It galled her further that he should be one of the few men she still had to look up to. “I thought my actions were self-explanatory. It would please me greatly if you would help or leave.” She turned away and bent over for the branch only to have Rhys take it from her hand. When his gloved hand touched Kenna’s, she abruptly pulled back and a swift, almost pained expression came to his face. “I’ll help. Stand away. There’s no need for you to be bitten again.”
Kenna moved back, watching Rhys insert the stick for leverage and pry the trap open. Fascinated by the capable, graceful strength of his hands, Kenna’s eyes strayed from the fox. She looked away hurriedly when the animal was free so Rhys would not guess she had been wondering how his hands might feel touching her when he wasn’t merely helping her to her feet. She was shocked and angry that she could think of him in such a light.
“Thank you,” she said sharply and then reddened at the snap her voice.
Rhys brushed some snow from his knees as he got to his feet. “You’re welcome. I think.” He motioned in the direction the fox had gone. “I believe he’ll recover. He was fortunate his leg wasn’t broken and equally lucky you stumbled upon him.”
“Yes, wasn’t he.” She was impatient for Rhys to be gone and refused to be drawn into conversation. She’d walk on hot coals before she admitted the fox had Rhys to thank for his reprieve.
“He didn’t hurt you?”
“A scratch. It’s nothing.” There was a rivulet of blood running down her leg but she was not likely to lift her skirt and let Rhys Canning see it. She would attend to it in the privacy of her room. Kenna glanced at the coal black stallion tethered restlessly beside Pyramid. “Beelzebub is anxious to leave.”
Rhys laughed. “His name is Higgins as you well know.”
“Well, it is a singularly sorry name for an animal who looks like Satan.”
“Perhaps.” Rhys shrugged, a glimmer of a smile edging his mouth.
Kenna supposed it was too much to ask Rhys not to smile. She could not bear it if he knew how it bothered her when his handsome face split into a grin. “Aren’t you going to ride him to the house?” she asked, tapping a small mound of snow with the toe of her boot.
“Yes, of course.”
He was being deliberately obtuse. She refused to allow him to penetrate her mantle of distant reserve any more than he already had. “I am going to continue my ride. Don’t let me keep you. I’m certain they’re waiting for you at the house.” She turned away.
Damn her, Rhys thought. She had retreated again. For a moment it seemed she would argue with him, fire off a spark of something other than ice. The morning was cold enough without her lowering the temperature. He followed her, eyeing the stiff set of her narrow shoulders and back and offered her a leg up.
Kenna took Rhys’s help, wishing she could tread upon his face. She and Pyramid had only gone a few yards when Rhys caught up with her.
“I sent my valet on ahead in the coach. I knew you would be out riding. Nick will know where I am. I thought I would join you.”
So that was how he had come upon her. She had become predictable. Somehow the thought brought an ache to her throat. “As you will.”
Rhys knew that was as close to an invitation as he was going to get and he supposed he should feel pleased she hadn’t flatly refused to have him trailing her side. She had done that before. Rhys was too astute, though, to congratulate himself that any progress had been made in their relationship. She seemed intent on proving to him that she could tolerate his presence and the fact he was being merely tolerated took most of the joy away.
Several times his eyes strayed from the path ahead to Kenna. She had grown into a beauty, a fact that seemed to astonish her brother, but not Rhys. Kenna was still careless of her looks, as if she were unaware of the subtle changes that had transformed her from a loose-limbed schoolgirl into the profound symmetry of womanhood. Rhys missed the fire of her hair but admitted the red-gold suited the quiet demeanor she had acquired since her father’s death.
Seated as she was on a proper lady’s saddle, Kenna’s face was partially hidden from Rhys. It didn’t matter in the least for he knew every contour of her face from the high arch of her cheekbones to the sensuous curve of her wide mouth. He knew the shape of her winged brows, the tilt of her dark chocolate eyes, and the nose that had been made slightly aquiline by the fist that had broken it. He felt as if he had actually touched the slender stem of her neck countless times, feeling the pulse in her throat come to life beneath his hands. In truth, for years he had not touched more than Kenna’s hand.
She wore her hair in a thick braid more suited to the child she had been than the adult she was. It swung across her back in time to Pyramid’s movements. Rhys subdued the urge to pull it by curling his fingers into his palms and reminding himself that if Kenna was older, then so was he. She would not appreciate antics that would tug at her memories of a happier time. It maddened Rhys that Kenna was unwilling to put the tragedy of ten years ago behind her and get on with her life. She might look a woman, with her sweetly rounded curves and elegant poise, but she carried a certain innocence about her that Rhys was as weary of seeing as he was the icy reserve that protected it.
In his mind he warned her: My patience is at end, Lady Kenna Dunne. I am through being your whipping boy.
“I wouldn’t have thought Nicholas would put up with poachers,” he said to break the silence.
Deep in her own thoughts, it took Kenna a moment to realize Rhys had spoken. “What? Oh, he doesn’t. I can’t think what possessed old Tom Allen to set that thing on Dunne land.”
“Tom Allen? You know the poacher?” Rhys wouldn’t have been surprised if the old Kenna had offered the information, for she had made it her business to know everyone on or around Dunnelly, but that this new Kenna knew caused his dark brows to raise in thoughtful regard.
Kenna twisted her head a bit to level a hard stare at Rhys. “If you insist upon talking I would rather you came around. I’m not going to strain my neck to speak.”
Rhys let Pyramid move ahead and then guided his horse to Kenna’s other side. “Tom Allen?” he repeated, trying not to show his impatience with her mood.
“Why shouldn’t I know him? His family’s been poaching in this area for as long as anyone can remember. Though it’s not his way to use traps. I’ll have to speak to him about that.”
“Then you don’t intend to tell Nick?”
“No.” She did not want to expound upon her answer but she recognized Rhys’s probing mood. “It’s no secret that Nicholas takes his position as lord of the manor very seriously. He rather likes to think the locals respect him too much to poach on his land. Every Christmas he gives the Allens a smoked ham and deer meat. They accept it but—”
