A Perfect Knight For Love by Jackie Ivie Page B

it.
    “Well. Well. Well. ’Tis my bairn brother, Thayne. Tupping a woman.” The man had a huge voice with a deep brogue and a slurred way of speaking. He also laughed through the words, making him harder to understand.
    “Jamie.” Thayne’s voice carried what sounded like threat. It vibrated through his back into where she’d pressed her cheek. It didn’t affect his brother in the slightest.
    “And doing it poorly, I see.”
    Embarrassment was an understatement. It was absolute horror. Unpleasant goose bumps ran her, feeling immeasurably worse where the back of her dress still gapped.
    “You brought clan?” Thayne asked.
    His brother was still amused, if his voice was an indicator. “More than enough for rescue from one small lass. Do you have whiskey?”
    “Sporran,” Thayne replied.
    Amalie heard shuffling noises, the sounds of gulping, and the smack of lips. She peeked on the view of shadowed earth floor behind Thayne’s boot heels and her feet. Nobody said anything until Thayne broke the silence.
    “You could turn about, Jamie. Give us a moment.”
    His brother snorted. “A moment? You’re selfish-fast, mon. Nae wonder the lasses prefer me.”
    Amalie went crimson-colored and then pale. She could feel it as heat followed by immense chill. It was easier to hide behind Thayne and put a hand over each ear. It didn’t work. She could still hear.
    “A moment to dress. See to the bairn. And the wife.”
    Thayne was talking through clenched teeth, if the sound was any indication. One of the men must have tossed a hank of plaid material at him. She saw the flick of cloth at his shin while his back undulated to catch it.
    “Wife? Did I hear that right? Wife? ”
    “You heard,” Thayne replied without inflection.
    “You went and wed? Without word or approval?”
    “Aye,” Thayne replied.
    There was a hushed reaction during which the baby hiccoughed. Amalie blinked rapidly and worked at controlling the shaking in her legs as Thayne pulled away to toss his plaid over his shoulder, brushing her head with it. She moved her hands to the front of her dress, checked for coverage, and then clasped them between her breasts. She’d rarely felt as open and unprotected and vulnerable.
    “Did . . . you also say . . . bairn?” Jamie’s shadow took a step toward the baby and she knew he peered into the plaid.
    “You heard me,” Thayne replied.
    “So we did. True, lads?”
    No one answered him. Amalie began to wonder how much whiskey he’d drunk to sound so unsteady and slurred. She watched the shadow turn fully toward them, making him look gigantic and misshapen.
    “That the wife, then? The lass behind you?”
    “Aye,” Thayne replied.
    “Stand aside. Let me get a look at her.”
    Amalie’s heart moved. Or something. It felt lodged at the base of her throat, bumping against her clenched hands with the force of each beat, squeezing at her air passage. She could sense the room swaying and hoped it wasn’t a swoon.
    “Nae,” Thayne answered finally; clearly, and with the same lack of emotion. She’d have gasped if she had breath.
    “You should na’ tell your laird nae,” Jamie replied.
    “Cease this and assist me.”
    “Gladly. Although I doona’ usually share women.”
    Amalie really was going to faint. Little black dots hampered her vision and her legs refused to hold her. Thayne must’ve felt it, for he backed into her, pushing her against the wall and forcing her to stay upright.
    “Cease frightening my wife.”
    “She’s already seen your ugly arse. How can I frighten more than that?” Jamie asked.
    “Enough.”
    Thayne said it in a low throb of sound. She’d never heard such a tone. Amalie knew a threat when she heard it. His brother must be immune, for all he did was sigh. Loudly.
    “Come along, then. You’re done rescued.”
    “’Tis na’ just me. Dunn-Fyne has three MacGowan men and the bairn’s wet-nurse. And my horse. I’ll na’ leave without them.”
    Jamie gave another sigh.