This time her lips pinched to a thin line. “I dinnae screech. I never screech.”
“Beggin’ yer pardon, lass. I ken ye’re right. In truth, ’twas more of a howl.”
Her expressive brows arched, one higher than the other as she held his gaze. “Mayhap a small cry.”
And there. That stubborn lift to her chin, again. Och, but she was fascinating to watch. “That small cry set the birds tae flight.”
“Fine.” She looked away then peered back at him from the corner of her eye. “I concede I may have shouted. But just a little.”
Stubborn lass! And far too charming for her own good. Or his!
Stifling a laugh, he sat beside her, offered the flask again and after she refused it, set it beside him and searched his pack for a clean cloth. All he had was the wee towel Wickham’s sweet wife had wrapped some scones in. ’Twould have to do.
Mayhap Miss Kenna Kincaid was a misguided spirit, after all. Though she’d felt convincingly mortal in his arms. Soft, warm and…very real.
If he wasnae set on adhering to his vow, it might prove most enjoyable jousting with such a spirited lass as this. But he had a mission to fulfill. And, it appeared, so did she if he kenned her earlier actions correctly. She was clearly distressed over the loss of something.
On the other hand—was his vow no’ to provide help wherever he found the need? Convenient, or no’? This clearly couldnae be consideredreparationfor his terrible crime, but ’twas still a person in need of assistance. Therefore, he should delay his quest long enough to help her look for whatever she’d lost.
And if he was truly honest, ’twas hiswishto do so. He wasnae quite ready to take leave of the lovely Kenna just yet. Besides, his conscience could permit no less than the tending of her wounds and seeing her safely home.
Sean dampened a corner of the cloth, reached for Kenna’s hand, rinsed and blotted the mud and blood from her palm, repeating the process on her other hand. With the worst of the debris and dirt gone, he tried to gauge the extent of her cuts. They dinnae appear too deep, but bits of gravel and dirt were still embedded in the torn skin. ’Twould take more than a scratchy cloth and the wee bit of water he had to clean them.
Seeing her wince at his ministrations, he sought to distract her. “What were ye looking for, before ye fell? Ye appeared tae have lost something quite precious.”
She glanced at the opening in the wall, her fine features turning mournful. “More than ye can imagine.”
“Once we’ve cared for yer wounds the best we can with these limited means and we get ye home and tended tae properly, I’d be happy tae come back and search for ye. Or with ye, depending on how ye feel.”
Biting her lip, she shook her head. “Thank ye, no. I’ll be fine after a moment’s rest. Please dinnae delay yer journey. I’m sure ye’ve somewhere ye need tae be.”
“Naught that is so urgent I cannae help ye first.” He gestured toward the wall. “Is it just around that opening ye’re concerned with? ’Tis such a small area it shouldnae be too difficult tae search. I can do that now if ye wish tae rest. Or come back after I see ye home, as I mentioned. What have ye lost?”
A look of pure agony crossed her face as a tear slid down her cheek, then another. And suddenly, a torrent. She tried to hold back a sob and failed.
“Aww, lass.” He opened his arms and she fell into them, releasing a flood of anguish against his chest.
He held her, muttering nonsensical sounds of comfort. “Whatever ye’ve lost must be of great value.”
She nodded, continuing to weep.
“Would ye like tae tell me about it, Kenna? ’Twill help tae share the burden. Ye’ll see.”
A tearful shudder and several hiccups hindered her attempt to speak.
Mayhap if he helped her start? “Ye’ve lost yer…?”
“…way home,” she finally managed. “And if I dinna get back in time, they’ll burn.”
“What will burn?”
He felt her head shake against his chest.
“No’ what.Who.”
Chapter Three
“Ye canna mean someone. Surely I misunderstood ye, lass.”
