Not Half Plaid (Bad in Plaid 2)

“My knee’s fine, lass,” he said gruffly, hobbling toward her. “And ye’re the one who needs to sit, now, so I can look at yer jaw.”

Her fingers rose to her cheek, a look of wide-eyed surprise flickering across her face, and he knew she’d forgotten about her injury.

“He…slapped me. He wanted to…” She swallowed, her gaze dropping to his chest. “He called me a whore,” she whispered. “He guessed ye and I— That we…” She shook her head, then wrapped her arms around her belly and hunched forward. “He said I was fair game, and I could do him as well as ye.”

A bolt of rage swept through Brodie again, and he was glad she wasn’t looking at him.

He was also sorry Gordon was already dead, or near enough. He would’ve liked to kill him all over again.

Hesitantly, he reached for her chin. He didn’t take hold of it, but just rested his fingertips gently against it. “I’m sorry, lass.” He was having trouble making his voice work. “Ye’re no’ a—”

He couldn’t even say the word.

Her gaze rose again, her chin moving under his fingers, and he saw her smile.

“I’m no’ a whore, nae matter what ye and I have shared, Brodie,” she whispered. “Do ye ken why?”

There they stood, the candle flickering between them, lighting only their faces. Her eyes were gray, but how could he blame her for being upset at this moment?

“Why, Fenella?” he prompted gruffly, although he knew the answer.

Hopedhe knew the answer.

“Because I love ye,” she whispered. “I knew, in that moment, when he tried to—to—” She shook her head. “I’m proud to love ye, and I wanted ye to ken it.”

He just…stared. Stared, and marveled that someone as wonderful as she could see something in him worth loving.

“Brodie? Say something.”

Say something? How could he find words perfect enough to do her justice?

“I…” He swallowed. “Ye love me, lass?”

Slowly, she nodded. “I ken ye have a place with the McClures, and I understand, but… If ye ever considered staying here, I think…”

She trailed off right before footsteps clattered down the stairs from the main hall. Brodie wanted to ignore them, wanted to focus on what she was saying. Was it possible she was asking what he dreamed of her asking?

But light emerged from the stairwell, then Kenneth stepped into the kitchen, his look of surprise illuminated by the torch he held.

“Brodie, ye’re still awake? Good. Now that Leanna’s asleep, I wanted to speak to ye about our return—” He stopped, then peered closer. “What the fook happened to ye?”

It wasn’t clear which one of them he was speaking to, but Brodie shifted to stand in front of Fenella to block Kenneth’s gaze.

“Gordon is a right bastard. He’s in the garden.”

Kenneth’s eyes flickered to the door, and Brodie noted the way his hand dropped to his waist, where his sword would’ve normally hung, had it not been the middle of the night. “Fenella?” he snapped.

“He tried to hurt her,” Brodie growled, but that was all he would admit.

His friend understood. “Is he dead?”

“If he’s no’, he soon will be.”

Behind him, Fenella whimpered.

Kenneth nodded once, his gaze shooting over Brodie’s shoulder, although he doubted his friend could see much of Fenella. Then he turned to stalk out the door, calling, “I’ll make certain.”

As he disappeared, Brodie whirled back to her. He had only a short time before Kenneth returned and he was forced to make decisions about his future. He had to make her understand his feelings.