“Isobel.” Iain grinned, his face lighting up.
His formal use of my name surprised me.
Iain abandoned the group and strode forward to embrace me. He lowered his mouth to my ear, rumbling low. “Hello, my bonnie lass. You look radiant. How’re you feelin’?”
His warm lips over the shell of my ear shot goose bumps down that entire side of my body. Heat flushed into my cheeks. “I’m fine.”
“Only fine?” Iain pushed me back toward a corner of the tent. I lost my footing, but his possessive grip on my hips prevented my fall. “Surely, I can help you do better than fine.”
As I stumbled backward, he brushed soft lips across my jawline and dotted hot kisses down the column of my neck to my collarbone. His arms threaded through mine, wrapped around my back, and pulled me close. I laughed, even though I found nothing remotely funny at that moment. Iain had pushed us to an area where a large screen stood, and the barrier blocked us from view.
In seconds, his nimble fingers tugged down on my neckline, popping a breast free. I gasped as the rush of cool air hardened my nipple. Iain’s hot mouth sucked it in, and he bit it with his teeth.
Stunned immobile, I felt my knees buckle, and I grasped his shoulders for support. Iain growled low, vibrating into the flesh as he suckled without mercy. My mind reeled. Sharp pulses of pleasure inundated me, a fiery ache building between my thighs. He dropped to a knee, pulling away, looking up at me with lowered lids as he flicked the hardened tip with his tongue.
He smirked and asked again, “Only fine?”
I exhaled a hard puff of held breath, shocked at his boldness. “I’m far beyond only fine, and you know it, Iain Brodie.”
He shot me a smug look of satisfaction and stood.
I rapidly repaired my appearance, replacing that which had been removed. “You are terrible,” I chided on a whisper, smoothing out the front of my dress. I took a deep breath, but it did nothing to calm the fierce arousal. No wonder men wore kilts; damning evidence could be hidden beneath those folds.
His lips assaulted my ear again. “You love my mouth on you, and you know it.”
Yeah, I did. It had become hard to decipher what I did and didn’t love—or want—anymore. With my eleventh hour looming on the horizon, the hourglass sand looked alarmingly low. Three days was no time at all to get to know someone, but circumstances afforded me no more. Last night had been the first time I’d spent any heartfelt time with Iain, but what had I learned? We wanted each other. Well, duh. Oh, and we talked about his horse.
Iain kissed the top of my nose and left me standing there, flushed and confused, as he rejoined the others. The clear decision my heart and body had leapt toward last night clouded in the light of day. Unwelcome doubt crept in when I tried to ascertain what I wanted.
I sighed, shaking my head. Isobel MacInnes, you think too much.
On the final day of my supposed sentence to select a mate, I resolved to learn more about Iain and his clan. The eve of becoming Brodie by one man or another gave me no other option but to choose, or the decision would be made for me. I hoped my mixed-up mind would hurry up and agree with the rest of me.
Iain returned, leading me toward Brigid as his guard exited the tent, and I realized I wouldn’t have my learning opportunity anytime soon when understanding dawned on me—Iain participated in the events. Of course he did. They were his people, after all.
He bent down and kissed me thoroughly, threading both of his hands into mine. He lifted my right one, colored ribbons dangling between us.
“For me?” he asked, raising his brows, looking hopeful.
I supposed it was for him. Pennants were given to the man you favored in the games as a good-luck token. My best wishes on the field definitely went to Iain.
I nodded. “Yes.”
He grinned, removed the ribbons from my hand, and kissed me soundly. As he broke contact, I sighed with my eyes closed, sucking in my bottom lip, savoring his salty taste.
By the time I’d opened my eyes again, Iain had left the tent. He’d also left me in a hot mess of aroused and confused. The man expertly employed battle tactics off the field as well as on.
Reality trickled into my recovering brain as my stomach growled. The table in the back was buried beneath a buffet of foods. I covered a silver plate with cheese and fruit. Brigid had already grabbed an apple and reclined on a pile of cushions. I swiped a piece of crusted bread through stewed cherries, thinking about all the questions I could ask and those that would arouse suspicion.
“Brigid, how is it that you’re so close to Iain?” With everything else going on, I hadn’t thought to ask earlier, but it seemed unusual for her to have such privileges—our decadent baths, feasting toward the head of his table, and inclusion in his personal tent—even if Iain had done so because she’d become my friend.
“He’s my brother.” Her innocent expression belied her mischief. She’d wanted me to wonder.
I snorted, joining the amusement she’d had at my expense. Well, hell. That changed the course of my line of questioning.
“Brigid, I wandered around the keep two days ago and found a map room.” I watched her face, gauging her reaction. She remained stoic but listened intently. “A wall in that room had points of light on it.”
Brigid didn’t respond. Outside the tent, a boy shouted hello to her as he walked by the entrance. She waved to him.
“Do you know what the wall does?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I was born in the castle. The wall has always been there. I played in the room as a young child, but plannin’ and war strategizin’ is not for me. Those things doona interest a lass who runs through the grass collectin’ flowers.”
I persisted. “What about a box of the same sparkling material? Have you seen the box?”
“Aye,” she replied. “’Tis held in an outer room next to the keep.”
“But . . . do you know what it does? How it works?” I pressed. Is it tied to the wall that came alive? I didn’t want to interrogate her, but in my first chance to ask anyone, I determinedly seized the moment.
“Nay. The box is important to our clan. The wall protects us. ’Tis all I know.”
I pondered her statement. The wall protects them. How? “The ceiling above the great hall has the same kind of stone,” I mumbled to myself, working through my thoughts.
She heard and responded. “Aye. The box, the map room, the great hall, and the wall all have the same stone.”
Brigid popped up and grabbed a piece of cheese from the table. She held the white wedge between her teeth as she awkwardly dragged a chair to the tent entrance.
Spectators filed back to their tents. With the rectangular arrangement around the field, everyone had a great view from the shade of their own canopy.
“Wait, you said the map room and the wall. Aren’t they one in the same?” I’d thought she’d repeated herself.
“Nay. The map room has a wall made of the stone. Our curtain wall has the same stone in large pillars at the corner points . . .” Brigid’s voice trailed off as she turned and sat in her front row seat.
The blare of a horn sounded the start of the events, marking the end of our conversation; however, my tireless quest for the unearthing the truth had only just begun.
CHAPTER Nine
For the third time in under an hour, the piercing ring of swordplay dragged my troubled mind from pondering new secrets. I focused once again on a competition that I would’ve given a vital organ to attend a few short days ago. Our tent’s prime location afforded us an unparalleled view of the action, and I trained my gaze to Iain as I effortlessly jumped back into spectator mode.