Page 42 of Laird of Flint
He seemed to realize that at the same time.
But his concern was not for her modesty. “You must be freezing.”
He quickly untied the plaid from the rest of the rags and gently wrapped it around her shoulders.
Then he looked into her eyes with that penetrating gaze again. The one that seemed to read her thoughts and divine her emotions.
“I owe you my life,” he breathed.
She blushed. Not from his statement, which was true. But from the passion with which he’d uttered the words, as if his next words might be “so now I’m your slave forever.”
She gulped.
But then she remembered her mission. Saving Hamish.
Averting her eyes, she murmured, “If that’s true, then let me go.”
Hew’s first thought was,Never.
He didn’t say that, of course. He didn’t want to frighten the woman.
But deep in his soul, he knew he could never let her go. She felt like his destiny.
He tried to blame that strong belief on gratitude. Surely, he was only shaken by his close brush with death and grateful to the lady for saving his life.
But that wasn’t true. His warrior maid cousin had saved his life once. He didn’t feel that way abouther.
Nay, this woman felt like his fate. His heartmate. The One.
Somehow she was different from all the others.
Yet even as he had that thought, a dark voice inside him sneered a reminder…Isn’t that what you always say? Isn’t that how you got your heart broken the last time? Didn’t you swear off women?
Besides, that wasn’t what Lady Carenza meant by “let me go.” What she meant was she never wanted to see him again. She wanted him to give her the coo, go away, and forget any of this had happened.
He sighed. “I can’t do that.”
Her chin trembled, and it was hard to tell whether she was on the verge of tears or holding back rage. He wondered if she was tempted to push him back into the crevasse.
“’Tisn’t safe for you,” he explained. “The Boyles may not have recognized you, my lady. But I do.”
She inhaled sharply. “How…”
“I saw you when I visited Dunlop yesterday. I believe you were feeding a squirrel.”
She looked momentarily discomfited. “I see.” Then she furrowed her brows. “So ye naturally intend to return the coo to my da.” She added bitterly, “For what reward? My hand in marriage?”
He frowned. She’d pricked his temper now. What kind of a conniving oaf did she think he was?
“I’m not a Boyle,” he grumbled. “I’d never stoop to such tactics.”
“Then what is it ye’re after?”
“After?” he scoffed. “Naught. Bloody hell, I’m only trying to help you.”
“Ye think turnin’ me in to my father as a cateran will help me?”
“I’m not turning you in,” he fired back. “I’m turning myself in.”
