A Scottish Love by Karen Ranney Page B

showed her where the plants grew and how to brew the mixture. When the old woman died, she felt as if she’d lost her mother again.
    She pressed her fingers against the glass, blocking out the sight of Rathmhor.
    She bent her head, listening to the wind. During autumn, the wind was like a blustery giant blowing chilled air around Gairloch. But in winter, the giant lost his breath, subsiding beneath the flinty cold.
    Now, she felt the cold so intently she couldn’t tell if it was from inside or out.
    “Aren’t you carrying your aversion to me a little far?” Gordon asked from behind her.
    She closed her eyes, wondering if she had the strength for this confrontation. Folding her arms in front of her, she resolutely turned to face him.
    “No,” she said, “I don’t think so.”
    “Your meal will get cold, and from what Helen said, you didn’t eat well yesterday.”
    What business of it was his? Next, he’d appoint himself her guardian, pretend to care.
    Only a few feet separated them, but it might as well be the distance between Gairloch and Rathmhor.
    “I’ll eat when I’m ready,” she said, well aware that she sounded like a petulant child.
    “When I’m gone.”
    She inclined her head, turning away from him to stare out the window again.
    He would not see her cry. No one would see her cry.
    “Thank you,” she said, unwilling to turn to see if he was still regarding her with that impassive gaze. “Thank you for your generosity.” There, she’d gotten the words out.
    A moment passed silently until she was certain he’d left.
    She turned to find him standing there, back braced against the doorframe, arms crossed, a look on his face she couldn’t decipher.
    Her chin came up, her shoulders straightened and they regarded each other in silence.
    “Shona? I’ve brought the water.”
    Helen. Dear, virtuous Helen, saving her.
    “I must leave,” she said, walking toward the door.
    He didn’t move.
    Why was she always at disadvantage around him? In Inverness, she hadn’t expected him. Nor had she yesterday. Today, it was almost amusing that he saw her at her worst. Now, she faced him attired in a filthy dress, her face grimy, her hair still covered in a rag.
    Yet he was, despite his earlier effort, untouched, unsoiled, and perfect. His white shirt had been recently ironed. His black trousers were pressed as well. His boots had been polished by some adoring servant. He’d recently shaved, and he smelled of sandalwood while she carried the scent of turpentine, linseed oil, and dirt.
    The male of the species always bore more plumage.
    As she stepped to the side, her gaze never leaving his face, he reached out one finger and trailed it over her cheek.
    His blue eyes were alive with mischief as she stepped out of his reach.
    The texture of his skin would be as soft as she recalled, especially that spot right at the corner of his mouth. Or his temple, where she’d feel the beat of his blood beneath her lips.
    She wouldn’t remember.
    She couldn’t.
    “You’re welcome, Shona,” he said finally.
    Then she was free, walking swiftly toward the room she and Helen had shared, all too conscious of his gaze on her.

Chapter 7
     
    H e was damned if he was going to live the rest of his life as a cripple. Even though it was all too obvious he didn’t have much choice in the matter.
    Fergus looked down at the cane in his left hand, loathing it. Hating, too, the fact that he needed the damn thing to walk or he was apt to end arse up, flat on the floor.
    He made it to the Clan Hall, collapsing on one of the benches, happy that Shona, Gordon, and Helen had momentarily disappeared. He wanted a few moments alone, without solicitous comments, without Shona looking at him as if he were a bairn in nappies.
    Closing his eyes, he leaned back against the wall, allowing the silence of Gairloch to enfold him. Here, he was an Imrie, a man preceded by a hundred other such men, made more by the heritage he shared. At Gairloch, he