As the afternoon wore one, the cold began creeping into bones and the sky was darkening, a loud yell and shouting camefrom the men’s direction. Selene and the others all sprang to attention.
She darted outside and caught sight of Kenneth at the center of a group of men.
“Me laird!” several voices cried, rushing forward.
She hastened over, her heart plummeting. To her dismay, blood was gushing from a cut in the palm of his hand.
It seemed one of the older men had lost his grip on a heavy stone slab and Kenneth had managed to catch it before it could crash onto the man’s foot. But the sharp edge had slashed across his palm as he steadied it.
Kenneth waved them off, but Selene was already beside him. “Let me see.” She caught his hand before he could protest and tugged him away from the gathering crowd.
The cut was deep enough for the blood to flow freely, sliding down the heel of his palm and dripping from his sleeve. Without hesitation she took out her kerchief from her pocket and pressed it to the wound. But within seconds the small square of linen was saturated with his blood. Without further ado she raised her skirt and tore a strip of fabric from her woolen petticoat – ignoring the shocked gasp from Maureen. Then she bound the length of cloth firmly around Kenneth’s hand, at last staunching the flow of blood.
As she tied it off her hands trembled slightly, betraying her concern. She bit her lip and frowned with concentration, burning under the intensity of Kenneth’s gaze as she bandaged his hand. He watched her in weighted silence, his rough expression softening.
She tried and failed to ignore his expression as he followed her every move. His gaze had no right to feel quite so gentle.
“Really, Laird Kenneth,” she scolded, her voice sharper than she intended. “Must you throw yourself at every boulder on the island? What were you thinking?”
Looking up, her gaze collided with his. As their eyes locked her heart stuttered alarmingly. Heat surged between them, fierce and immediate, as though the world had narrowed to the space between his hand and her trembling fingers.
“Now.” Her voice shook. “Keep your fingers on that place, to keep the blood from starting up again.”
“Why, lass, dinnae fash about me hand. I’ve far greater concern fer yer ruined petticoat than such a small cut.” He grinned at her, his eyes sparking with something far more than concern fer a torn garment. She felt it all the way tae her heart and then some.
“Lady Selene,” he said softly, “I thank ye fer yer concern.” He raised his arm, flexing his fingers in the makeshift bandage without wincing and, for one brief moment, almost as if it was impossible to curb himself, he traced his fingers gently along the line of her jaw.
She blinked, sucking in a deep breath, his touch scorching her cheeks. As he held her gaze, something inside her melted.
The touch shattered what remained of her composure.
Before she could speak – or worse, lean into his touch – Callum, appeared at Kenneth’s shoulder seemingly out of nowhere.
He cleared his throat loudly, and whatever magic had been swirling about them dissolved at once.
Kenneth straightened, brushing mud from his trousers. “This morning, tying yer lacing…” he said under his breath, too low and quiet for Callum to hear.
Selene’s entire face blazed with heat. “Do not,” she hissed, “speak of that.”
He gave her a wicked, thoroughly unrepentant look and she shot him a glare sharp enough to cut through armor, turned on her heel and hastened back to her tasks where Maureen was waiting.
Kenneth watched her disappearing form and turned back to be met by Callum’s raised brow and questioning expression.
“I trust yer hand is well trussed?” Callum grinned cheekily.
“Indeed.” Kenneth’s tone cut short any further questioning.
They were both suddenly distracted by the arrival of one of the village lads who came pelting toward them, breathless and wide-eyed.
“Me laird! The beasts… the ones ye helped save from the flood… someone has cut through the fence.” The lad panted, struggling to haul in a breath. “Every last one of them is gone!”
Kenneth’s head jolted back, his expression hardening. “Who could dae such a foul thing?”
He exchanged a grim look with Callum. “This is an act of sabotage. A heartless blow tae our people.”
Callum was shaking his head, his face as black as a thundercloud. “Aye. There’s only one who would commit such a thing.”
Kenneth nodded. “Aidan.” His voice was a low growl.
