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Always judging by a vacillating set of dubious standards they compiled and altered as they saw fit.

When she remained silent, he tilted his mouth into a wickedly suggestive smile and waggled his eyebrows. “Emeline,” he coaxed, in his sexy rumble.

She swallowed hard and looked away. Lord above. How disconcertingly was the ease in which she could topple into that seductive curve and enticing timbre.

Never before had a man inflamed such a maelstrom of emotion within her. Just the proximity of his virile presence sent her into a dither. With some effort, she dragged her focus away from his too enticing presence and gathered her errant thoughts.

“My mother died in childbirth, and Aunt Jeneva raised me,” she said. “She’s the only family I’ve ever kent. Although, as I told ye, I have distant cousins in France.”

He’d tamed his hair into a queue, and she decided she rather liked the few silver hairs glinting throughout. They made him look dignified and slightly mysterious.

She traced a grove on the tale with her forefinger. “Accordin’ to my aunt, my grandfather was a disgraced French comte. I’ve nae way of kentin’ if that’s the truth or no’. I doubt she’d fabricate the story, however. She was a very religious woman, and I’ve never kent her to lie.”

“And yer father?” He helped himself to another slice of bread.

A man of his size, likely ate much more than she’d prepared for breakfast. She’d have to remember that. “I’m illegitimate.”

The heat of a furious blush tinged her cheekbones, and she dropped her regard to her lap for a fraction. When she dared meet his eyes, the expected censure and judgement wasn’t there.

Instead, his head slanted, curiosity and an intense assessment shone in his pewter eyes. No doubt, he tried to absorb what she’d told him. As an unassuming spinster and illegitimate granddaughter of a French comte, what possible reason could there be for anyone to want her dead?

“Would ye like to go for a walk, Emeline? The day is quite lovely.”

At the abrupt change of subject, she cast Liam a disconcerted look before dashing a glance to the vibrant blue sky beyond the window’s soiled glass. “Aye. I am feelin’ the need to stretch my legs and take some air.”

As he efficiently banked the fire, she collected her cloak and draped it across her shoulders.

“There’s quite a picturesque view of a glen a short distance away.” He held the door open and waited for her to pass through. His body’s heat and unique scent beckoned to her as she slipped by. “I also spotted blackberry bushes. If ye’re inclined, later we can pick a bowl to eat with supper.”

Why, he almost sounded like a beau, trying to impress her. Of course, he wasn’t, and she be an utter idiot to read more into his friendly gestures than he’d intended.

Allowing her first truly unfettered grin in his presence, she nodded. She did try not to appear too eager. And failed miserably. “I adore blackberries, though eatin’ them was a rarity in Edinburgh.”

She preceded him from the cottage, too aware of Liam directly behind her. Never before had a man’s company so discomfited her. As she had since yesterday, Emeline admonished herself to remember that the strain of their meeting and everything that had occurred since had stirred her senses into acuteness.

Because, quite naturally, having looked death straight in the eye and miraculously walking away had discomposed her. A great deal. The close call had left her rattled and off kilter. Surely that must be the reason. For, in truth, she had no idea what to do if something else went on here.

He was a hardened warrior. A wounded man. And gloriously unlike any male she’d encountered previously.

While he’d been outside attending to the hares, she’d decided to treat him as she would any casual acquaintance.

Polite. Distant. Reserved.

Only, her deuced pulse and heart, not to mention every inch of skin, responded in such a foreign way when in his proximity, she was hard put not to stutter and fumble as if inebriated.

For several minutes, they walked in companionable silence. Undoubtedly, he also had much on his mind. For instance, explaining the presence of a strange woman with him when he arrived home days later than anticipated.

Spying a white-breasted, gray-green bird with a black collar perched atop a pine branch, she pointed. “What type of bird is that?”

Liam squinted, looking to where she indicated. “’Tis a crested tit, also called a crestie.”

“’Tis so pretty. Is that whose song I’ve been hearin’?” She put a hand to her brow to shade her eyes, and peered up at the small bird.

“Probably,” he agreed amiably. “They’re generally quite shy but abundant in this area.”

Closing her eyes, a fleeting smile curving her mouth, Emeline breathed deeply. “It smells wonderful here. Clean and invigoratin’. I thought the same while I was visitin’ Berget. I dinna miss the city’s stench and cloyin’ odors. Edinburgh is so verra crowded, and it smells most awful.”

“Och, that’s true enough.” He helped her over a fallen tree. “Life in the Highlands is no’ easy, but her people are hearty and unwillin’ to exchange this life for anythin’ else.”