Page 33 of Highland Storm

“And if we’re not?”

He smiled a little crookedly. “Grouse.”

She smiled back. “Grouse is good,” she said.

He supposed that right about now, everything sounded good to the lass, but they’d probably steer clear of the grouse.

Unaccustomed to walking with women—particularly one who was injured—Keane’s steps were too long and his gait too quick, so he let go of her hand and stopped to give her a rest, making a pretense of inspecting the string of his bow. He peered down at her feet—at the unraveling cloth—and frowned. Hooking his bow over his shoulder, he swept her up into his arms. “But first we have something else to attend.”

Squawking in surprise, Lianae wrapped her hands about Keane’s neck. That too made him frown, although not because he didn’t like the feel of her warm, sweet fingers at his nape…

His sisters were all entirely self-sufficient. He wasn’t accustomed to thinking about the discomfort of others, and he wondered how much he’d already overlooked. Clearly, Lianae wasn’t spoiled, but he must make an effort to anticipate her needs—although why he should feel inclined to do so for a woman he barely knew and would likely never see again once he found her a safe haven, he didn’t particularly know. Ever since yesterday, it was a growing need, and it was a longing he was wholly unaccustomed to.

As they neared the whitebeam trees, replete with their bright red fruit all topped with tiny white hoods, she marveled aloud. “How lovely!”

Grunting his agreement, Keane put her down beneath a snow-laden branch to gain his bearings, and to search for the brook. She had yet to tell him any of the troubles she’d endured, but he suspected she’d been through quite an ordeal, and still she marveled over simple berries.

Inspecting a low-lying branch, she placed her hand gingerly beneath the crimson fruit, and the look on her face was full of wonder. “I take it ye have been here before?”

“Once.”

“When?”

“On the way north.”

“Oh,” she said and plucked the frozen bunch from the branch. Afterward, she stood inspecting the berries, squishing one between her fingers and lifting a finger to her lovely mouth to taste the juice. The small gesture made his cock twitch and that simple fact annoyed him beyond measure.

Remembering the way to the burn, he lifted her up once again without a word of warning and carried her down. There, he settled her next to a large boulder then slid his bow from his shoulder and set it down beside her.

“I am not an invalid,” she complained.

Confused by his own actions, Keane didn’t immediately respond.

Indeed, she was not. She had come miles on her own without shoes, cutting her feet along the way. It shouldn’t be much of a surprise that she hadn’t yet griped. But he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about her—or anything else, aside from the taste of her lips.

She had kissed him so unexpectedly this morn, arousing his hunger, and it had taken him a long, intoxicating moment to realize what she would do, and then something snapped inside him. He wanted to taste her body with a fierceness he had never known—the same way she craved the taste of those berries. But the truth was, not all whitebeam berries were sweet, and still some part of him craved to know what he would get with Lianae.

Would she be bitter in the end?

Would he crave her only to be denied?

Keane was not the sort of man to sew his seed with abandon. He wanted to bed her, aye, but he wanted to keep her as well—and that was unreasonable. She was not a dog to be leashed and, besides, he had no home to provide her.

Which only led him to wonder what the devil he was doing taking her to Dunloppe. What was Broc supposed to do with the lass? Was he merely hoping that the further they traveled together the more time he could give himself to figure it all out? Did he think he would find a way to convince her to stay with him, even despite that he had nothing to his name? She was a woman of substance, he was certain, and he was a border guard, with naught but a bunch of men to his name. The more he thought about it all, the less clearly he could think, and so he ought not be thinking at all.

Stooping to test the water’s temperature, Keane peered up at Lianae and swallowed the lump that appeared in his throat. The look of innocence she gave him felled him more swiftly than any seduction ever could. Finding it difficult to speak, he waved a hand at the boulder where he’d lain down his bow. “Sit,” he demanded, more harshly than he’d intended.

For an instant, he thought she would protest, but she lifted a golden brow and limped to the boulder without a word. She sat down. “Tha thu a' dèanamh cus odharmanachaidh,” she said, without much heat and a bit of a smirk.

Keane reached out to snag her right foot, without bothering to ask, irritated with his own lack of wits. “Clearly, you speak the old tongue.”

“Of course—and ye must as well?”

“Aye.”

She sounded coy. “Well, what did I say?”

Keane continued unwrapping the wool around her foot. “You said I was officious.”