“Have ye been fake married before?” she asked, bringing the cup to her lips and taking a small sip.
Brogan chuckled. “I’ve never let a woman get that close to claiming me.”
“So ye’re a virgin, then?” This she said with a little snort.
He nearly spat out his wine as he whipped his head toward her. “Nay. Why would ye suggest that?”
“A woman allowing ye entry into her body is a bit close to claiming, would ye no’ say?”
“They were no’ entering mine, lass. There’s a difference.”
“Ah, so a man canna be claimed by making love?” She licked a droplet of wine from the rim of her glass, noticing too late how his eyes were riveted on her tongue.
“I would no’ say what I’ve done with women afore was making love.”
“What would ye call it, then?” She took a sip of wine, grinning at the challenge and looking forward to whatever answer he might give her.
“Rutting. Mowing. Swiving.”
Her face grew hot at the vulgar words, and yet at the same time a frisson of hunger plunged somewhere between her thighs to hear him speaking so. Brogan took a sip of his wine and then turned to stare down at her, a slow wink dipping his eyelid closed and causing her to blush all the more.
“What about ye?” he asked.
For half a second, she thought that Brogan meant for her to tell him what she would call the act of lying with a man. Fortunately, she realized rather quickly that was not to what he was referring. It took Fiona a moment to find her voice, and even when she did, she sounded breathy. “I’ve never been fake married before. Unless ye count a lass’s daydreams.”
He grinned. “And who did ye daydream of being wed to?”
“An old friend.” She sighed. “But he is wed to someone else.”
“’Tis hard to think that any sane man would choose another woman over ye.” Brogan’s bare shoulder touched hers, and though she wore a shirt, that thin barrier did not keep out the heat of his touch.
She laughed softly. “Believe it or no’, Brogan, I am somewhat difficult to get along with.”
“Och, I dinna think so. Else your two friends, Jenny and Annie, would no’ have stuck by your side. And even as much as I find ye to be a pain in the arse, I was willing to fake marry ye.” His tone held a teasing lilt, and she shoulder-bumped him back.
“Your intelligence is coming into question, sir,” she teased.
“I think it already was. But alas.” He held up his glass of wine. “Cheers.”
Fiona clinked glasses with him and then sipped the wine, already feeling warm and dry. Cocooned in a false sense of safety here with Brogan. They could have been the only two people in the world. No matter what happened in the end, these moments with him would be forever burned in her memory.
Fake marriage or not, she would never be able to forget sitting here in a thin shirt, and him bare-chested and wrapped in a sheet. There’d only been a few people in her entire life that she’d sat on the floor before a hearth with. Her brothers and sister, and her friends Annie and Jenny. Not even Aes. Unless one were to count a campfire, but sitting round a campfire didn’t bring up such intimate thoughts as being in a bedchamber only half-clothed.
“Tell me more about your family,” Brogan said.
“Ye mean besides what ye know of us already, being old enemies?”
He chuckled. “I want to hear the good parts.”
“I’d love to share them, put a salve on some of the bad ye might have been taught. Ye met my brother Ian on the field.”
“Aye, one hell of a fighter.” Brogan actually looked impressed, and she wasn’t sure why that surprised her. Maybe because she knew him to be a skilled fighter, and most fighters had an ego bigger than the sky.
“My brother Gus took my sister Leanna to America,” she said, feeling a sudden pang at their absence. It had been so long since she’d seen them.
“That’s a long trip. Have ye heard from them?” Brogan shifted off the floor to get the carafe of wine from the table and bring it back to refill both of their glasses.
Fiona shook her head. “They only left a few months ago. The journey there is nearly six weeks, and I suspect not to hear back for some time. Especially no’ now.” Wherever they were, she prayed they were safe and that Gus had been able to find Leanna’s wayward betrothed, a story that she shared with Brogan now. “I hope he finds the bastard.”
“Ye’re all verra close.”
“Aye. Before my da was killed, and Mama felt compelled to leave, we all were. The loss of our parents only drew us closer.”
“And what of your duties to the prince and as a government postmistress? Does your family know?”
She was quiet for a long time. “Aye.” Fiona glanced up at him, realizing how much she trusted this man. “I must confess something ye may have already guessed.”
“What’s that?”
“I am the Phantom.”
A slow grin curled his lip. “I had guessed. And I’m glad ye felt comfortable enough to tell me. Trusted me with it.”
“We’re in this together, are we no’? If I didna trust ye, none of this would work.”
“Aye.”
“What about ye? Have ye any brothers and sisters?”
“I have many.” He chuckled. “My da was no’ exactly the type of man who cared where his seed was planted.”
Fiona bit her lip, having forgotten that Brogan was born to one of Chief Grant’s lovers.
“Are ye close with any of them?”
He shrugged. “We played as children, but there is always a distance put between those born legitimately and those no’. My da provided for us, but that was about it. We had a roof over our heads, food in our bellies. The lads were trained as soldiers, and the lasses were trained to work in the house.”
“How many are ye?”
“A dozen.”
Fiona’s eyes widened. “’Tis a lot.”
“Aye.” He took a long sip of wine and turned to grin at her. “We had a secret handshake, the bastards. Do ye want to learn?”
“Aye.”
“All right, stand up.” Brogan stood and held out his hand, pulling her to her feet, and she was faced once more with his bare skin but tried her hardest to look up into his face instead. “Hold out your left hand.”
He extended his hand in front of her, and she did the same, finding it endearing that he still remembered something so meaningful from his childhood that gave him a sense of belonging, and even more so that he was about to teach it to her.