Kat Bastion - Forged in Dreams and Magick

Iain stood, lifting a jewel-encrusted goblet in his hand. The entire room raised their cups. I mimicked them, lifting my silver goblet high.

“Welcome to the commencement of our Beltane celebration. This night shall be filled with drink, food, and laughter.” Iain raised his goblet higher. “May all who seek refuge, find it. When you find comfort from another, cherish it. Should you be graced with true love, embrace it. For the protection of all we value most in life, so we are . . .”

“Clan Brodie!” The room shouted the last two words in approving chorus.

Impressed by Iain’s expression and the camaraderie in the room, I sipped the honeyed ale, the warm liquid dancing across my tongue before I swallowed. My thirst made the beverage taste like the sweetest nectar, and before I realized what I was doing, I’d downed the cup. Well, what the hell. It’d been a very long day, and I deserved a relaxed buzz.

I looked up to catch Iain’s amused expression at my rapid consumption. He laughed, shaking his head, and poured me another from a pitcher on the table.

“You’ll want to take the drink easy, lass. We brew it a wee bit stronger than the beer you’re accustomed to.”

I arched a single brow. “I shall take that under advisement, Laird. ”

Iain’s smile vanished, replaced by a smoldering stare so hot, an erotic current shot straight between my thighs. I swallowed hard, uncertain if his response had been prompted by my sweet smartass demeanor or by my addressing him as Laird.

He lifted my hand, pressing the backs of my fingers to his soft kiss. His scorching gaze dropped to the cleavage bared by my low-cut gown and drifted back up to my face. My body responded, his wandering eyes commanding the hot flush rising under my skin.

“Isa, you are stunning.” He smirked. “Even more so from your front side.” His rich bass tone eclipsed every other sound in the noisy room.

I struggled to maintain composure with his overpowering flattery as my sluggish brain registered his last remark. I burst out laughing. Iain smirked, clearly satisfied in his utter control over my reactions.

With the powerful ale providing a gentle room spin, I downed a second cup. Beyond buzzed seemed a perfect plan on a night in which His Lairdship unmistakably ruled.

Iain ensured I sampled any food my palate desired. After enjoying his royal treatment, I pushed my plate away, tossing my napkin on the table, my tongue numb from ale.

Brigid winked at me from across the table. I hiccupped. My hand shot up to my mouth, and to my dismay, I started giggling uncontrollably. In some distant corner of my mind, a fleeting thought suggested my drunkenness would only further his cause, not help mine, but the warning drifted off into Unfiltered Land.

A bard regaled us with a romantic tale, plucking the strings of a lyre braced between his legs. Storytelling gave way to the strong beat of a drum and the picked chords of a lute. Couples snuck away two by two to join in the dancing well underway.

Brigid cast a devilish glance at Fingall. “Will the great Fingall be dancin’ tonight?”

Fingall leaned back on the bench, titling his head down at her, popping his jaw. His gaze traveled from the top of her head down to her seated ass and back as if he was sizing her up for battle.

Iain nudged my knee. I looked over as he arched a brow toward his friend. “Well, Fingall? Will your greatness be dancin’?”

Fingall sighed, glaring at Iain.

Brigid bit her lower lip, the corners of her mouth twitching.

Robert joined in. “Nay. I forbid it. Fingall might not bring bonnie Brigid back unharmed.”

Fingall grabbed Brigid’s hand, yanking her upright. His mighty thighs knocked the bench beneath them back with such force, Duncan and Seamus had to grip the table edge to avoid falling backward.

Brigid laughed, tugging her arm back into her side. “Finn!”

Ignoring her protest, Fingall dragged her to the dance floor. In seconds, that Viking had a huge smile on his face as he gazed down at the sparkling vixen twirling in his arms.

Iain leaned closer to me. “It’s not Brigid’s welfare I’m worried about.”

I arched a brow at Iain. “Finn?”

He chuckled. “Aye. She’s been callin’ him that since she was knee-high. Brigid remains the only person still in one piece who’s ever done so.”

The snapshot portrayed Iain’s clan as a tight-knit family. They’d all grown up together, trusting and protecting each other. I felt a twinge in my chest, unexpectedly yearning to be a part of it.

My wistfulness got interrupted when Iain sprung up, pulling me with him. He held me in his steadying arms as the rest of the men shoved tables and benches against the walls. The room spun with my sudden altitude change, and I leaned into him for stability.

Iain whirled me onto the dance floor before a protest left my lips. He went easy on me, though, teaching me the footwork and turns. The man’s patience and ability overcame my inebriation as I learned their delightful reel. A song change led us from one dance into another. Iain tightened his possessive hold, reducing the space between us to the width of our clothes.

The rhythm changed: a deep cadence took hold. Iain deposited me along the wall and joined a growing group of men dancing in the center of the room. The heavy beat of a drum led their loud stomps and sliding feet. They drew in together close, then pulled out, circling around. Iain executed the steps with precision—passion and pride featured on his face.

Brigid appeared at my side. We watched as the men increased their pace. She commented, “Isobel, Iain indeed claims you as his.”

I smirked, tilting my head to the side, never taking my eyes off the crowd. “I know he does.” Aside from his saying so, his hands and body pressed against mine said as much. Growls at any male approaching me within talking distance shouted his unquestionable intentions.

Brigid laughed. “Aye, ’twill not be easy for you.”

My co-conspirator had a point. It would be no simple task to get the man who’d claimed me by right and fate to bow down, understanding he needed to win my heart to have it. Odds against me had never deterred me before, however, and they weren’t about to no matter my present circumstances.

The song ended, and Iain and his guard were swarmed by a throng of women. I laughed. The same fawning that modern-day Iain had been plagued with in California’s Highland games hounded him in the actual Highlands. The men had been surrounded by bold flirting, bright smiles, and heaving breasts.

A white linen shirt across a broad chest interrupted my view. Several men blocked us in, corralling us into a corner, muting the sounds of laughter and music from the room. Brigid scowled at the lot of them.

The tallest and darker haired of the foursome addressed me. “I’ve been unable to look upon another all night. Now you stand alone, in need of my company.”

I laughed at his boldness. Ego flowed abundantly with this clan; that, or they saw red tape as superfluous and got right to the point in a pure survivalist era—have testosterone, will conquer. The development, however, worked right into my plans, even if the newcomer likely saw the situation in his control and favor.

“Mmm . . .” I gave him a coy smile and even pulled off an eyelash flutter. “Does my new company have a name?”

He grinned. “I’m Gawain.”

Gawain angled in closer, separating me from Brigid who’d already engaged his companions into conversation. He grabbed silver goblets of ale from the tray of a passing maid and handed me one. I accepted, taking only a sip, peering at him above the rim.

I felt his hand push gently on the small of my back, guiding me away to the edge of the room. “Tell me your name, lass. I’ve not seen your bonnie face before.”