The fear.

Fear for Rory’s life and for Alasdair’s.

After she’d found Rory and held him in her arms, her worries had turned to Alasdair. She’d feared his broken toe would cause him to make some small mistake in battle and get himself killed.

But he was alive, thanks be to God.

Alive and warm and strong. When he’d held her for those few shining moments in the library—heavens! She’d almost broken down into sobs. Why? Not sadness. No, with thankfulness, and joy and a hundred other emotions that crashed in on her when he touched her.

The intensity of his dark brown eyes and the firm grip of his arms told her he’d needed to hold her. That his regard for her went beyond a man’s physical need for a woman. He had felt the same concern for her safety that she’d felt for his. And the way he’d kissed her forehead, her cheeks. With affection. With passion that went beyond the physical. She’d been near shaking with emotion for him by the time she’d left the library.

Always, he looked at her with such admiration—she could not fathom it.

He wasn’t like his charming seducer brother, but Alasdair was nonetheless charming and seductive, in a more subtle way. Mayhap in a more cunning way that gave her a false sense of security, until she was well caught in his trap…and then she would be a gone goose.

“No. No, I must not,” she whispered. “I must go away from here.” For the sake of Rory’s life and her own sanity.

But the prospect didn’t hold the appeal it once did.

Chapter Eight

“May I have a word with you?” Gwyneth asked Lachlan later that afternoon when she found him in the noisy great hall. Normally she would not have asked anything of him, but she was desperate.

His brows lifted. “Indeed.” He followed her to the less crowded side of the huge room where they might have a bit of privacy.

“I searched you out as soon as I heard you were going to Edinburgh,” she said.

“Aye, Alasdair is sending me to petition the Privy Council on his behalf. He kens of how charismatic and diplomatic I can be.” Lachlan smiled and winked.

The man should learn to rein in his effortless seductive charm. No more than a flick of an eyelid from him, and she felt like an awkward young girl. Not that she was attracted to him—certainly not in the way she was attracted to Alasdair—but Lachlan constantly left her in a state of discomfiture.

“You said if I ever needed your help to ask,” she reminded him.

“Aye.” He watched her warily, his countenance turning serious. “What would you be needing help with? As I said, I’m in your debt for saving Kean’s life.”

“I want to leave the Highlands.”

He frowned and glanced about. “Aye, but I don’t think you should travel with me this time. I’m in a wee hurry.”

“No, not now.”

He smiled. “I’m relieved. As I’m sure Alasdair will be. He would be in a foul mood indeed if I deprived him of seeing your lovely face every day.”

Heat rushed over her. The implication that Alasdair enjoyed looking at her—goodness. It filled her with giddiness and sparked the memory of his wicked kiss.

“He would take his fury out on the clan—and me too, of course,” Lachlan continued. “There would never be another peaceful day here at Kintalon. I wager he would follow us all the way to Edinburgh to reclaim you.”

Her whole body started to sweat. She couldn’t believe how he was going on about Alasdair’s interest in her. Surely he exaggerated. “Please, sir—”

Lachlan chuckled, and she realized he was teasing her. The knave.

She cleared her throat and tried to remember what she’d wanted to ask him. “As I was saying, I must find a place to go in the Lowlands or England. I want to find a governess or tutor position if possible. Laird MacGrath has said he will write me a recommendation. If you should run into a friend or acquaintance in Edinburgh, perhaps you could inquire whether they are in need of someone.”

“I will make every effort, m’lady.” Lachlan bowed, took her hand and kissed her fingers.

She snatched her hand away. He grinned and headed for the door.

“Have a safe journey,” she rushed to add.

She glanced across the great hall and met Alasdair’s midnight eyes. His scowl told her he was vexed about something—surely not because she’d been talking to his brother.

***

The next evening, Gwyneth oversaw the clearing of the tables after the meal in the great hall. This day had been a long, sad one with the funerals of six clan members who had died in the attack. The kirk had been overflowing with mourners. A pall of tragedy hung over the clan like the gray clouds above.

Downstairs, just outside the kitchen, Gwyneth paused upon hearing one of the female servants whisper her name.

“’Twas Gwyneth’s fault the village was burned, I tell you. The MacIrwin sent a message, he wants her back.”

“You best not let Laird MacGrath be hearing you say that. You’ll be spending the night in the dungeon,” another female voice warned.

“Fie!”

“Stop spreading rumors,” a third woman said. “Mistress Carswell has saved the lives of four men including Laird MacGrath himself.”

“Shh.” One of the women spotted her through the doorway and they all hurried back to their tasks.

Had the woman spoken the truth? She was to blame for the village being burned? It seemed a rock had been dropped onto her chest for she could hardly breathe. Why would Donald want her back that badly? Or was it a matter of revenge?

Footsteps approached from behind and Tessie stopped at her elbow. “Laird MacGrath wishes to see you in the library,” she whispered.

“I thank you.” Gwyneth would ask him about this.

Determined to learn the truth, she turned and climbed the stairs. What could Alasdair want? He had not said more than five words to her all day. As was to be expected, he had given his full attention to the families who had lost loved ones. Gwyneth saw how much he cared about them all, and she admired this in him.

When she stopped outside the intricately carved oak door of the library, her palms sweated, and a sudden giddiness rippled through her. Not because she was afraid to be alone with him, but because she was looking forward to it too much. Though it was folly, she craved his complete attention. How greedy she was. Often, she did not know what to do with his attention once she had it. To feel his gaze on her and to hear his deep voice murmuring words, no matter whether mundane or scandalous, to her alone. Those were the moments when she didn’t have to share him with his clan, yet also the moments that thrilled and frightened her most.

Drawing in a deep breath to calm her frantic heartbeat, she tapped her knuckles against the door three times.

“Come,” said a deep voice from inside.

She stepped into the room. A small fire popped and flickered in the hearth, the glow adding further warmth to the candlelit room. The scents of smoke, melted tallow and rich spice blended into a comforting fragrance.

Alasdair stood, facing her, before the mantel, looking dark and mouth-watering, wearing a fine belted plaid and doublet. She forced herself not to stare and instead focused on the fire. The last time they’d been alone together in this room, he had held her tightly in his arms and kissed her face. How comforted and protected she’d felt, but just beneath the surface, smoldering embers of desire had near scorched her. She both hoped and feared he might embrace or kiss her again.

No, don’t think such thoughts.

Risking a glance at him, she found him studying her face, then his gaze dropped to her clothing. Well, in truth, his late wife’s clothing, which she’d worn today for the first time. She hoped the garments hadn’t brought back painful memories for him.