Laurie wrinkled her nose. “But rabbits arenae scary.”
“I never said they were. But have ye ever looked at a rabbit’s claws? They have long, sharp claws. They arenae fightin’ creatures, but if they are afraid or cornered, they can kick out. So, this rabbit was startled by me. It thought I was going to eat it, I expect. So, it flew up, hind legs flyin’ out, and its claw raked me face.”
Laurie winced, reaching up to trace a line down her own mouth, matching where Nora’s scar curled down her lip and onto her chin. “It scratched ye?”
She nodded. “It clawed down me mouth, as ye see, and onto me chin. There was a good deal of blood. It didnae go down to the bone, which was lucky. It healed up well, but as ye can see, I was left with a scar.”
Laurie’s eyes went wide. She leaned forward, tilting her head. “I think it is pretty.”
“Pretty? Why so?”
“I daenae ken. I like it.”
“I like it, too. The thing with scars is that they arenae prettyorugly. They justare. A sign of somethin’ we survived. Some people have scars that remind them of somethin’ brave—like survivin’ a battle—and others have scars that remind them of foolishness, like spillin’ a boilin’ pot of water onto their hand. In me case, it’s a reminder of a lass blunderin’ through the undergrowth, and one very scared rabbit.”
Laurie nodded solemnly, as if Nora was imparting very great wisdom.
“I like ye,” she said suddenly, meeting Nora’s gaze squarely. “I’m glad that ye are here. Are ye glad that ye are here?”
Nora hesitated. “I…”
Before she had to answer, a deep, amused voice came from the doorway.
“Now, now, Laurie, did I nae tell ye nae to bother our guest?”
Nora flinched at the sound of Creighton’s voice. He suppressed a smile. She scrambled to her feet, red-faced, and shook out her skirts. He wondered if she knew what a pretty picture she had made, crouching before Laurie, smiling up at her with her skirts crumpled around her, hair spilling red over her shoulders.
Well, it didn’t matter; the picture was gone now.
“Me Laird,” she mumbled, before presumably recollecting that he’d told her to use his name. “I mean... Creighton.”
He leaned against the doorwy, and let his eyes slide away from Nora’s disheveled frame and down to Laurie.
“I wasnaebotherin’ her,” Laurie insisted. “I did eat her shortbread, though.”
Creighton bit the corner of his mouth. “Tut-tut, lassie.”
Nora said nothing, glancing between them. She must have noticed the big age difference between him and his sister. If she was curious about it, she kept it to herself.
“Well, there’s more shortbread in the kitchen, at least,” he said, and held out a hand to Laurie. “Come, then. We must let our guest rest and take a bath before the water gets cold. She needs one.”
Nora sucked in an outraged breath. “And what doesthatmean, exactly?”
He met her gaze and flashed a wide smile. “I mean that there is a small leaf caught in yer braid, lassie, just near the end. I could nae say how long it has been there, but I’m sure there’s a hairbrush to be found somewhere in this room.”
Her eyes flashed furiously, and she straightened her spine, insulted. He was reminded of nothing so much as a small cornered mouse suddenly finding its courage.
Nae a mouse. A rabbit, with sharper claws and a stronger kick than one might have thought.
“Right, I see,” she mumbled icily. “Well, if that’s everythin’…”
Laurie at last obeyed Creighton’s summons, bounding across the room and putting her hand into his. She beamed up at him with open affection and trust, swinging her arm.
As always, Creighton felt his chest tighten, love and anxiety battling in his gut. It was a sickening sensation overall. That was the problem with loving something, wasn’t it? The constant fear of losing it hovered over you, like a millstone hanging by a thread.
He pushed the thought aside. Laurie was here, safe and well, and tomorrow’s anxieties could bloody well stay there.
Dragging his gaze away from Laurie, he glanced over at Nora. Hisbetrothed.
