Page 51
He lowered his head, slow as sunrise, and when his lips met hers, the world softened around them. The kiss was tender, achingly so, filled with apology, longing, promise. She felt his restraint, the way he held himself carefully as though she was something precious and breakable.
Her hands rose uncertain, then rested against his chest feeling the steady beat beneath her palms.
The moment she touched him, something inside her gave way. All the fear. All the tension. All the walls she’d built to protect herself. She leaned into him fully, returning the kiss with all the emotion she’d fought so desperately to bury.
He pulled her closer, the low sound of relief and wonder and something deeper escaping from him.
When they finally parted, their breaths seemed loud in the quiet clearing.
“I love ye,” Liam whispered, his tone vulnerable. “I’ve loved ye far longer than I understood.”
Tears stung her eyes, but she smiled through them, her voice breaking. “And I love ye, Liam McRay. Though I tried not to. Saints forgive me, I tried.”
He laughed with quiet, breathless, disbelieving joy. “I’m glad ye failed.”
She pressed a trembling hand to his cheek. “Aye. So am I.”
Chapter Fourteen
Liam had done many difficult things in his life. Faced down raiders. Survived a crushing injury. Endured months of pain. But none of that compared to the absolute terror of telling Keir Lewis he intended to court Beitris.
Keir stood outside the apothecary, sharpening a small blade wearing the expression of a man intent on using it soon. Wonderful.
Liam cleared his throat. “Keir, I must speak to ye.”
Keir didn’t look up. “If ye’re here to tell me someone needs dragging out of the tavern, I’m busy.”
“It’s not about the tavern.”
“Then is it Cormac?” he asked, still sharpening. “Because if that bastard is causing trouble again, I want to skin him with this.” He held out the knife, then thought better of it and yanked a wicked looking dagger from a strip of leather strapped across his wide chest.
“It’s not Cormac either.”
Keir paused his sharpening. Slowly, almost lazily, he lifted his gaze. “Then what are ye here to speak to me about, Liam McRay?”
Liam straightened, resisting the urge to tug at his tunic like a nervous lad. “I feel that I must inform ye, warrior to warrior… man to man… I’ve come to speak to ye about… Beitris.”
A silence fell so heavy it felt like the air thickened.
Keir set the blade down, very carefully, and folded his arms. “My sister?”
“Aye.”
“Why?” Keir asked, his green gaze scanning the surroundings. “Is she injured?” He straightened to his full height. Liam was tall, but next to Keir’s muscular form, he felt smaller.
“Nay, nay,” Liam interrupted, horrified. “Gods, no. This isn’t about her being in any kind of trouble.”
Keir nodded once, his shoulders lowering. “Good. What is it then?”
Liam inhaled deeply. “I… care for her. Verra much. And I’ve come to inform ye that I wish to court her. Properly.”
Keir just stared. No blinking. No speaking. Just a stare.
Liam shifted. “This is the part where ye say something.”
Keir tilted his head. “Are ye sure ye’re nae dying? Men say strange things when they’re near death.”
“I am nae dying.”
