were nearly killed this afternoon.” He grabbed her shoulders and turned her into the light. His gaze went instantly to the linen swathe around her neck. “Your aunt says ’twas just a scratch, but you are never to disobey me!” he shouted.
Before Laurel could frame an answer, a low snarl came from the shadows at the back of the barn. Freda! Laurel wrenched free of Kieran’s grasp and whirled. “Easy, lass,” she crooned, careful to keep her body between Kieran’s and the hound, who crept toward them on her belly, ears back, teeth bared. For all she didn’t like Kieran’s methods, she had no desire to see his throat ripped open as Aulay’s had been.
“I made peace with the bitch when I stabled Rath this eve,” Kieran said, and tried to step around Laurel.
“Only because you weren’t threatening me then.” Laurel moved with him, arms spread to warn him back. “Freda—”
“Nonsense, I’ve a way with animals” He put a hand on Laurel’s shoulder. Freda snarled, the muscles flexing beneath her sleek coat as she tensed to spring.
“For God’s sake, stay quiet, Kieran. Freda has scant patience with loud males who threaten her mistress. ‘Tis all right, Freda. He...he’s a...a friend.” The words stuck in her throat. She wasn’t certain what she felt for Kieran. “That’s a good lass,” she continued when Freda ceased to snarl. So far, so good. “Crouch down behind me,” she told Kieran, and knelt in the straw. Wonder of wonders, he did as he was told. “Now, put your hand beneath mine.” She held her right hand out to Freda, grateful to see ’twas far steadier than her heartbeat. Until Kieran slipped his hand under hers. His skin felt incredibly hot. The silky-rough swirl of dark hair covering the back prickled against her palm and made her pulse dance.
“Easy,” Kieran murmured, and it took her a moment to realize ’twas to her he spoke, not Freda.
“I’m sorry. I hadn’t expected you’d feel so...warm.” Now she felt warm, hot, actually. Just as she had in her dream.
“Get on with calming the dog.” He sounded more Scots and less pleased with her than usual. So much for the dream being true.
“Of course.” Affecting a cheery voice, which Freda mercifully didn’t dispute, Laurel called the hound forward and held out the pair of hands—hers and Kieran’s. As she waited for Freda to sniff them over, Laurel stared at the long, tanned fingers laced with her own smaller, paler ones. Seeing them linked thus made her belly clench, and for an instant, she could see them lying together, their naked limbs entwined, his face bent closer to hers...
“Oh.” Laurel gasped and jerked her hand back, severing the connection and shattering the mental image.
“Shh,” Kieran muttered, his attention still on Freda. He held his hand under Freda’s questing nose, waited till she gave them a sniff of acceptance, then ran his long fingers over the hound’s muzzle, to scratch between her eyes.
Freda gave a blissful sigh and probably would have sat there all night, but one of her pups gave a wee bleat. Reminded of her duties, she dashed away. Halfway to her nest of blankets, she looked back at Kieran and gave a soft woof of invitation.
“I guess that means I’ve passed her test.” He lithely climbed to his feet. The crooked half smile he tossed over his shoulder before he followed Freda was such a surprise that Laurel rubbed her eyes to make certain she hadn’t imagined it. She hadn’t, for there it was again, focused on the tiny pup he’d lifted from the rest. So, he did know how to smile, she thought. Why, then, did he snarl and scowl at everyone?
Intrigued, Laurel drifted over and sank down beside him in the straw, absently fondling the nose Freda shoved at her. Gentle. She hadn’t thought Kieran Sutherland had a gentle bone in his body, yet there was such gentleness in the way he held the fragile pup.
He looked over, saw her watching him and blinked. Instantly his body tensed, and he started to set the pup back down, but Laurel caught hold of his hand and stayed him. She felt him trembled. Clearly he was embarrassed to be seen without his surly mask. She was just as determined not to let him slip it on again.
“They are so dear,” Laurel crooned. With her other hand she reached out to stroke the wee one’s downy head.
“Aye,” Kieran managed to say, but his mind wasn’t on the pup. Laurel’s touch sent a wave of liquid fire through him. ‘Twas worse now than a few moments ago when his attention had been focused on winning over Freda. Now he felt raw, exposed. He watched her pet the pup and swore he could feel her stroking his body. ’Twas heaven and hell.
“You must have had dogs as a lad,” Laurel said, her voice another kind of caress.
He wanted her. Wanted to feel her hands on him, hear her crying out as he joined his body to hers. Jesu, it must be his weariness of the late hour, because no woman had ever affected him so strongly. Think of something else. Anything else. He gazed down at her head, bent now over their joined hands and it struck him what was different about her tonight. “Your hair is loose.”
“Aye. I was abed, but I couldn’t sleep. You, too?” She looked up at him and Kieran nearly swallowed his tongue. Candlelight turned her unbound hair into a fiery halo. Redgold curls framed her delicate, oval face, tumbling down over her slender shoulders to reach the curve of her hips. Wild and impudent, those wayward curls were a reflection of her very nature. One tendril had sneaked inside the vee of her robe. His fingers twitched with the urge to follow it. “Kieran?” she asked.
“What? Oh, aye. Nay.” He felt like a man possessed, his senses aflame with a desire he’d sworn never to give full rein. “I—I am used to sleeping on the ground in the open and found your grandsire’s bed overly soft and the bedchamber stuffy.” And lonely. But he couldn’t tell her that. Conscious he’d already revealed too much, he retreated behind a barricade that had stood him in good stead. Anger. He’d frighten her off. “Why did you disobey my order this afternoon?”
She jumped up, as he’d hoped, but the pain that darkened her eyes hurt him. Hands falling to her sides, hem trailing in the straw, she walked toward the candle as slowly as a prisoner bound for the gallows.
“What is it?” he asked, genuinely concerned.
Dare she tell him the truth? If she didn’t, how could she expect him to confide in her? And she wanted that, needed to know him, to understand him. “I had a vision,” she mumbled, voice low and hoarse. “I—I don’t expect you to believe me....”
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