Page 28 of Highland Storm

Lianae nodded sleepily. “But I wish I were not.”

“Why lass?”

Swallowing with some difficulty, Lianae clung to his cloak lest she topple from the horse, weary from lack of food and sleep. Her stomach hurt, and everyone else’s seemed equally as uncomfortable as hers, all except Keane’s. “’Tis my belly,” she said, despite that she suspected what ailed the men was something other than hunger.

“I am sorry, lass,” he said. “’Tis the grouse, I suspect. We’ll find something to settle your belly, I promise.”

Lianae smiled, for he sounded like her mother, despite that he looked like a murdering savage. Not even her brothers had ever coddled her so, and she found herself wishing his men had not interrupted them this morning. The taste of his lips stayed with her and she didn’t have to try to remember that tantalizing scent. She needed only but inhale a breath…

What would it be like to spend the rest of her days with a man like Keane?

Far better than with the Earl, that much was certain. Lianae had the sense that Keane would be quick to protect the people and things he valued most, unafraid to stand up to men like William fitz Duncan. Unlike her brother Lulach. And he was handsome, as well, even without any finery and garbed as he was in rudimentary clothes—like some warrior of old.

In fact, he reminded her a bit of the Viking warriors her grammy had gone on about, except that he was darker in countenance, not golden haired—more like the Painted Ones who’d once inhabited these Highlands before. They were gone now, although Lianae sensed they were still around, like the men and women of Moray, hiding in plain sight.

Of course, it was better for the people of Moray to hide. There weren’t enough of them now to stand against the usurpers. But the next thing one knew, the Moraymen would all be gone, and if any remained—like Lulach—they would keep their fancy clothes and attend their fancy chapels, and raise their sons and daughters to be good little Sassenachs. This was the destiny she envisioned… unless she could find Ewen and Graeme and they could restore the Mormaerdom. She liked to imagine them as hundreds strong now… waiting for the chance to rise up and retake what belonged her people.

As soon as Lianae had the chance, she would retrieve those charm stones and find a way to reach other brothers. There might be enough coin left over that she could donate to their cause.

“How many did you recover?” Keane asked, as though he’d read her mind.

“Five,” Lianae replied.

“How many did you have before?”

“Twelve.”

She felt more than saw him nod and once again she rested her chin on the small of his back. “You know what they are?”

“I do,” he confessed.

“Ha’ ye ever seen any before now?”

“I have.”

“Ach, do ye speak more than two words at a time?”

“I do,” Keane said again, and once again, she sensed rather than saw him smile. It was there, in the tone of his voice. The muscles of his chest seemed to relax beneath her hands.

Lianae laughed softly, wondering why he’d been so reluctant to take what she’d offered him this morn. Did he have a wife already? That possibility both pleased and frustrated her at once, for she had never known a man to be so loyal to his woman—and this must be a good thing, though now that she had set her sights on gaining Keane’s protection, she needed his heart to be free. “So, then… if you’re so fond o’ women, ye must be wed?”

Keane’s lips curved over the arrogantly phrased question and the unmasked curiosity in her voice. She said it rather like a statement, as though there could be no other cause for his shooing her out of his bed. And aye, he knew intuitively that’s what her question was all about: that kiss. “I am not,” he replied.

He felt her sigh—a long, hot breath against the small of his back. He felt it penetrate the layers of his garb. “Well, there we have three words,” she said, and Keane couldn’t quite suppress his mirth.

His shoulders shook with laughter. “Nay, lass,” he said, to be clearer. “I am no’ wed.”

Perhaps it was his imagination, but she seemed to scoot a wee bit closer after his admission and, despite the relenting weather, that fact pleased him more than he could say.

“And you are certain you’re no pillow biter?”

Once again, Keane stifled his laughter, clearing his throat. “Quite certain.”

“I see we’re back to two words. Does it anger you for me to ask?”

“Why should it anger me? If you’re curious, how else will ye know if ye dinna ask?”

She sighed again, leaning her sweet cheek against his back, and Keane inhaled a deep, heady breath, enjoying the feel of her. “That’s what I used to tell my da,” she said. “When he complained I asked too many questions.”