Chiriklò’s chirping grew louder. He flashed her an image of the Highlander who followed his song through the woods.
“Help is coming, Robert Mackay,” she said and felt the beast of worry lift off her chest. “Help is coming, William.” She kissed her brother’s forehead and a faint smile touched her lips. Serena’s head fell forward, letting her hair drape them both. A single tear dripped down onto William’s pale skin, and Serena wiped it away with her thumb. Help was coming. Keenan Maclean had kept his promise.
Chapter 3
Luck was a fickle matron, but today she smiled on them. Keenan Maclean stood in the crude doorframe of the warm two-room cottage looking out at the slanting rain. Lazy jailors hated to hunt in the rain, and tracks vanished into mud. He’d been surprised to find a prisoner, Robert Mackay, helping Serena and her brother in the forest last night. But the prisoner had a sister who was generous, accessible, and knew how to remove a pistol shot. Aye, luck smiled on them.
Keenan’s gaze shifted to Serena where she lay in exhausted sleep next to William, a brother who looked nothing like her. Who was this ivory-skinned, auburn-haired gypsy woman? Serena Faw was definitely not ordinary. She hadn’t complained or pouted as they rode and walked through the forest all night. She hadn’t shied away from helping Robert’s sister remove the shot. Serena Faw was different.
The lass slept on her back now, one arm flopped over her stomach. He watched the swell of breasts rise and fall, lips relaxed in slumber, partly open. He remembered the kiss at the gaol. It had been a perfect distraction for the jailors and had given him a topic to discuss with the lusty English bastards while she sneaked around back. But the feel of her yielding lips, the press of her warm body against his, haunted him.
Turning, he peered out through the grey sheets of rain. If he were honest, he would admit that he wanted another taste of her, perhaps more than a taste. But what was the point? His life was not his own, nor his heart. The dark prophecy that shaped his every move and strategy owned his life. Keenan ran his hand along an eave, catching the cool rain, letting it run down his bare arm. At present he was too tired to be honest.
Robert Mackay’s sister, Gena, placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered, “Go find yer rest. Ye will have to move them once the rain stops.” She was a stout, older woman with gentle eyes and steady, strong hands, a solid Yorkshire widow. The concern for their party etched deep lines in her forehead. She sighed long. “It’s too easy to find ye here.”
“As soon as the rain stops,” he said. She nodded and walked to her stool near the fire.
Keenan rotated his shoulders. He stretched out onto his side on the blanket next to Serena. She rolled towards him, and he inhaled. He caught her warm scent in his lungs and held it there until he was forced to release it. He rubbed his fist absently over the ache in his chest. Och, he wanted to touch her doe-like skin, pull her full, soft body to him. The memory of their kiss moved through his mind, and he rubbed a hand over his mouth and jaw, wiping away the feel of her lips. Mo bhean. My woman. The thought echoed inside him and he snorted softly. Ridiculous. He had no woman. He had nothing except duty and honor and death.
Her lips were so close that he could imagine the warmth of her breath. Even without the Rom coloring, she was exotic. She had an air of secrets, of magic. Pinpricks of warning ran down Keenan’s back, cooling the rush of lust her smell roused in him. Magic already played havoc in his life.
Her blue bird flew in through the window and settled near Serena’s shoulder. The strange sight sent a prickle down Keenan’s back. What color eyes would Serena have in the sunlight? Keenan rolled away from her and forced himself to rest while listening to the cadence of her sleep.
****
They left Robert’s
“Help is coming, Robert Mackay,” she said and felt the beast of worry lift off her chest. “Help is coming, William.” She kissed her brother’s forehead and a faint smile touched her lips. Serena’s head fell forward, letting her hair drape them both. A single tear dripped down onto William’s pale skin, and Serena wiped it away with her thumb. Help was coming. Keenan Maclean had kept his promise.
Chapter 3
Luck was a fickle matron, but today she smiled on them. Keenan Maclean stood in the crude doorframe of the warm two-room cottage looking out at the slanting rain. Lazy jailors hated to hunt in the rain, and tracks vanished into mud. He’d been surprised to find a prisoner, Robert Mackay, helping Serena and her brother in the forest last night. But the prisoner had a sister who was generous, accessible, and knew how to remove a pistol shot. Aye, luck smiled on them.
Keenan’s gaze shifted to Serena where she lay in exhausted sleep next to William, a brother who looked nothing like her. Who was this ivory-skinned, auburn-haired gypsy woman? Serena Faw was definitely not ordinary. She hadn’t complained or pouted as they rode and walked through the forest all night. She hadn’t shied away from helping Robert’s sister remove the shot. Serena Faw was different.
The lass slept on her back now, one arm flopped over her stomach. He watched the swell of breasts rise and fall, lips relaxed in slumber, partly open. He remembered the kiss at the gaol. It had been a perfect distraction for the jailors and had given him a topic to discuss with the lusty English bastards while she sneaked around back. But the feel of her yielding lips, the press of her warm body against his, haunted him.
Turning, he peered out through the grey sheets of rain. If he were honest, he would admit that he wanted another taste of her, perhaps more than a taste. But what was the point? His life was not his own, nor his heart. The dark prophecy that shaped his every move and strategy owned his life. Keenan ran his hand along an eave, catching the cool rain, letting it run down his bare arm. At present he was too tired to be honest.
Robert Mackay’s sister, Gena, placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered, “Go find yer rest. Ye will have to move them once the rain stops.” She was a stout, older woman with gentle eyes and steady, strong hands, a solid Yorkshire widow. The concern for their party etched deep lines in her forehead. She sighed long. “It’s too easy to find ye here.”
“As soon as the rain stops,” he said. She nodded and walked to her stool near the fire.
Keenan rotated his shoulders. He stretched out onto his side on the blanket next to Serena. She rolled towards him, and he inhaled. He caught her warm scent in his lungs and held it there until he was forced to release it. He rubbed his fist absently over the ache in his chest. Och, he wanted to touch her doe-like skin, pull her full, soft body to him. The memory of their kiss moved through his mind, and he rubbed a hand over his mouth and jaw, wiping away the feel of her lips. Mo bhean. My woman. The thought echoed inside him and he snorted softly. Ridiculous. He had no woman. He had nothing except duty and honor and death.
Her lips were so close that he could imagine the warmth of her breath. Even without the Rom coloring, she was exotic. She had an air of secrets, of magic. Pinpricks of warning ran down Keenan’s back, cooling the rush of lust her smell roused in him. Magic already played havoc in his life.
Her blue bird flew in through the window and settled near Serena’s shoulder. The strange sight sent a prickle down Keenan’s back. What color eyes would Serena have in the sunlight? Keenan rolled away from her and forced himself to rest while listening to the cadence of her sleep.
****
They left Robert’s
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