Page 74 of Blood of the Thistle

That didn't stop her pulse from jumping when his gaze met hers again.

She turned her attention determinedly to the hall instead.

It was larger than she’d remembered from their hurried passage through it earlier, and louder, and somehow more real than she’d been prepared for. The ceiling disappeared into a haze of smoke that had nowhere obvious to go, and the floor was covered in something that gave softly and rustled underfoot—straw, or dried grass, maybe. The walls were hung with weapons and tapestries and the mounted heads of animals, some of which she could not identify, all of it lit by firelight that made the shadows move.

The sheer number of people gave Anna pause, though she felt no fear. The hall was loud with clattering plates and overlapping conversations, a dozen private exchanges shouted across tables. Someone banged a cup rhythmically against wood while two children chased each other between the benches. A woman’s sudden laughter cut through the general din like a bell. There was so much life here, so much unguarded normalcy, for her mind to twist it into danger.

Several people looked at her as she passed, of course. But the glances held curiosity rather than hostility, and most returned quickly enough to their conversations.

Mairead moved through the hall without slowing, and people shifted readily from her path, leaving Anna little choice but to follow. The route carried her directly toward Bram.

He had resumed his conversation with the men around him, or at least made a reasonable pretense of doing so, but twice she caught his gaze returning to her before she reached the dais. The second time, she deliberately looked elsewhere, annoyed with herself for the little rush of satisfaction it produced.

She didn’t care that his piercing gaze suggested he liked the way she looked. She certainly hadn’t spent the last two hours being scrubbed, combed, and stuffed into yards of wool for his benefit. Holy sheesh. Wouldn’t that be an absolutely pathetic thing to care about after what he'd said to her in the woods?

“A vast improvement,” Mairead announced with evident satisfaction when they finally reached him.

Anna felt an immediate flush of insult until she realized the woman spoke of her son. Mairead laid her palm against Bram’s clean-shaven cheek and said, “Now I can see your face, luv.”

Anna could as well, and up close, the transformation was even more profound.

The dark beard had been a distraction, a frame that had drawn the eye away from the startling clarity of his eyes. Now, with it gone, she found herself caught by the direct, unsoftened blue of his gaze. She hadn’t noticed the indentation in his chin before, either, or the thin scar near one side of his jaw that the beard had hidden completely. Another, older scar disappeared beneath the dark hair at his temple. He looked younger than he had on the road, though not softer exactly. If anything, the clean clothing and sword at his hip only emphasized the formidable authority she’d noticed in him even on that first day.

Bram’s gaze passed over her once more before settling upon her face, and Anastasia had the distinct impression that he was searching for something to say. That alone was strange. Bram had never seemed troubled by silence between them and certainly had never struggled with any need to fill it.

“Ye look well, lass,” he said at last.

After all that staring, that was what he came up with?

“Thank you,” she replied courteously, because she wasn’t about to make this any easier for him.

His gaze lingered, drifting briefly toward her hair before returning to her face, and warmth crept inexcusably into Anna’s cheeks. She hated that he could still do that to her, particularly when she was having enough difficulty pretending she wasn’t equally affected by the rather astonishing transformation in him.

“You look different,” she said.

“Aye, I expect I do.”

Her eyes betrayed her by dropping once more to his clean-shaven jaw. There really was no use pretending she wasn’t mesmerized by how handsome he was. Worse, beneath the startling difference, she could suddenly see traces of the man she'd begun to know on the journey north—the one who had teased her occasionally, listened to her endless chatter and, for one perfect moment beside a lochan, kissed her as though he could think of nothing he wanted more.

The observation escaped before she considered how it might sound. “You look like someone I used to know.”

Something shifted in Bram’s expression. “Do I?”

Only then did Anna hear the accusation buried in the words. She hadn't meant to say it—not aloud, anyway—and certainly wasn't going to explain it here, in the middle of his hall with his mother standing beside them.

“Actually, no,” she said.

Bram raised one brow, his expression faintly challenging, but he let the matter go.

Mairead had already moved toward the raised table, leaving Anna suddenly conscious that she didn't know what she was supposed to do or where she was expected to sit.

Bram, surprisingly, came to her rescue.

“This way,” he said, gesturing toward the shallow steps.

Anna followed him onto the dais, where several of the men she'd seen surrounding him earlier had already begun taking their places. Several glanced her way with undisguised curiosity before politely returning their attention elsewhere. Bram stopped beside an empty chair immediately next to a large ornate one that was vacant and obviously his, and drew it back for her.

“This is for me?” she asked, surprised.