Love Letters from Largs: Brodie and Celestina (Highlander Clan Grant Series Book 3) by Keira Montclair Page A

could not believe her e ars. Brodie had come to her defense? She watched as dishes crashed to the floor; the Grant lad’s fury at her treatment causing a ruckus she could never have anticipated. Her betrothed and the other dinner guests scrambled from their chairs and stepped back from the table. She stood as well, but when her father reached for her, she shrunk away. The anger on his face told her she would bear the brunt of his dissatisfaction later, that all of this would be her fault. Visions of her father’s idea of “fair punishment” flickered through her mind. Her fists clenched and she turned and fled, running out of the great hall down a corridor, seeking for an escape—from her father, from her betrothed, from her life. Yet as she scurried down the corridor, a small flame tore through her fear, reminding her of something more important than anything her father could ever do to her.
    Whatever it might cost her, Brodie Grant had tried to protect her. He had witnessed her father’s cruelty with his own eyes and decided to put a stop to it. Finally, someone had stood up for her.
    Brodie Grant wasn’t her knight or her warrior.
    He was her hero. He had fought for her— for her ! Perhaps there was a reason to live. Was there a chance he would be interested in her?
    That one thought slowed her steps as she bolted down the corridor before turning down another. She had no idea where she was going—all she knew was that she had to get away. She came to the end of the passageway and stopped, unsure which direction to go next. She touched the cold damp stone of the wall next to her, trying to orient herself, make herself think. Rubbing her arm, she wondered what madness had motivated her own father to inflict such pain on her in front of a crowd.
    Wh irling in frustration, desperately needing to cry or scream, she calmed herself using a method she had learned to do long ago—counting while taking deep breaths. The deep Scottish burr of her warrior broke through her concentration and stopped her in her tracks.
    Brodie Grant was heading straight toward her, concern and worry etched in his features. “My lady, may I be of assistance?” He stumbled on his own words, “What he did, your own blood… I am so sorry he hurt you. May I help you?” He stopped directly in front of her and reached for her hand.
    Instinct forced her to step back away from him, but the rough stone of the castle wall burrowed into her back behind her. “Nay, please. If my father sees me with you, the beating will be even worse. Please, go away.” She could not let her father find them together.
    Brodie grabbed her hands and covered them with his. Gazing into her eyes, he said, “I will protect you, Celestina. I am sorry, but I can no’ stand by and watch him hurt you.” He reached for her sleeve to check her arm.
    “Please, do not.” She tried to pull her arm away, but the warmth that his touch transferred to her skin slowed her movement. His touch was gentle and soft; only Inga had touched her that way since her mother’s disappearance. Unable to move, she watched as he gingerly slid the sleeve of her gown up to take measure of the damage done by her own father. She hoped he wouldn’t notice the older bruises on her pale skin.
    She cast her eyes away in shame. It was her fault, was it not? That’s what her father always said. And it was true that she had not been able to control her own behavior this night. She shouldn’t have been staring at the handsome Highlander when she was betrothed to another.
    Brodie’s hand gently grasped her chin, pulling her gaze back to his. “Sweeting, you did naught wrong.”
    His finger brushed across her lower lip, searing the soft skin there. Had he any idea what he was doing to her? A sigh escaped her as she stared into his eyes. His lips brushed hers briefly—as if he could no more control herself than she could herself—and heat steeped from her lips to her heart and her core.
    “Fathers