My Tempting Highlander (Highland Hearts #3) (9 page)

She eyed the assortment of crystal decanters lined up on the shelf. She’d never cared for whisky. She always associated that with head colds because Granny’s home remedy for coughing was a healthy shot of whisky mixed with honey then cut with a tablespoon of lemon juice. Mairi nodded. She’d stick with the port. She preferred its flavor to the Rhenish. Mairi filled her glass with the heady liquid, downed half of it, then topped it off again. She tucked the decanter to her side, looped hold of another stemmed glass with her pinky, and took everything over to the table.

“This looks to be a fine feast. I thank ye.” Ronan towered just past the bathroom doorway. The man probably had to duck when he passed between the rooms. Snug black jeans hugged his body as though he’d been melted and poured into them. He smiled and nodded as he finished buttoning the soft gray shirt stretched taut across his chest.

“Uhm…Eliza’s a fantastic cook.” Mairi mentally shook herself and busied her trembling hands with filling the bowls from the small cast-iron pot nestled tight in the quilted cozy. As long as she had something to focus on, maybe she wouldn’t babble like a fool. “This is her own special twist on ratatouille.” She paused with the grater and a hard rind of Parmesan held above a bowl. “Parmesan?”

Ronan slid into the seat beside her and dipped his head in agreement. “Aye.” He reached across the table, selected the Rhenish, and filled his glass. He held the bottle so that it hovered close to Mairi’s nearly empty glass. “Rhenish?” He motioned toward the other decanter she’d placed on the table. “Or do ye wish another glass of port?”

Mairi downed the last bit of port and held out her glass. “Rhenish, please.” The port had done its job. She felt relaxed enough now to avoid acting the fool and to maybe even be downright sociable. Eliza would be proud. Mairi patted the cloth sack piled atop the table. “There doesn’t seem to be a knife for the bread. I promise my hands are clean. Would it offend you if I served it up in torn-off chunks?”

“Somehow I doubt I would ever find anythin’ ye do offensive.” Ronan took a slow sip of his wine, all the while watching her above the rim of his glass.

Mairi pulled free a hunk of bread and propped it next to his bowl. “Eat your soup. It’s getting cold.” A strange sense of déjà vu washed over her. Sitting with Ronan, sharing the evening meal, seemed the most natural thing in the world. She felt as though they’d shared this moment a hundred times before.

Ronan helped himself to a heaping spoonful of the stew. A confused expression registered on his face as his chewing slowed.

“You don’t like it.” Mairi lowered her spoon to her bowl. She stole a quick glance around the table. If Ronan didn’t like the ratatouille, she could always hop downstairs and get more cheese and fruit.

Ronan held up a hand as though to stave off her words. “Nay. ’Tis quite good.” He chewed a bit longer then swallowed. “But I do have a question.”

“What’s that?”

“Did Mistress Eliza use any of the soy birds in the makin’ of this soup?”

“Soy birds?” Mairi took her spoon and stirred it through the vegetables, looking for anything resembling bird parts. What the hell was he talking about?

“Aye.” Ronan took a crust of the bread, sopped it in the bowl, then popped it in his mouth. “This doesna smell like the wretched soy balls from earlier, but I wondered if perhaps some fresher birds had been found for the making of this stew.”

“Soy balls?” Mairi stared at the earnest expression on Ronan’s face. The man was dead serious, but what the hell was he talking about? Surely he couldn’t have gotten a whiff of the rancid leftovers she’d thrown out earlier while trying to find something to feed the dog. She’d resealed the container and tossed the whole thing in the bin. And what did soy balls have to do with birds? “Earlier when? Did you see some on sale in the market and they smelled like they’d gone bad or something?”

Ronan’s eyes suddenly flared wider. Something akin to panic flickered in their depths. He bobbed his head up and down as he reached for the wine and quickly refilled his glass. “Aye. That was it. ’Twas a foul-smelling package indeed that I’ll no’ soon forget.”

Mairi made a mental note to ask Eliza about soy balls or some kind of soy product marketed as birds. From the look on Ronan’s face, they must’ve been pretty dreadful. “Where are ye from, Mairi?” Ronan ripped a chunk of bread free and offered it to her. “Ye dinna speak as though ye come from Scotland.”

Mairi waived the proffered bread away and held up her own chunk from beside her plate. “No, thanks. I’ve got plenty.” She thoughtfully pinched at the crust and dropped the pieces into her bowl.
How much should I tell him?
They’d only just met. Better play it safe—at least for now. “My sisters and I were born here in Scotland, but we grew up in the United States—in Kentucky.”

“Kentucky,” Ronan repeated the word slowly as though savoring the feel of it on his tongue. “Are ye glad to be back in yer homeland? Do ye feel as though this place is where ye belong?” He leaned toward her with rapt interest.

What was it in his eyes that made Mairi feel as though her answer was of the utmost importance to him? It wasn’t polite interest reflected in Ronan’s face. It was a wistful look…one filled with something akin to intense longing. Mairi took a long slow sip of her wine then lowered her glass to the table. The subtle warmth of the Rhenish surged through her like a soothing caress. “I was just telling Eliza the other day how I felt more at home in Edinburgh than I ever had in Kentucky.”

It seemed like Ronan’s entire body relaxed, even his smile seemed more natural. “Aye. The soul of a Scot is ne’er at rest unless his feet are well settled upon his homeland.”

“Aye,” Mairi giggled as she raised her glass in a toast. “Here’s to keepin’ our wee feet firmly planted on the soil of our blood.” Perhaps she’d had a bit too much alcohol. Lilia always told her she butchered a brogue worse than a Glaswegian whenever she’d had too much to drink.

“And our hearts anchored where they’re meant to be.” All hilarity left Ronan’s face as he solemnly touched the side of his wineglass to hers. Still keeping his glass clicked snugly to hers, Ronan leaned forward and barely brushed his lips across hers.

Mairi eased in a shaking breath. How easy would it be to just lean in and lose herself to him, drown herself in all he offered, give herself over to all he hinted they could become? “Who are you?” she whispered, searching his gaze as she savored the taste of the wine flavoring Ronan’s mouth.

“The one who’s been seekin’ ye since the moment I first drew breath.” Ronan set his glass on the table and gently scooped her into his lap. His hand trembled as he brushed the back of his fingers along her jawline with a touch as tender as a whisper. “I never thought to find ye. I’d nearly lost hope.”

Mairi carefully set her glass on the table, curled her arms about Ronan’s neck, and nibbled urgent kisses along his bottom lip. Ronan groaned as he pulled her tighter against him, laced his fingers into her hair, and hungrily opened her mouth with his.

Mairi’s senses whirled; an ever-increasing ache arced through her body.
Damn. I need him.
Somewhere deep inside, her practical side struggled forward.
I barely know him. I can’t do this.
Mairi grudgingly broke the connection and eased her way out of his lap, trembling as she slid back into her own chair. “Whew.” She fanned herself. “You’ll have to forgive me. I think the alcohol has loosened the laces of my morals.” She inwardly cringed.
Damnation. Can I possibly sound cornier?

Ronan straightened in his chair, his face darkening as he refilled his glass with wine then just as quickly downed a deep draw from it. “Forgive me.” He scowled down at the table as he rolled the stem of the glass between his fingers. “I would never have ye think I sought to take advantage in any situation.”

Mairi’s heart hitched. She leaned forward and covered his hand with hers. “I wasn’t accusing you. I just…” She just what? Wanted to know him a little bit better before she stripped him naked and rode him like a Highland warhorse? Mairi emptied her glass and crossed her legs, bobbing one foot up and down. Maybe the heat of the alcohol would somehow override the
other
heat Ronan had kindled in her core.
Doubtful.
She clamped her thighs tighter together and squirmed in the chair.

Ronan didn’t respond. His face was a solemn, emotionless mask as he sat staring down at the half-empty glass and the gently sloshing ruby liquid.

Well dammit.
Isn’t this a lovely little mess? I’ve successfully shut down all conversation.
Mairi reached past the bottle of Rhenish and snatched up the port, refilling her glass with the liquid ammo. She’d never been a social butterfly. The ability to make pleasant idle chatter had always escaped her. Lilia must’ve hogged that precious DNA strand while they were forming in the womb because she had the ability to talk nonstop about absolutely nothing and keep her audience completely enraptured while she did it.
Damn, I wish I were more like Lilia.

Mairi silently toasted that thought and took a deep draw from her glass. The heady warm sweetness of the port blossomed through her, bolstering her sagging confidence up to
try-again
level. Cupping her glass between her hands, she settled back more comfortably in the chair. “So, tell me…” She took another sip of confidence and drowned a nervous giggle before it escaped. “What brought you here? I don’t think you ever said.”

Ronan pushed up from his chair, strode across the room to the crystal decanters, and filled a short squat glass to the rim with a sparkling amber liquid. “I thank ye for the fine meal. I believe I’ll top it off nicely with a wee dram, if ye dinna mind.”

“So you need liquid courage too, huh?” Mairi pressed her fingers across her lips.
Dammit. Did I say that out loud?
She waved a hand back and forth as though erasing the words from the air. “I didn’t mean…what I meant was…”

“Aye. I ken yer meanin’ well enough.” Ronan chuckled and raised his glass to her. “Here’s to liquid courage for the both of us.”

This time, the nervous giggle bubbled past the deep swallow of port and nearly pushed the alcohol out her nose. Mairi thumped the glass to the table, coughing and fanning herself against the fiery heat cutting off her air.

Ronan rushed forward, held her arms up over her head with one hand, and thumped the side of his other hand hard between her shoulder blades. “Spit it free, lass. Cough and spit it free.”

Mairi yanked her wrists free, wheezed in a deep breath, then exploded into another paroxysm of coughing. Ronan massaged her back as she sagged forward.

Son of a bitch. I’m gonna be the first person in history to drown in a glass of port.
Could this evening possibly get any worse? Well…yes, it could. If she kept coughing like this, puking would be imminent. Wouldn’t that impress this fine Highland specimen currently thumping the shit out of her back? Mairi twisted to one side and held up a hand. “I’m fine,” she gasped. Holding on to the edge of the table, she attempted to stand. The room spun at a nauseating angle. Mairi teetered a few stumbling steps to one side.

Oh holy shit.
She plopped her butt back down in the chair, folded her arms against the edge of the table, and rested her head atop them.
Too much alcohol. Too little food. Too well sloshed with coughing.
Mairi sucked in a deep breath, shivering against the sickly cold sweat flashing through her. She gingerly turned her head to one side. Peeping over her arm, she gauged the distance to the bathroom, praying she wouldn’t have to make the trip.

The slight weight of Ronan’s hand rubbed back and forth across her shoulders. “Are ye unwell, lass? Shall I fetch Mistress Eliza?”

“Please don’t shake me.” Mairi swallowed hard against the warning sign of a cotton-dry mouth. If that spot behind her jaw started feeling like she’d just sucked on a lemon, she’d have to dive for the bathroom and pray she could slam the door closed as she slid to porcelain home plate and started retching. Why couldn’t she be a normal person when it came to overindulging with alcohol? Why couldn’t she just enjoy a fun little buzz then pass out and sleep it off?

“It appears the soup hasna set well with ye.”

Yeah. You go ahead and think it’s the soup.
Mairi ran her dry tongue across her lips then pressed them tightly together. She pulled in slow deep breaths through her nose then blew them out her mouth.
I will not puke.
Maybe if she chanted it like a mantra, it would be so. She sucked in another deep breath and slowly shuddered it out.

Ronan gently brushed his fingers atop her arm. “I’ll fetch Mistress Eliza. Hold tight, lass.”

Mairi didn’t move, just kept deep breathing. If she could hold on until he left the room…

Her hopes grew as the thud of Ronan’s footsteps faded. The latch clicked. The hinges of the door creaked. Then a nauseating waft of rose-scented air washed over her. “Oh. My. God.” Mairi launched toward the bathroom. Halfway across the glossy tiled floor, she slid to her knees and skidded the rest of the way to the toilet. She hugged the welcomed coolness of the porcelain bowl and divested herself of everything she’d ever thought about putting in her stomach that evening.

Weak, sweating, and still draped over the toilet bowl, Mairi rested her forehead against one arm as she flushed away what had to have been at least a gallon of Rhenish and port punch well spiked with spicy ratatouille.
Thank heavens Ronan missed this performance.
She sagged sideways to a seated position, arms still locked about the toilet just in case. She closed her eyes and rested her cheek against one arm. She’d stay like this—nice and still—until Eliza made it upstairs to help drag her sorry ass down to the privacy of her rooms. Why the hell had she been so stupid?

Footsteps thumped across the floor. A cabinet door clattered. Water quietly shushed in a sink. Good. Eliza had already made it upstairs. Mairi kept her eyes closed.
Sweet Jesus
.
Please let Eliza wait until I’m stable enough to take an ass chewing
. She’d been an idiot. She knew better than to drink so much so quickly. The last thing she needed right now was a lecture. A cool wet cloth pressed first against the side of her face then gently swabbed the back of her neck.
Thank goodness.