Page 77 of The Highlander Steals a Virgin
He stood then, crumbs falling to the floor. “What did I say?”
“Forget it,” Rhys said blandly. “I daenae ken what I’m doin’ here, or with her, and whateverthisis, it’s nae helpin’”
“Aye, sure, but that’s the good thing about it all, ye ken? None of us ken what we’re doin’,” William said, heading for the door, pulling Myles along with him. “That’s life and that’s love. Ye do it anyway.”
Myles cast one last look over his shoulder as William dragged him out. “Just daenae be a fool and force her hand, Rhys. Because if ye do she’ll do the opposite, and ye’ll spend the rest of your life trying to forget the sound of her laugh. And I’ve heard it — it’s unforgettable.”
They both disappeared into the corridor, the door swinging shut behind them.
Unforgettable…
Rhys was left in silence, save the crackle of the fire.
He stared at the dancing flames, and for the first time in weeks… he let himself feel everything he’d been trying so hard to bury.
21
Amara watched the flames in the hearth as the fire cracked and licked at a new log of birch. Eyes wide. Mind reeling.
The tavern’s music had long faded, but the hum of it still seemed to press behind her ears like the ghost of a headache. Laughter, clinking mugs, the smell of spilled ale and woodsmoke — all of it still lingered.
But more than that... it washim.
Rhys.
The way he looked at her when the others weren’t watching. The way his voice had deepened just for her. His body close, but not too close. It felt as if he was holding back, and she was the only thing tethering him to the earth.
A fresh gown had been laid across the foot of the bed. Steam now curled from a basin of water next to her. Nina had been through, of course. Quiet and precise, like always. But Amara couldn’t even recall the sound of the door. Couldn’t recall saying thank you. Everything was blurry.
She hadn’t spoken a word since Rhys kissed her cheek.
Her fingers moved mechanically as she peeled off her dress, the fabric cool as it slipped down her arms. Her skin still tingled from the ale, from his breath near her ear, from the heat in his gaze when he thought she wasn’t looking.
But she was. She always was.
She stood there for too long, naked and lost, until the sting of the cooling air reminded her to move. One step forward. Then another. Then she lowered herself into the bath and exhaled a long breath, her spine curling slowly until her shoulders dipped beneath the surface.
The silence was not peaceful. It was oppressive. Louder than any din from the tavern, louder than Daisy’s squeals or Myles’s howling or the scrape of William’s sword on stone.
Her thoughts weren’t clear. They weren’t even thoughts, not really. Just pulses.
The water was scented faintly with rosemary and lavender, and it welcomed her like an old friend. She leaned her head back against the basin edge and let her thoughts drift.
He wanted me tonight. He basically said as much.
Well, he didn’t say it outright, but it was there. In every glance. Every pause. Every breath he seemed to hold around her.
She wanted him, too. And she wanted to know what it meant. But the wanting didn’t make sense. Not when she still didn’t know where she belonged. Not when she’d come here as a prisoner. Not when her own father had discarded her like a mistake.
She wrapped her arms around her knees and stared into the steam, the water rippling as her breath hitched.
No tears came. No clarity either.
Only firelight. Only Rhys.
And the echo of his voice saying her name in the dark.
A soft knock tapped against the doorframe, followed by the creak of worn hinges.
