“You’re pulling too hard.” Francesca moved closer before she could think better of it.
“Ye think ye can do better, lass?”
“I think I have more practice with tangled hair. Let me try.”
He held out the comb. Their fingers touched as she took it, and this time the contact lingered, his rough calluses against her soft palm, his heat seeping into her skin.
“Show me then,” he said, his voice lower than necessary.
Francesca moved to the stallion’s side, working the comb through the tangled mane with slow, careful strokes. The horse stood still for her, apparently appreciating the gentler approach.
“You start at the ends,” she explained, aware of Declan moving to stand beside her. “Work your way up gradually. Pulling from the roots only makes it worse.”
“I didnae have that problem before ye arrived,” he said, and she couldn’t tell if he was talking about the horse anymore.
“Perhaps the horse prefers a woman’s touch.”
“Ah, then he willnae be the only one.”
The words hung between them, loaded with meaning. Francesca’s hands stilled on the comb as she turned to look at him. He stood close enough that she could see the silver flecks in his grey eyes and could count each dark lash framing them.
“Declan.”
“I didnae expect this,” he spat abruptly. “Any of this.”
“Expect what?”
“Ye. The way ye’ve adapted to Highland life. How quickly the clan has taken to ye.” His jaw tightened. “How easily ye’ve become part of everythin’ here.”
“I’m stronger than most people think.”
“Aye.” His eyes dropped to her mouth, and she felt that look like a physical touch. It left her breathless. “Stronger than I expected. Stronger than ye ken.”
They stood frozen, shoulders nearly touching, the only sound the soft breathing of the horse and the pounding of her own heart. She should step back. Should break this spell before it led somewhere they’d both regret. Just then, something wound itself around Francesca’s ankles. Startled, she bent to see it was one of Eloise’s kittens. She scooped it up, smiling at its rumbling purr as it nestled against her chest.
“Escaped again, have you?” she murmured, scratching behind its ears. “Eloise will be frantic looking for you.”
“That wee beast has a talent for findin’ trouble.”
“Much like its owner,” she replied with a small smile.
His mouth twitched. “Are ye comparin’ yer niece to a kitten?”
“If the comparison fits.” She moved, the kitten purring contentedly. “Though I think Eloise is slightly more obedient than this one.”
“Only slightly.” His gaze dropped to the kitten, and something almost tender crossed his features. “She’s been good for the lass. Both of them have.”
“You could admit you like them too, you know.” Francesca stepped closer still, emboldened by the quiet intimacy of the empty stable. “I’ve seen you slip them scraps at dinner.”
“That was once. And the creature looked half-starved.”
“It was three times. And they’re perfectly well-fed.”
His eyes darkened, and Francesca bit back a smile, knowing he was hiding his embarrassment with hardness. Who would have thought the fierce Laird MacGhee could be embarrassed about being caught showing kindness to kittens?
“Ye’re enjoyin’ this,” he muttered.
“Immensely.” The kitten chose that moment to leap from her arms onto Declan’s shoulder, tiny claws digging into his shirt as it settled itself like a furry epaulette. He froze, looking down at it with an expression of such comical bewilderment that Francesca couldn’t help but laugh.
