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Was,not is. How had she died?

Such pain had permeated his ragged voice, she’d immediately elected to use Margaret instead. God knew Margarets abounded in Scotland, as common as red squirrels, heather, and the mountain hares he’d snared today.

Last night, without another word, he’d turned his broad back to her. Feeling like she’d committed a breach of etiquette, she’d faced the wall opposite wall as well. Exhaustion soon overtook her, and she’d tumbled into a deep, but decidedly unpeaceful, sleep.

As she took another swallow of the rather good tea, she furled her forehead. Why hadn’t his wife accompanied him to the cèilidh?

Perhaps she was unwell, or she didn’t like social gatherings. Or mayhap, they didn’t get on well together. No one had mentioned he was married. Not Berget and not his sister, Kendra. Emeline had liked and admired Kendra instantly. Confident, kind, full of life, and a bit mischievous, she was so very different than her somber brother.

So very different than Emeline, too.

After another pat to the horse’s side, Liam collected the hares. He glanced toward the cottage, and his gaze locked with hers through the dingy glass as he slowly straightened to his full six-foot four height.

Emeline couldn’t pull her attention away and, across the span, something powerful and unnamable sparked between them. An invisible bond that speared straight to her soul took root there.

It was wrong. He was married. Yet she could not avert her gaze.

To her consternation, Liam glanced away first, and strange disappointment tunneled through her. Flames licking her cheeks, she hurriedly spun from the window and made her way to the table. She placed her cup beside a bowl. She’d no business noticing a man’s looks or paying attention to disturbing flutters behind her breastbone and in her stomach.

For God’s sake. Her aunt had died yesterday. Men had tried to kill her. She had no idea what the future held. What she did know without a doubt was it did not include the brawny Highlander who’d saved her.

He. Is. Married.

A half-dozen breaths later, the door swung open, and he entered. At once, his presence filled the space. He lifted the hares, a hint of pride sharpening his already hewn features. “I need to tend to these, but I wanted to make sure ye didna need anythin’ first.”

“Nae, nothin’.” Although she was grateful for the meat, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sadness for the sweet creatures.

“I did see several red deer today, but we canna eat one between us, and I willna wantonly hunt and waste the meat.” His cheeks slightly ruddy from the wind, he jerked his strong chin. “Between hares, fish from the brook, and grouse, I’ll keep ye well fed.”

Emeline had never doubted it. Liam MacKay seemed most capable at fending for himself and those under his care.

“I have tea and porridge ready and bread risin’, too.” She swept a hand toward the hearth. “Would ye like to eat first, and then perhaps, ye can show me how to skin and clean the hares?”

His gypsy dark eyebrows shuffled high onto his noble brow. “Ye want to learn to clean hares?” He appeared so astounded, she might’ve asked him to dance a jig naked in the snow while playing the bagpipes. His blatant amazement stirred unexpected resentment and chagrin.

“Ye dinna have to teach me if ye dinna want to.” She wasn’t exactly keen to learn to skin the animals in any event. Nevertheless, for some unfathomable reason, she wanted him to understand she wasn’t cosseted or pampered. Wishing to steer the conversation in another direction, she said, “I assume ye snared them?”

“Aye.”

“I’d like to learn how to set a snare, too.” And with that imprudent candidness, she’d trod right back into the quagmire.

He placed the hares on the floor and still eyeing her curiously, also set aside his sword and dirk. Befuddlement reshaping his countenance and three lines creasing his forehead, he shook his head slowly. “I think perhaps, Miss Emeline LeClaire, ye’re the most unique woman I’ve ever met.”

Not altogether certain he’d meant the observation as a compliment, she pinched her lips together. “Why, because I asked ye to teach me to clean the hares?” She hitched a shoulder, feigning a nonchalance she was far from feeling. “Honestly, I think it’s a skill that I might have use of someday. One never kens what life might throw at ye”

Hadn’t they seen that firsthand yesterday? And today as well?

His eyebrows scuttled higher as he settled himself into the chair opposite her. “Forgive me for bein’ obtuse, but I canna imagine the need ever arisin’.”

Because she wasn’t quite a lady of station, but neither was she a farmer’s wife required to kill and pluck her own chickens? He didn’t know that though. Stifling the terse retort tapping her teeth, Emeline turned her attention to breaking their fast.

She had no quarrel with him. She was grateful for all he’d done for her. It wasn’t his fault she found herself in this impossible situation. He’d been all that was gallant. If he believed the chore too distasteful for her to learn, then she wasn’t going to kick up a fuss about it.

After using a cloth to bring the porridge and tea kettle to the table, she settled into a chair, her hands on either side of her bowl. She was famished, not having eaten since yesterday morning.

“Never mind. It was a foolish thing to ask,” she said, dropping her gaze.

Liam placed one hand over hers, giving her fingers a minute squeeze. He then turned her hand over and traced his forefinger over the pads. A jolt of sensual awareness traveled from her palm up her forearm to her shoulder, and heat blossomed across her chest before hurtling up her neck and face.