Page 44 of Laird of Flint
Through his touch, she could feel the warmth of his blood. The strength of his muscles. The sincerity of his words.
She had no desire to wrest free of him.
Indeed, shewantedto tell him her reasons for keeping Hamish, even though she knew he wouldn’t understand.
She gazed at the ground and murmured, “My da means to kill him.”
His thumb rubbed along her arm as he considered his response. “Heis…a coo.”
She sighed. She knew that.
“And he’s, what, five, six years old?”
“Six.”
“And your clan,” he ventured, “they have roast for supper, aye?”
She nodded, and her eyes began to fill with tears. She knew he wouldn’t understand. She hardly understood herself.
“And you?” he asked softly. “You eat roast for supper?”
“Aye,” she confessed, sniffling as she spoke her hypocrisy aloud. “But ’tisn’t Hamish. ’Tisn’t the coo I raised from a calf…who lays his head upon my lap…and lets me sing him to sleep. ’Tisn’t the beast who comes trottin’ across the field to me when I call. Who lets me scratch him behind the ears…and helps me watch o’er the new bairns.”
“He does all that?”
She nodded.
“Ah, my lady,” he said, giving her arm a reassuring squeeze. “But I do understand. You have a gentle nature and a kind heart. ’Tis a commendable thing in a person.”
The compassion in his voice was unexpected and moving. Still, she sensed there was a “but” coming. And she refused to be swayed by his sweet words, no matter how comforting or reasonable they seemed.
“But what do you think will—”
Before he could come up with some perfectly convincing counter argument, she seized the front of his plaid in her desperate fists and blurted out, “Ye have to let him go. Hamish saved your life. Ye owe him his.”
Her gesture startled him. His eyes widened as he stared back into hers. Then his gaze drifted toward her lips.
For an instant, she wondered if he meant to kiss her.
Even worse, she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t have welcomed it.
Hew knew, if he stood there another moment, he’d toss all his honorable intentions into the abyss, gather the wet-eyed woman in his arms, and kiss away each and every tear. In this intimate situation, even the beast roaring in his braies didn’t believe him capable of restraint.
But he dared not let that beast have its way. Instead, he had to follow his heart.
Unfortunately, his heart was foolish and weak-willed.
And that was how the next unwise words spilled from his careless lips.
“Fine,” he croaked out. “I’ll do it. I’ll save your coo.”
She let out a soft, grateful cry. The sheer joy that shone in her face was worth the offer he’d made. At least in the moment. Later he’d have time to regret his promise. But for now, the way she unfurled and pressed her hands against his chest, the way her mouth fell open in wonder, the way her liquid eyes poured into his with thanks and adoration, she made him feel like her hero.
In the next moment, of course, she grew aware of their improper proximity. She was a titled lady, after all. Her father might guard her with an iron glare. But even without his supervision, she would naturally follow society’s rules.
Except, apparently, when it came to coos.
She took a judicious step backward and lowered her gaze. “My thanks, sir.”
