She knew he was talking to her because she could feel the vibrations rumbling from his chest, but she didn’t want to give up the hug to push away so she could see what it was he said.
When he finally pulled away, he took her hand and started to tug her toward the keep. She stopped and frowned, then looked back at his horse.
“I’ll send someone back for it. I’d thought to have to go much farther to find you. You know I wouldn’t make you ride with me.”
For a moment, her gaze left her brother once more to find the horse who was grazing contentedly a few feet away. She didn’t hate horses. They’d once been something she loved more than anything else. She hated that when she got close, when she could smell them, could feel their power, that she broke into a cold sweat and terror gripped her.
She hadn’t ridden since her accident. She missed it. Missed the freedom of riding across open land, hair flying behind her, not a care in the world. Now the mere idea of being astride something so strong paralyzed her. She weighed nothing in comparison. It was so easy for a horse to unseat her.
Brodie tugged again, and this time he led her away more forcefully. She had a thousand questions she wanted to put to her brother, but she had no idea how to formulate them. No way to make him understand that she craved information.
What was the Montgomery chieftain like? Was he grotesque? Was he menacing?
She halted again, withdrew her hand from Brodie’s, then touched his arm and tilted her head toward the keep. Then she lifted her eyebrows in clear question.
Brodie pursed his lips and blew out air, his cheeks puffing slightly. He glanced away, ran a hand through his hair and then finally directed his gaze back to her. There was deep sorrow in his eyes. Worry. Love. Concern.
“Graeme Montgomery is here. He wants to meet you. He doesn’t want to stay any longer than necessary, and the earl of Dunbar will grant that request because he fears what will happen if the Montgomerys and Armstrongs are forced to remain in each others’ presence for too long.”
She put a finger to his lips and then shook her head in a negative motion. Then she smiled because she wanted him not to look so sad. If there was ever a time she wished she had the courage to try to speak, it was now. She opened her mouth, willing to try, not even knowing what would come out, but before she could issue those guttural sounds that she hoped formed words, her brother turned sharply and then held up a fist in the air.
He bellowed something she couldn’t discern, but felt the vibration from his body. When she looked in the direction he was staring, she saw that Aiden was in the distance, motioning them toward the keep.
Brodie put a hand to the middle of her back and nudged her forward. She was sure he spoke, but she was too focused on the keep as they drew near to try to discern what it was he said. It was at these times that she knew others thought her daft because she simply didn’t respond, didn’t react. He could be saying anything at all and she’d never know.
When they approached Aiden, he was frowning, and she knew a reprimand was forthcoming so she purposely didn’t look at him, because if she didn’t see what he was saying, then it didn’t really happen.
Perfectly logical in her mind.
Not that Aiden was ever mean. He was just less patient than Brodie. And he worried for her. If he had his way, she’d stay in the keep and never wander far. She’d never forget that it was he who’d found her in the ravine and that he’d feared the worst. That she had died.
She walked into the keep, flanked by her brothers, and she had to admit, it bolstered her courage because being between them, she knew she’d never come to harm.
As soon as she entered the hall, she came to an abrupt halt, her gaze automatically finding the man who commanded the most authority. It was obvious—at least to her—who the chieftain of the Montgomery clan was.
Power clung to him. It was an almost visible aura surrounding him.
She swallowed nervously and her palms grew damp. He was big. Really big. Taller than even her brothers. He was broad-shouldered, with an equally broad chest, more narrow at the waist, and his legs were solid masses of muscle, as big around as she was. Maybe her first impression was a wee bit exaggerated, but he looked like a mountain to her.
His medium brown hair was unruly. It hung to just below the base of his neck and curled at the ends, flipping this way and that. It was obvious he hadn’t a care when he had it shorn. Unlike his brothers—or at least she assumed the two men with him were his brothers—he wore his hair shorter.
One of the men with him was beautiful. It seemed odd to describe a man with such a feminine term—and there was nothing remotely feminine about him. But he hadn’t a single flaw that Eveline could see. His hair was as dark as a raven’s wing and his eyes were a vivid blue. It was a certainty that Eveline had never seen his equal when it came to fairness of face. It was hard to look away from him.
The man who stood on Graeme’s other side was nearly as large as his two brothers, and he had a lot of similarities to the really handsome brother. In fact, of the three, Graeme was probably the least blessed with a face that women would fawn over or that poets and bards would compose lyrics about, but still she was drawn over and over to Graeme’s features. The lines of his face. The strength in his deceptively casual pose.
Nay, he wasn’t beautiful like his brothers, but there was something even more arresting about his appearance. Something that intrigued her and drew her to look at him again and again.
To the unguarded eye he seemed relaxed, but to her he seemed tense and ready to strike at a moment’s notice