A dark red.
She must have frowned because he asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Naught.” She would say nothing, but then she pushed herself. She didn’t want their conversation to end. If she’d gone into the kitchen, she never would have known his daughter’s name. “You have the strangest shade of red in your eyes. Brown and gold with a burnished red here and there.”
“Truly? No one has ever told me so before. Brown and gold, but no red.”
“You have a deep fear of something intangible. I cannot sense what it is.”
Edan shifted from one foot to the other, then rolled his shoulder as if it were injured. “I’m here for help. I need my daughter.”
Then she said the one thing the old Ailith would never have dared to say. “I imagine her mother is sick with worry too.”
“Her mother passed when she was born,” he whispered, a hand reaching up to move hair back that had fallen in his eyes.
“Forgive me. I’m sorry to hear so.”
He patted her wound. “It’s finished bleeding.” He set the linen back in the fold in his coat. “It’s my pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ailith Grant. I must return to speak with your chieftains.”
She headed to the kitchens while he seemed to change directions. As she moved past him, the edge of her sleeve brushed lightly across the back of his hand where it rested at his side. The touch was accidental, barely there, but it stopped her short, a warmth, a presence that stole her breath for a heartbeat. She dared a glance back and found Edan watching her, his expression unreadable. Her cheeks burned with sudden color, but she said nothing. For the briefest moment their eyes met, something gentle and vulnerable passing between them. She tore her gaze away and headed for the kitchens, but she could still feel the ghost of that touch lingering on her skin.
Just as she reached for the door, her fingertips trembled, betraying nerves she tried to hide. Before she could hide it, Edan was there. His callused fingers closed gently around hers, steadying her. The unexpected touch sent a jolt through her, grounding and unsettling all at once. She stiffened, then, unable to help herself, let herself lean into the quiet strength of his hand. Their hands lingered together, just a moment too long, before she found her voice and drew away, not meeting his eyes. “My thanks,” she whispered, her cheeks warm.
“Your pardon, but you looked unsteady. I hope I did not offend you, lass.” Edan’s breath sent a shiver down her spine, but he stepped away quickly, so she prayed he hadn’t noticed.
She slipped into the kitchen, her own composure rattled. The memory of his touch stayed with her, a quiet steadiness she found welcome. Ailith had not wanted a man’s hand near hers in years, ever since that horrid time she’d been locked in a cellar. But Edan’s was different.
She wanted him to stay.
She heard Dyna say, “Stay for two nights and I promise we can help you. I need to speak with someone about this. I think we can be of assistance to you.”
Ailith leaned on a side table in the kitchen, catching her breath. Her composure had slipped, and that alone disturbed her.
Straight brown hair that hung to his shoulders, a finely chiseled jaw, and sharp brown eyes like the finest chestnut mare in the land tugged her forward, but she fought it.
His eyes had fixed on hers as though he, too, felt it.
She didn’t know much about him, but she knew one thing for certain.
Edan MacRuari was the man in her dream.
Chapter Eight
Edan
“Who is Ailith exactly? I must have met her somewhere before. She looks so familiar to me,” Edan said, his gaze still on the door the dark-haired lass had slipped into.
There was something about the lass that struck him. Not like the pull of a beautiful woman, but the pull of a beautiful soul. Something in her gaze had caught and held him like the Corryvreckan pulling ships to its depths. There had been a moment, no more than a breath, when her eyes met his, and something in him stilled.
He’d held her hand and thought naught of it, yet having her close made him think thoughts that should make him feel guilty. His wife had only been dead just a little over a year.
But Ailith was different. Something about the way she had stood, her head held high, while she spoke to him. She was not easily intimidated by a strange man like some lasses were. He had this odd sense that she was the type who had undying loyalty to her clan, to her family.
To her husband.
What in hell had made him think of such a thought?
He took two steps past Dyna, his gaze still locked on the door Ailith had stepped through. She’d been able to look inside him, she’d seen his fear. Known it was there. One he never shared with anyone, but she’d only identified it in general terms. She hadn’t determined exactly what that fear was.
