But it was the glitter of stars that took her breath.
“The stars.” She glanced up at Grim. “They’re everywhere, more than I have ever seen.”
He nodded, looking pleased. “Indeed. And the crescent moon is allowing them their glory.”
Breena turned back to the window. “It’s almost too beautiful.”
“Lady Rosalie called this chamber her ‘room of stars.’ ” Grim’s voice was low, almost reverent. “ ’Tis easy to see why she chose the name.”
“She must’ve loved the room very much.”
“I have heard that she did.” Grim’s arm tightened about her waist, drawing her closer. “I can see you enjoying such a place. Watching the sun rise from one window and then later embroidering at another as the midday sun warmed you.” He paused, the magic he was spinning making her heart flutter. “Perhaps you’d admire the sunset from the west-facing alcove, a lover at your side. Then you could return here at midnight to drink mead and count the stars.
“Lady Breena, I can see you here so clearly.” His words flowed through her, sweeter than the honeyed mead he’d mentioned. He had the most beautiful voice, deep, smooth, and so richly burred.
Unfortunately, he’d said “lady” again. And worse, he was using his big, strong hand to trace delicate circles on her hip, a maddening distraction that sent the most delicious shivers all through her. His touch felt more searingly intimate than if she stood before him naked, a thought that excited her when such a wanton notion should shame her.
Her pulse leapt and exquisite, languorous heat swept across certain unmentionable parts of her, rousing and melting her.
Perhaps she was wicked?
In truth, she didn’t care. Not when it was Grim who made her feel that way.
But she did have other concerns.
“Grim.” She stepped away from him, speaking as resolutely as she could. “You mustn’t call me ‘Lady Breena.’ I am not a gentle-born lady and will not assume to make any such claim to the status.”
She held up a hand, stopping him when he started to object. “It makes me uncomfortable when you address me so. Simply Breena is fine, truly.”
“Aye, well, Breena.” He frowned on her name. “I am no’ a man to deny a lady her wishes. And you are a lady, whate’er you say.”
“My father was a woodcarver.” Breena’s chin came up, her sire’s hard-featured, ever-closed face rising in her mind. “He fed us by making plates, bowls, cups, and the like. He supplied rougher ware for villagers and townfolk, and finer goods for knightly households and other gentry. My brothers cut wood for him and brought him bog oak when they could find it. They also plowed fields.
“And I helped my mother with whatever chores needed doing.” She straightened her back, held his gaze. She raised her hands, palms outward so he would see her work-roughened fingers, the results of a lifetime of toil. “I can sew homespun, but have never embroidered, my lord. Suchlike is a lady’s pastime, as well you know.”
“I ken more than you allow me, lass.” He held his own hand out to her, his steady gaze commanding. “Come here, I’ve something else to show you.”
“There is nothing else in here.” Breena was sure he must hear the thundering of her heart. It roared in her ears, wild and dangerous.
“Did I say it was something in here?” He lifted a brow, looking amused as he waited.
“No…” Breena stared at his hand. Like the rest of him, it was large and strong-looking. Faint scars crisscrossed the skin, testament to his warrior background. His fingers were long and well made, and they bore calluses, showing he trained hard and wasn’t a man to shun work. Breena was sure she’d never seen a more perfect hand. Or a man she could love more deeply.
She hoped she didn’t already do so.
She feared she did.
“We should leave.” She found herself putting her hand in his, not quite sure how that happened. “It’s late and—”
“We are no’ finished here, my lady.” He squeezed her fingers and then bowed over her hand, lightly brushing his lips across her knuckles. When he straightened, his gaze was warm. “Come with me again into the embrasure.”
Giving her no choice, he tucked her hand in his arm and led her there. He took her back to the broad window ledge where she’d looked out upon the snowy Highlands with such rapture. The stars, if it were possible, seemed to have multiplied. They were even more brilliant now, twinkling so brightly she wouldn’t have been surprised if a spellcaster had enchanted them all, binding them to shine down on this beautiful land she now thought of as her home.