“Aye. Are ye hurt, lass? What’s happened?” He backed up to the bedroom doorway, tossing Sean a suspicious look. “There’s a—person—out here that said ye’ve been injured.”
“ ’Tis Sean,” Kenna called through the door. “He brought me home after my wee tumble. ’Tis naught tae fash over. Just a few scrapes. The two of ye can get acquainted while I finish up. I’ll just be a few minutes.”
The man turned back to Sean, dissatisfaction stamped on his face as he crossed the room. He folded his arms across his paunch and examined Sean, head to foot. “I’m Owen McIntyre.” ’Twas stated almost as a challenge.
“From the bakery?” Sean blurted before realizing ’twas a foolish thing to ask, what with the bakery’s name printed clearly on the top of his faded blue, flour-dusted apron.
“Aye.” McIntyre cocked an eyebrow and rocked back on his heels. “And ye’re from…?”
What should he say? That he’d resided at Culloden Moor for near three-hundred years, and before that, a wee farm a good stretch north o’ here? “Most recently, near Inverness,” he replied. ’Twas no’ a lie, so ’twas good enough.
“Inverness.” The man repeated the word as if giving it a taste test. “What brought ye—”
“Owen? Is everything okay?”
Both men turned to see Kenna, braced against the door frame, trying awkwardly to tie her garment at the waist. Though her hands seemed a bit more agile, she still favored them. The thin garment she’d wrapped around her clung to her curves and her wet hair still dripped onto the towel draped around her neck.
Owen hurried to her side. “’Tis what I’m hoping tae find out. This person—” he jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
“Sean,” Kenna interjected.
“Seansaid ye were injured.”
“ ’Twas naught more than a careless tumble. My own fault,” she assured him, allowing him to slip an arm around her waist and help her to the sofa. “I caught my toe on something in the grass and fell.” She held out her hands as evidence. “My knees look about the same, but I’m feeling much better now. Truly. Sean just happened tae come along at the right time and against my stubborn protests, insisted on bringing me home. Can you believe he carried me all the way from the kirk?”
“Carried ye?” He gave Sean a hard look. “All that way?”
“The back way. On the old road,” Kenna added. “ ’Twas much shorter.”
Owen nodded absently, his eyes still on Sean. “The two of ye have just met, then?”
“Aye.”
“Aye,” they replied in unison.
Sean watched Owen’s gaze flicker over Kenna’s wet hair and wrapper, but the man dinnae comment further. Instead, he slid a pillow behind her back and went to the kitchen for a bag of ice—the very things Sean had planned to do for her.
“Here, lass.” Owen held out the bag. “Put yer legs up on the sofa and rest this on your knees. ’Twill help, while I find something tae bandage yer hands with.”
“Forgive me.” Kenna cradled the bag of ice in her palms before gently settling it on her knees. “I havenae properly introduced the two of ye. This is Sean McCulloch. Sean, this is Owen McIntyre. He owns the bakery below us. He’s also my landlord.” She gave Owen a warm smile. “But more than that, he’s my friend.”
Absurdly envious of the tenderness he saw on Kenna’s face, Sean dipped his head. “A pleasure.”
Owen’s suspicions seemed to lessen a bit as he offered his hand, this time. “ ’Twould seem I owe ye a debt of gratitude for taking care o’ my lass. She’s become verra dear tae me in the short time she’s been here.” He glanced at Kenna. “Like my own daughter.”
“I promised Sean a meal as thanks for helping me, before he continues his journey,” Kenna interrupted. “Will ye join us, Owen?”
Owen gazed pointedly at Kenna’s ice-laden knees, scraped hands and empty kitchen. “Thank ye, but I’ve still the bakery tae tend tae. But I’ve a hefty pot o’ soup I’ve been simmerin’, for tomorrow’s menu. Ye rest, and I’ll bring ye both some o’ that, with a fresh loaf of bread.” He patted Kenna’s arm. “I dinnae want ye tae worry about anything but feelin’ better. I’ll be right back with the food and bandages.”
Sean’s stomach growled at the thought of warm soup and fresh bread. But he couldnae help wondering if part of Owen’s offer was to hurry Sean’s departure. The man hadnae been overjoyed to find him here.
Sean waited until the door closed behind Owen before approaching Kenna to point at her still dripping hair. “I see ye managed tae overdo, after all. Why am I no’ surprised?”
“I couldnae wash it properly.” She frowned at her hands. “But I had tae at least rinse it. I cannae bear being so dirty.”
Sean moved behind her, lifting the heavy locks from her shoulders as he pulled the towel free. “Lean back, lass.” Briskly rubbing the moisture from her hair, he watched in fascination as the weighty, dark stands turned copper bright, springing into a mass of coils. With difficulty, he resisted leaning down to bury his face in its softness. Instead, he gently combed it out with his fingers, grinning as the loosened strands curled around each of them.
“Mmmm,” Kenna purred. “I might learn tae enjoy being so helpless.”
