12
Wandering through the peaceful hallways of home, Owen should have felt at ease. He had been welcomed back by his Clan, and not a moment too soon, for they had been gathering men to ride south in an attempt to discover what had befallen their Laird. However, glancing at the beautiful young lady who walked at his side, he could not ignore the worry upon her brow. In turn, that worry shivered into him.
“Are ye well?” he asked, taking her arm and weaving it through his. He had seen other gentlemen do it, so he supposed he ought to behave accordingly.
Still, he would have preferred it if they were back in the saddle, where he could relish in the accidental push of her backside against his loins or let his hand absently trail across her thigh or encircle her waist with his arm, using the excuse that he thought she might fall.
Heather jumped, as if she had forgotten he was there. “Pardon? Oh… um… yes, I am quite well. A touch disoriented; that is all.” She paused. “Did you say that Brandon’s chambers would be close to mine?”
“I’ll show ye which one is his when we pass it,” Owen paused. “Ye’re nae thinkin’ of slippin’ out in the middle of the night to visit him, are ye?” He intended it as a jest, but a thrum of genuine concern snatched away any amusement in his question. The pair of themdidseem rather close to one another. Was there more to their relationship than she had imparted?
Heather shot him a disapproving look. “I only do that for you, apparently.”
“Aye, so ye do.” He softened, wondering what on Earth had gotten into him. “It cannae be easy for ye, to be here in Scotland. I ken ye were nae fond of us, nae so long ago. I hope ye’ll find us to be the very opposite of everythin’ ye were taught.”
Heather smiled, but it did not quite reach her pretty eyes. “I hope so, too. I hope thatyouare everything I have believed you to be.”
“Ye distrust me?” Owen frowned.
“As I have said, I hope you are everything I have believed you to be,” she repeated stiffly.
He could not fathom what had altered in her judgment of him, when they had just spent four days in one another’s accidental embrace. Although, on his part, it had not been accidental. He had known what he was doing when he had lifted her up onto the saddle of his horse, instead of allowing her and Brandon to share a horse. He had seen the opportunity to be close to her, and he had seized it.
“Have I done somethin’ to offend ye?”
She blinked. “No.”
“Are ye scared?” The reception she had gained from his Clan had not been particularly warm, but it had not been frosty, either. They were accustomed to being wary of newcomers, but they would thaw in due time, once they understood that she was a protected guest of their Laird.
Heather licked her lips. “I suppose I must be. I am far away from my own home, I do not know anyone but Brandon, and I do not know how long I shall be here for.” She dipped her head in a nod. “Yes, I am scared.”
“Of me?”
At that moment, they reached the door to her guest chamber. Owen halted her with a gentle grip and swung the door open, hoping it would cheer her spirits somewhat. He had chosen the chamber specifically to please her, knowing she would likely feel out of place for a time.
“What are you doing?” she said, with a gulp.
He smiled. “This is yer bedchamber, Lass.”
He ushered her into the room, trying not to feel affronted by the resistant tug of her arm. Did she really think he was a danger to her? Perhaps, no matter what he did, he would never be able to change the mind of someone from England.
Suddenly, Heather’s arm slackened in his grip. A soft gasp escaped her throat, prompting him to turn. Did she like it? Did she hate it? Her expression calmed him, for her mouth had fallen open in awe and her eyes were wide and shining brightly as she took in her surroundings.
“This is… mine?” Her hand flew to her mouth.
Owen nodded. “Aye, Lass. I thought ye’d like it.”
The chamber was situated inside the entirety of the southernmost turret of the castle, where it caught the best of the day’s sunlight and offered a wondrous view over the loch. It also possessed a fine personal library, a writing desk, a vast bed with a feather-stuffed mattress, and a large, elegantly carved fireplace that kept the room warm, despite its high ceiling.
Meanwhile, brightly colored decorations hung down from the rafters overhead: embroidered flags, bunches of dried flowers, clusters of feathers and whittled wooden creatures, and flowing tassels of shimmering ribbon.
“Me maither added all of this, a long time ago. I cannae remember when.” He gestured around at the decorations and the fine furnishings, that included a jacquard chaise lounge and the most comfortable armchair he had ever had the pleasure of sitting in. The floor was also covered in rugs and furs, so no draft could escape up through the boards.
Heather whirled around to face him. “This is… wonderful, Owen. I… have no words.”
“Aye, well I do.” He closed the gap between them, taking gentle hold of her chin. “If ye’re afraid that I’ve brought ye here with ill intentions, then ye must nae think that of me. I’m what ye believe me to be, if ye believe me to be a good and honest man. Yer faither enraged me, aye, but that’s nae yer fault. I am nae the sort of Laird who feeds on revenge. I daenae want that. I just want justice for the man that I couldn’ae save, when I’d spent days savin’ so many.”
The gleam he had longed to see came back to her eyes. “I am sorry.”
