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I know my heart. ’Tis a fragile thing, despite the way I present myself to others.

Too fragile to be meddled with, despite the yearning she might have for his embrace. And Maisie very much yearned for that. For his kisses.

But she would remain strong, as always.

As necessary for a woman alone in the world.

12

Chapter

He would get little sleep this eve.

Should Kieran have touched her? Said those things to her? Nay. But he had, and one thing he’d learned from this father—or the man who raised him—was that regrets were futile.

The bed sagged as Maisie got into it. Resisting a groan, he instead attempted to slow his breathing, slow the rapidly increasing beat of his heart as Kieran imagined himself with her. Rolling over toward her. Maisie welcoming him. Lifting up that chemise that hid too much, though less than her gowns. Just thinking of her as such . . .

She shifted, pulled the coverlet up to her chin. And then, remained still.

He should have slept on the floor, but with no bedroll to speak of, he relished the thought little. Kieran had slept on worse. In times of battle, he’d slept on hard earth with nothing beneath him. But the bed was large enough, surprisingly, for them both. And so it would be a different sort of torture this eve than laying his head on the wooden floor.

Shifting his thoughts from Maisie to the midwife, he thought of the possibility that they might learn something of consequence on the morrow.

They.

He’d begun to think of he and Maisie as a couple, which, of course, they were not.

“Kieran?”

Her voice was so soft Kieran wondered for a moment if he’d conjured it in his mind.

“Aye, lass?”

“I did wish very much for you to kiss me.”

This would not go well. He spun onto his other side, facing her. Kieran propped his head on his hand.

“I would tell you a story,” she said softly, mimicking his position. “Once, when I was a young girl, a kitten wandered into our home. Though my father, a superstitious man, said I could not keep her, I did so anyway. Fed her. Hid the poor thing in my bedchamber, not realizing how trapped the animal must have been. I loved her.”

“What did you name the kitten?”

“Pebbles,” she said. “For the tiny rocks I pulled from her paws.”

“Your parents discovered her presence, I assume?”

“My mother did, aye. Said I could keep her, but ‘twas not long before my father discovered Pebbles as well. He refused to have such an omen under his roof and forced me to set her free.”

“Some believe cats are very bad luck,” he said. “Though I am not one of them.”

“I am glad to hear it. Aye, my father was one who believed as much.” She sighed.

Maisie, in a chemise, in the same bed, close enough that if Kieran reached out he could touch her . . . it was nearly unbearable.

“Maisie—”

She stopped him. “I tell you this story for a reason.”

He assumed so, but could not guess what it might be.