Page 20 of Highland Storm

Nevertheless, he’d promised to help her, and help her he would, but in the meantime, he sorely wished she would join him beneath the blankets.

Even from where Keane lay, he could tell that she was shivering beneath her fancy cloak, despite the added benefit of his breacan. And in spite of her threats to leave, she had stayed. By now, he was pretty sure that whatever it was that awaited her out there… she feared that far more than she did Keane or his men.

Stubborn lass.

He wished she would relent. Though if there was one thing he’d learned in dealing with his sisters, it was that there was only so far a man could go to assert his will. He’d crossed that line but a few times before his sisters quite rudely put him in his place.

To that effect, Lianae reminded him most of Lael, although there was a softness about her that his sister did not possess. She was more like his brother’s wife—prickly, but gentle in her bearing. She appeared every bit a lady in her English finery, and yet she had mettle—a trait that fit quite neatly with the dún Scoti women. Years of living in the Mounth and fending for themselves had given the dún Scoti womenfolk far less complicated tastes, but they were no less capable of leading men about by their noses. Strong women were valued by his kinsmen, and in fact, in days gone by, the line of kingship had come to them, not through their fathers, but through their mothers.

Lianae reminded him of a queen. Like a lodestone, his gaze was drawn to her.

She was seated atop a ruined stoop, warming her hands with the heat of her breath, though her gaze remained riveted upon the campfire. Every once in a while, she would peer over her shoulder at the dark forest behind her, but then she returned to stare longingly at the flames.

Stubborn lass, he thought again.

Full of pride and too headstrong for her own good, she would rather freeze to death than join his men beside the fire. Well, she wasn’t going anywhere, he realized. And he’d made it perfectly clear to his men that they should leave her be. Once the girl was cold enough, she would seek his bed, he had no doubt. She didn’t strike him as witless or foolish, and on nights like these, both man and beast knew better than to sleep alone. Even the horses were all huddled together beneath the tarp and his men were heaped beneath another, with adjoining pallets that made good use of body heat and blankets. Crowded and a jumble of limbs, Keane would warrant that not a single one of them would complain about feet wandering beneath the blankets tonight. In fact, he was quite certain the most coveted spots to place one’s toes were beneath another mon’s arse cheeks—not that he wanted anyone near his own.

And yet that was not why he’d taken his pallet so far from the others. His reasons for that were twofold: Now that he would take his place as their leader, it was important to make certain all the men knew their places. Previously, he and Cameron had provided a strong, united front, one that bolstered them whenever they were unsettled. But the second reason, and the one that held most sway, was simply that he would be far more approachable lying separately from his men. For that reason, he’d chosen a spot half hidden from the rest of the pallets, beneath a broken eave, which should afford them a modicum of privacy. No matter that they believed themselves equals, his sisters—all three—had never been very keen on sleeping near the men. Not even Lael, who, far from considering herself Keane’s equal and thought herself above most men, would let her guard down enough to sleep comfortably amidst grown men. Only Kellen had ever merited a spot upon her pallet—mostly because Aidan had refused to share his bed with a five-year-old, and somehow, Kellen had taken more to Lael than to any of the rest of his sisters when first he’d arrived in Dubhtolargg. More oft than not, Lael would carve herself a place somewhere alone.

Turning onto his back, Keane placed one hand behind his head to stare up at the starless night, thinking about Lili’s son. He would be ten and six by now, but he hadn’t seen the boy in five years—not since the day Keane left the vale. Out of everyone, he missed his sister Cailin most of all. For most of their life the two had been inseparable.

The night was calm, but there was a sting in the air that promised colder weather yet. Snow lit upon his lashes, but he didn’t particularly care. Back in the vale, he’d spent many a night just like this… and he wondered what his sister Cailin would say if she could spy him now… sleeping in a heap of rubble merely to say he’d slept one day in the cradle of their kin.

He thought of Meara next, the lass he’d once believed he’d loved. But to little avail, he tried to picture her face. It eluded him now, after so long. She was fourteen when she’d died of fever from a contaminated well and she went so fast that Keane scarce had time to blink. One day she was giggling, spying on him at Caoineag’s Pool, and the next, she was lying upon a pyre.

“May I?” asked a soft, feminine voice, interrupting his reverie.

Keane blinked, turning to find, not Meara, but Lianae standing a few feet away. There was nothing similar about them. Meara had had dark lovely hair and bright green eyes while Lianae reminded him of a burnished idol. Arms crossed and shivering ferociously, she stared at him longingly—or rather, not at Keane, but at his blanket.

All thoughts of Meara vanished at once.

Smiling, Keane lifted the blanket in welcome.

Chapter

Seven

By morning, the entire world seemed blanketed in white, with a watery sun that teased through heavy, bloated clouds. The ruins were half buried beneath a layer of snow so high that it was difficult to say where the ruins ended and the landscape began.

The surrounding trees were painted with frost, evergreen boughs that sagged with heavy burdens. Every time the wind blew, great gobs of ice shook loose from the trees. The fickle weather was turning yet again, but if they should set out now, in this storm, they’d very likely freeze their bollocks off before midday—something Keane was disinclined to do, particularly now that they were so snuggly and warm. Down in the courtyard, amidst the half tumbled walls, the crew remained sheltered from the wind. Burrowed beneath the covers, with a warm body at his side, he’d slept like a warm, lazy dog, and as yet, most of his men had yet to rise, clearly reluctant to burrow out of their pallets.

Oblivious to the continuing flurries, a red squirrel sat burrowing near his pallet, its rufous tail twitching as it searched for pine nuts beneath the snow. Oddly, it reminded him of Lianae searching for her stones. The squirrel scurried away once Keane adjusted the covers—more’s the pity. With an empty stomach, he fancied the little beast roasting on a spit for their breakfast. Alas, but he was far too content to leave his bed, and much too aware of the woman slumbering along beside him…

Lianae.

It was a good name, lovely and strong, much like her.

He might never have guessed for an instant that beneath her fearless facade she’d hid the evidence of abuse.

What kind of man harmed a woman?

If Keane had the chance to face the monster, he would give him cause to rue his actions. It was impossible to know whether he’d taken her against her will, but marks like those meant only one thing… at the very least the bastard had tried.

For his part, Keane intended to reward the girl’s trust in him by proving that not all men were rutting beasts…

At the least he was trying.

His lust was difficult to deny, when his cock stood fully erect and throbbing beneath the covers. Despite his best intentions, his morning erection was not a function of his sex.