Page 34 of Highland Storm

She laughed. “And ye are.”

Keane shrugged, despite that his lips maintained a hint of a smile—until he saw the bottom of her foot in the broad light of day. It wasn’t infected yet, though it was filthy, and the wounds were filled with debris. He marveled that she hadn’t complained even once, not even with the bitter cold. His own feet were drier than hers, wrapped in boot leather, and his toes were half numb.

He jerked her foot down a bit more roughly than he’d intended to, furious with himself for not asking after her comfort long before now. Splashing cold water over her foot, he washed it as best as he could, massaging it carefully to be certain the blood was flowing well. He worked quickly, plucking out the tiny rocks he encountered, and then shook out the wool and rewrapped her foot, doing the same again with her left foot, vowing to see them both wrapped more thoroughly once they returned to camp. Glenna’s wool was tightly woven, weather tight and warm, but it was still permeable and there was only so much of his breacan he could rent, without leaving her with little to warm the rest of her body. But he could dry her bindings near the fire and rewrap the foot again once the cloth was toasty and warm. Later, he would find her a pair of shoes. He didn’t give a bloody damn what his men thought as he catered to the lass. Let one of them speak out of turn.

It didn’t occur to him to wonder why he believed she would be with him long enough to supply her with shoes… he felt connected to the lass in a way he had never quite experienced before. In fact, come to think of it, this was the first time in his life he had ever taken responsibility for anyone besides himself—at least insomuch that he knew he must be the one to care for her, above all others, and even above himself.

It was a long, long moment before he realized that the copse had grown quiet, all but for the tinkling of the brook. Her hand rested upon the boulder, half holding her branch of frozen berries. If she should happen to twitch her fingers, they would drop onto the snow. Keane peered up at her with a longing so great he could scarce defy it.

She had a glimmer of tears in her eyes and she swallowed once before trying to speak. “’Tis been overlong since anyone looked after me this way, Keane. Thank you.”

Keane did know what to say. His throat felt suddenly too thick to speak. It only seemed like the right and natural thing to do, but when she put it that way, it made him feel as though he’d somehow overstepped his bounds… or taken on responsibility he ought not. “’Tis no more than I would do for any lass,” he reassured her.

“I see,” she replied, and the glassy look in her eyes vanished. She lifted up her berries, inspecting them closer with a look of disappointment in her amber eyes.

They could hear men chattering in the near distance, but here, the air was so still and thick Keane could cut it with a blade. “Those are whitebeams.”

“Yes, I know,” she said tightly, and Keane welcomed the icier tone, for he knew far better how to deal with her anger than he did her gratitude.

In fact, Lianae didn’t know.

She had never seen such bright red berries so full and bletted during the ides of winter. There were many such berries she recognized, but not this one.

It wasn’t his all-knowing attitude that perturbed her—or his officious demeanor. Rather, it was the notion that he did not particularly feel drawn to her… as she was to him.

Not since her family had been wrested from her so rudely had Lianae known such a gentle hand. Truth to tell, there was something about Keane that made her wish for things she ought not want—and yet she barely knew this man.

It was too easy to forget.

“They make a good tea to settle the belly,” he said matter of factly, dropping her bound foot, as though she were a child who’d needed help to dress.

Lianae was a woman grown, and yet he did not seem to notice this fact, and it annoyed her immensely. She was hardly the beauty Elspeth had been, but she wasn’t an ogre either. Some men thought her pretty, and some even said so.

Gruaidh may not be able to bear your children, nor is she quite so… pleasing.

Neither is your sister once she opens her mouth.

Lianae frowned, remembering William fitz Duncan’s words. “Do you think me ugly?” she asked, before she could think to stop herself. She had never learned how to be any other way, but direct—not even when it was clearly in her benefit to keep her mouth shut. She should have learned that lesson from her dealings with the Earl, and yet… she must know.

Both Keane’s brows shot up, and his eyes nearly crossed. It might have been a comical sight, if Lianae hadn’t been waiting so breathlessly for his answer. “No,” he said after a moment, composing himself. “How do your feet feel?”

“Lovely,” she replied. Not nearly so battered as her ego.

Wrathfully, Lianae squished a berry between her thumbs, and then tossed the detritus away rather petulantly, thinking herself a silly little fool for considering such things as feelings, when only yesterday she had escaped a fate worse than death.

She plucked another berry and lifted it to her mouth to test it with her tongue. “Are they bitter?” she asked, sounding bitter herself.

Keane rose from his knees. “Sometimes.”

“This one is sweet,” she said, sliding the berry over her tongue.

“Is it?”

“Aye.”

He wrapped his hand about her wrist and gently tugged her up. “There’s a much better way to eat them,” he said.

Lianae dared to look Keane in the eyes. They were so green… as green as a new leaf in spring, and the black of his pupils were inordinately large—as deep and dark as Lilidbrugh’s well. If she leaned just a bit, she might fall deep inside and be irrevocably lost.