Bound by Wish and Mistletoe (Highland Legends #1.5)(21)
His broad chest expanded as he inhaled a deep breath. “Susanna, you’re a stunnin’ sight.”
A heated flush began beneath the low-cut neckline of her dress, where his gaze had fallen. In slow pace—as if he didn’t want to miss a thing—he lifted his face until his intense stare met hers. She vaguely felt Brigid loosen her hold and slip away, the entire room vanishing with her.
All Susanna saw was the fearless warrior standing below, gazing up at her like he adored her.
Spellbound, as if caught in a haze of fairy dust, she descended the last two steps and slid her trembling hand across his outstretched palm. Warm. Solid.
“You look strikin’ yourself, Highlander.”
He tipped his head at her while she tried to define what was different about him, but she couldn’t quite place it. Perhaps it was the way he carried himself or the tone in his voice. He seemed to have changed in some small way since she’d last seen him.
His familiar scent enveloped her, a unique woodsy fragrance that she hadn’t clearly noticed until she’d been deprived of it. She inhaled the alluring spice and felt an odd peace, an inexplicable rightness.
“Come, Susanna. Let me introduce you to Iain before we eat.”
With his warm hand placed firmly at her lower back, Robert led her toward where his laird and lady stood amid a small group. As they approached, Isobel’s face lit up with a radiant smile the instant she caught sight of them.
Susanna smiled back, unable to hide the joyous feeling in her heart of having an unexpected first friendship. With each step, her budding confidence built.
Iain’s gaze swung toward them as they neared, and he pinned an intense glare on Robert.
Isobel leaned toward her husband while still smiling at Susanna. “Iain, this is the guest Robert brought. Susanna, this is my husband, Iain.”
Iain continued to hold Robert’s gaze while the two women waited in silence. A muscle tensed in Iain’s jaw. Susanna swallowed hard, beginning to feel uncomfortable as Robert’s hand slid further around her, gripping her possessively.
Unfortunately, she was familiar with barely veiled hostility. As a child born into a world of hatred and contempt, she’d become acquainted with the mild form of aggression. The men carried on a silent conversation, and they didn’t care if anyone else took notice. Iain’s attention slowly shifted from Robert to her, but his expression didn’t soften. Two piercing eyes stared at her, penetrating deep into her soul, as if seeking some response to a wordlessly bellowed question.
Her spine straightened of its own accord. Not once had she wilted under the threat or reality of men, and she had no intention of doing so now.
The corners of his lips twitched. “’Tis an honor to meet you, lass. Please, join us and enjoy the generous and unendin’ hospitality of the Brodie.”
Iain extended his arm, but Susanna caught sight of Isobel elbowing him in the ribs. The man held his posture, but inhaled deeply, as if challenged to restrain himself and not grunt.
Robert leaned down, whispering into her ear. “Doona mind him, Susanna. His temper flares with surprises. ’Twill be my issue to handle.”
“’Tis unfortunate I’m an issue at all,” she muttered then instantly bit her lower lip, shocked that she’d given words to her thoughts. “’Tis not because I’m half English, is it?”
Robert chuckled softly, nipping her earlobe. “Nay. You are not the issue. My reckless actions are. And I think he better enjoy havin’ English lasses in his castle. His wife is one.” His voice lowered into a rumbled growl. “I’ve taken a sudden interest in the English myself.”
Blushing, she pulled her ear away from his scorching mouth and turned, glaring into dark mischievous eyes. “You should be careful what you take an interest in. The English are verra unpredictable.”
He laughed louder and ushered her behind the thinning crowd as everyone found a place at the table. Iain sat at the head with a glowing Isobel beside him. Robert led Susanna to a place on the wooden bench next to Brigid, who sat on Iain’s other side. An imposing man sat a little further down from Isobel, across from Robert. He was engaged in a heated debate with the soldier to his right. Susanna thought he bore a striking resemblance to their laird; even from her view of just the side of his face, she observed the similar shape of his eyes and the angle of his jaw.
Isobel noticed Susanna glancing between the man and Iain. “Susanna, this is Gawain. Gawain,” —Isobel elbowed the man in the back of his ribs— “this is our guest, Susanna.”
He turned, the dark-brown braid at his temple spilling over his shoulder as his dark, greenish eyes cast an impatient glance at her. Definitely related to Iain, in both his eye color and the power he barely restrained. He tipped his head respectfully but returned to his discussion, his fist pounding the table as he defended his position in a debate she hadn’t caught the beginning of.
Susanna watched and waited. Everyone across the table began eating before she lifted her hands from her lap. In a flash of movement, Robert confiscated her plate before her fingers touched the silver, and she glanced to her left, surprised to find he hadn’t put one piece of food on his plate either.
“Doona wait for me, Robert,” she said.
He gave her a heavy look, arching a brow and staring for a brief moment, before turning toward the feast and loading her plate. He gave her generous helpings of venison; pheasant; stewed turnips, beets, and parsnips; and a piece of apple tart the size of her fist. He laid her plate onto the table with a clang.