ye are a lass, and I am a man. Ye expect me tae behave when ye are in me chamber dressed like that?”

Her jaw fell open.

Is he saying what I think he is saying?

“Ye and I should never be in one another’s bedchamber. It’s just nae appropriate nor is it a good idea.” He looked away from her, down at the bathwater.

Nay. He doesnae want tae want me.

“Well, perhaps ye can forget the fact ye are a man fer a bit and talk tae me. Please, Bran, I need tae talk about what’s happening with…” As she paused, his eyes met hers. “With Cillian Grant.”

He dropped the bucket at his side, so it clattered loudly.

He looked around, suddenly animated. Apparently, he could find no shirt so grabbed a jerkin instead and threaded it over his bare shoulders. The hint of his chest beneath was enough to make her wriggle on the stool, creating some friction between her legs. He found a cloak too and dropped that over her shoulders. Then he grabbed another stool and sat down beside the fire, facing her, gesturing for her to start speaking.

His jaw had tightened, and he hardly looked pleased about having this discussion.

“Talk. Say what ye have come tae say and then… ye must go.”

Bran’s pulse was racing. He didn’t know if he was angry at her for coming here, or thrilled because he wanted to kiss her and ask her to remove that revealing nightgown. As he sat before her, resting his elbows on his knees, he kept his gaze on her face, trying his best to avoid tracing her curves through the robe and chemise again as he had already done countless times since she had entered his chamber.

“I need tae talk about this marriage.”

“It will nae happen. How many times dae I have tae tell ye that –” Yet Bran was cut off by her shaking head as she looked away into the fireplace.

“Ye ken well enough deep down that it isnae something either ye or Tad can vow completely. Me grandfaither’s contract may be too binding fer us tae escape it.”

Bran rubbed a hand across his jaw. It was something he had been doing his best to try and ignore. Some alliances were binding, but this one had been made so long ago, he had no wish to believe it could still be valid.

“Dae ye think Cillian would be a cruel husband?” she asked, still looking into the fire.

“I dinnae ken the man.”

“Yet ye met him today. Ye ken about as much of him as I dae. What is yer judgement?”

“Ye care tae hear what I think?” Bran asked, his voice quiet. She turned to look at him again and nodded.

“I always care what ye think.” Her words weren’t helping matters. He felt intoxicated by her just being there.

“Dram?” he suggested, and she nodded again.

He stood and walked across the room, moving to a table where he had a flagon of whisky and a few glasses. He poured out two, then crossed toward her, being very careful not to let their fingers brush as he passed her one of the glasses.

“I think…” He waited until she looked up from the glass and into his eyes, “that Cillian Grant looks at ye like some prize. Because of that, I am quite certain that in marriage he would start by treating ye as some fine piece of gold he wears upon his person, but in time, he may grow bored and start hunting another prize.”

“Aye. I reckon ye are right.” She took a small sip of the whisky as he sat down once again on the stool. He was leaning forward off the stool, so close to her that if he reached out an inch more, he could brush her knee with his fingers.

Dinnae touch her. Dinnae take advantage of her being in yer chamber when she is this vulnerable.

Yet he couldn’t understand why she would come here dressed like this if she merely wished to talk.

“Ye can always say nay when ye reach the altar,” he said hurriedly, desperate to keep his thoughts on Ilyssa’s situation and away from her. “Ye can say nay, and the priest will hear ye loud and clear. The wedding would have tae be halted.”

“And what then, eh?” She nearly dropped her glass in sudden tension. “If I break the terms of me grandfaither’s alliance, then according tae the terms, the clans will nay longer be friends. They will be enemies. How long dae ye reckon it will be until Laird Gilroy Grant is at our borders trying tae take a chunk fer himself? This contract ended the last feud between the clans, which was over land. It is nae so simple as me saying nay, is it? If we go tae war, men could die,” she finished in a quiet and horrified voice.

Bran did not have the words to comfort her now and could only grimace. He had advised his elder brother often in matters that were diplomatic, he knew the importance of alliances being kept and of vows being adhered to as well. War could not only deplete clans but destroy the men and women that lived within.

They bring too much pain and destruction tae risk them as the people responsible fer the wellbeing of the clan.

“Yer clan would nae be alone,” Bran said, desperate to say something. “The Mackintoshes would always be with ye. Ye ken that.”

“Ye would commit yer people tae a war as well? Because of me? Now that is mad.” She stood hurriedly, drinking the last of her whisky and moving toward the fire. He followed her, a sudden yearning not to let her go too far. They ended up both with one hand on the mantelpiece, their tankards deposited there, as they faced one another. “Me happiness isnae worth it.”

“Then I’ll find another way,” Bran said, moving toward her. He was well aware he was bringing them as close as they had been the night before in his chamber, but he couldn’t stop himself. She was too tempting in that gown, far too revealing. “Even if we cannae break the terms of the treaty, I willnae see ye miserable fer the rest of yer life, Ilyssa.”

She smiled, though it was a sad smile, her hand stretching out toward him. His heart hammered in his chest as she caught the edge of the jerkin, clutching onto it. It anchored them together in the most thrilling way for him.

“Ye always have been the protector, have ye nae?” This time when she said the words, they were much softer than when she had said them the night before. “Ye protect all of us, and… and me, most particularly,” she said with plain curiosity. “Why, Bran?”

He had no words. He just moved that inch closer to her. Their heads were so near together that the kiss would be easy to take, if he would just do it. His lips hovered over hers and she didn’t pull away. If anything, her hand tightened around his jerkin even more than before.

“What’s happening between us?” she asked, her voice breathy. “These lines that have always been there. They’re blurred now, arenae they?”

“Aye, they are,” he whispered. His lips practically brushed hers as he heard her sharp intake of breath. Was that a breath of hope? Or something more?

Then he remembered why he was here. Bran was here to keep her safe and kissing her when they were alone together in his chamber, when she was wearing next to nothing, was not protecting her.

“Ye should leave,” he whispered, lifting his head. Her lips pressed firmly together in a harsh line. “Before we both dae something we may regret, Ilyssa.” He had softened his voice, trying to make his words as gentle as possible, but she had snatched her hand away from his jerkin as if she had been burned and turned to face the mantelpiece. There was sudden tension in her.

He wished more than anything to take her to the bed, to release that tension, to make love to her and show her everything that he felt for her, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t treat Ilyssa in that way.

She deserves tae be married first, tae be taken with honor.

She lifted the tankard and swallowed the last of the whisky.

“Goodnight, Bran,” she said dismissively and raced to the door. He stepped forward, in a wish to follow her, but she was gone so fast there was nothing he could do. As the door shut behind her, he breathed deeply and looked down at himself.

Beneath the cover of his trews, he was hardened. How could he possibly stop his length from standing to attention when Ilyssa had been there with him wearing so little?

He moved to the bed and sat down. He could relieve himself, he knew that, but he also knew that if he pleasured himself whilst thinking of Ilyssa it would be a line that could never be uncrossed again. He flung himself back down on the bed, sighing aloud.

Ilyssa creaked open her bedchamber door and stepped inside, looking around in the candlelight to see that Catreena was awake, sitting by the window.

“Should I ask where ye have been? Or nae?” Catreena asked, a frown creasing her features.

“It doesnae matter.” Ilyssa crossed quickly toward her bed and climbed under the covers.

“Ye are wrong, Ilyssa,” Catreena said, her voice gentle. “Whatever is passing between ye and Bran, it matters very much.”

“How can it when I dinnae even understand it meself?” Ilyssa asked wildly, sitting up in the bed again.

“It matters,” Catreena murmured with a sad sort of smile. “I just pray ye two are nae too late in realizing there is something between ye.”

Ilyssa could not think of this anymore. How could she when she and Bran had come so close to kissing but not acted on it? She flung the covers back over her head and chose not to answer Catreena. She felt asleep, a fitful sleep full of dreams.

In most of her dreams, she was sat before a fire with Bran, only he didn’t hesitate when he kissed her. He kissed her with passion.