Page 27

Every trace of warmth vanished from Brodie’s face. His dark eyes turned to cold, lethal granite, his posture shifting in an instant from a weary father back to a ruthless Highland Laird.

“Show me,” Brodie commanded.

The gray stone of the corridor felt cold even through the heavy wool of Sheona’s stockings, but the small victory of standing on her own feet outweighed the lingering tremble in her limbs. Three days trapped beneath heavy woolen blankets had left her feeling like a ghost haunting her own skin.

Elspeth, the old clan healer, had grumbled bitterly as she tucked a stray lock of hair behind Sheona’s ear, pressing a gnarled hand against Sheona’s throat to check the fading heat.

“Ye’re nae fit to be runnin’ the ramparts, lass,” the woman had warned, her voice like grinding millstones. “Ye walk to the solar, ye sit by the hearth, and ye swallow every drop of willow bark tea I send up, or I’ll have the Laird lock ye back in that bed meself.”

Sheona had agreed only to stop the woman’s fretting. The mere thought of Brodie locking her away—or laying another heavy, silent hand on her forehead—made her chest throb with that strange, unwelcome heat.

She took a slow, steadying breath, smooth cotton skirts rustling as she tested her weight. Before she could take three paces toward the main stairwell, the heavy oak door at the end of the hall flew open with a bang.

“Ye’re up!”

Angus bounded down the corridor, his small leather shoes slapping loudly against the flagstones. He carried his carved wooden horse tucked tightly under one arm, his dark eyes wide and bright with a manic kind of relief. He skidded to a halt right in front of her, grabbing a handful of her skirts as if to anchor her to the floor.

“Elspeth said I was nae allowed to shout, but ye’re nae in bed!” the boy declared, his chest heaving under his linen tunic. “Ye slept for absolute ages. Father said if I woke ye, he’d tell the kitchen nae to give me honey cakes.”

Sheona couldn’t suppress the small, dry curve of her lips, though her throat still felt scraped raw. She reached down, resting her fingers lightly on Angus’s dark curls. “Yer father is all harsh talk, Angus. I doubt he’d do that.”

“Aye, he would,” Angus said solemnly, nodding hard. “He was so cross while ye were sleepin’. He sat in that chair over there and glared at the hearth like it had stolen his boots.”

The mental image struck Sheona with unexpected force: Brodie sitting in the dark chamber, silent, watching her as the fever burned. She pushed the thought away instantly, the icy prickle of pride rising to coat her ribs.

“Come,” Angus urged, tugging hard on her hand and pulling her toward the wide archway of the solar. “Ye have to sit by the big window. The storm brought down two pine branches near the stable, and—oh! I have to tell ye about Claire!”

Sheona let herself be led into the warmth of the upper solar. Sunlight streamed through the tall glass panes, cutting across the heavy oak tables and the deep sheepskin rugs laid before the massive stone hearth. She sank into a cushioned, high-backed chair, her heavy limbs grateful for the relief, while Angus scrambled up onto the wide stone window seat beside her.

“Claire?” Sheona asked softly, her voice still thin. “Who is Claire?”

“The lady!” Angus swung his small legs back and forth, holding up his wooden horse to inspect the jagged strap he had notched into its neck. “The one with the shiny yellow hair and the red dress. She got stuck here when the sky turned dark, and the rain came down like spears.”

The beautiful stranger.

Sheona’s chest tightened, a quiet, cold knot twisting tightly behind her ribs. The image of the woman returned with crystal clarity—pale gold hair, velvet red skirts, and those soft, radiant hazel eyes that had soothed Angus’s tears with a single touch.

“She was only here for the night,” Angus chattered on, completely oblivious to the way Sheona’s hand had clenched into the fabric of her skirt. “She stayed in the upper solar chamber. She brought me a sweetmeat from her saddlebag! It was rolled in fine sugar, all sticky and lemon-flavored.”

Sheona watched the boy, her pulse thumping a heavy, slow beat in her ears. “She sounds… very pleasant.”

“She is!” Angus beamed, leaning forward, his voice dropping as if sharing a great state secret. “She made everyone laugh. Even the guards in the courtyard! A guard was standin’ by the well, lookin’ all sour like he always does, and Claire told him his beard looked like a brown squirrel had built a nest in it and died. He turned as red as a rowanberry!”

Angus let out a sharp, ringing laugh, hugging his wooden horse to his chest. “And then she sat right at the head table for supper, before ye woke up. She told Father that his keep smelled of wet dog and iron, and that if he didnae buy softer wool for the hall benches, she was goin’ to burn his favorite saddle.”

Sheona blinked, staring at the boy in utter disbelief. “She… she spoke to Laird MacKinley like that?”

“Aye!” Angus giggled. “And Father didnae even roar at her. He just shook his head and… and he laughed, Sheona! Right out loud! I havenae heard him laugh like that since… well, since forever!”

Sheona felt her breath leave her lungs in a slow, painful rush. In all the days she had been dragged into this fortress—through the mud, the terror, the blood, and the bitter arguments in his study—she had never seen Brodie MacKinley smile, let alone laugh. He was a creature of granite and iron, a man who spoke in rumbles and commands, his dark eyes bearing into her with grim, unbearable weight.

Yet this woman—this Claire—had walked into his keep, insulted his hall, distributed sweetmeats, and drawn laughter from a chest Sheona had assumed was carved entirely of stone.

She turned her face toward the tall window, staring out at the jagged peaks of the Highlands rising against the clear blue sky.

She was his lover.

The conclusion settled into Sheona’s mind with absolute, undeniable clarity. It explained everything. It explained the comfortable, silent intimacy between them. It explained the gentle, affectionate smile the woman had given him before stepping into the corridor. It explained why Brodie had looked at the woman with a softness he had never once shown Sheona.