Page 30 of Desire of a Highlander

She straightened, inhaled deeply, and waited for the panic. To her surprise, it didn’t come. In fact, she couldn’t quite pin down the emotions that washed through her. Disappointment? Yes. Frustration? Perhaps. But fear? Panic? Not really. Why was that?

Her eyes found Ronan. Because of him? Because his presence made impossible situations seem manageable?

Ronan put his hands on his hips and looked around. “Is there anything that strikes a chord? Anything ye recognize?”

“No. Nothing.”

He huffed out a breath. “Perhaps it’s because of the injury. A blow to the head can affect yer recollections sometimes.

“Oh.” She nodded quickly, jumping on this explanation. “That makes sense.” The lie came surprisingly easily.

Ronan’s blue gaze settled on her. “In my experience, all we can do is wait.”

“Wait?”

“For yer memory to return. Or not.” He paused, then added quietly, “Either way, ye are welcome to stay with us for as long as ye need.”

No questions asked. No conditions. Just an honest offer of help because she needed it. Elodie looked away before he could see the emotion that suddenly threatened to surface.

“Thank you.”

Ronan smiled crookedly. “Ye are welcome. If there is nothing else ye wish to see, perhaps we should be heading back?”

Elodie nodded and they set off down the hill. She didn’t look back.

AS RONAN WALKED AT Elodie’s side, his gaze kept drifting towards her. Something about the way she moved, the way she tilted her head as she spoke, drew his eyes back to her despite himself.

He was glad she’d be staying a while longer. Glad and relieved. He didn’t understand either emotion. This morning, when she’d come to ask him to escort her back to the place he’d found her, he’d felt a hard, unexpected kick of disappointment. And just now, when she’d not found whatever it was she was looking for, he’d felt an equally hard kick of relief.

Someone will come who will help ye carry the burdens life has given ye, if ye have the courage to let them.

Angus was idly cropping grass when they reached him, swishing his tail to keep away the flies, but he lifted his head when he spotted Ronan and whinnied in greeting.

“Good lad,” Ronan said, patting him on the neck. “Ready to go home?”

The horse snorted, although Ronan couldn’t say if it was agreement or disappointment.

“I’ll boost ye up again if ye wish,” he told Elodie.

She nodded, then walked over and stood in front of him. This close, he saw that her rich dark hair had lighter strands in it, almost auburn in the sunlight. A faint smattering of freckles covered her nose.

He knelt and cupped his hands together. She put her foot into his hands, then let forth a startled little squawk as he boosted her up into the saddle. He supressed a grin as he swung up after her and settled into the saddle behind her this time. On the way here he’d not been entirely confident in her riding skills, and by sitting behind her he’d be able to ensure she kept her seat.

That was the only reason. It had nothing to do with the fact that in this arrangement he had to reach around her to take the reins, effectively trapping her between his arms, so close that he could smell her hair. No, it had nothing to do with that at all.

Elodie clasped the saddle horn with both hands, keeping herself rigidly upright, but it wasn’t enough to stop heat rushing through him and spiraling right down to his groin. Damn it all. What was wrong with him? This was going to be a very uncomfortable ride back.

He nudged Angus into a fast walk and kept his focus on their route rather than the woman in front of him. Bran and Skye flanked them, keeping pace. For a while they traveled in silence, and Ronan was comfortable with that.

Elodie, however, was not. “What’s down there?” she asked after a while, pointing to where a cut snaked its way through the landscape.

“The river. That’ll take ye down past Glen Caol,” he said. “If ye follow it, it comes out near the loch.”

“Oh. Glen Caol.”

The way she said the name made it sound as though she’d never heard it before. As they moved, she asked more questions, simple things about the landscape and the creatures that inhabited it. He answered readily, enjoying the easy back-and-forth, her curiosity sparking a side of him he rarely indulged. She kept the conversation light, and they both danced around the edge of difficult subjects. She didn’t ask him anything he was unwilling to answer, nothing about his past, about why he was out here, about the Steading itself. For his part, he was burning with curiosity about her past and where she’d come from but he respected the unspoken boundaries they’d erected about themselves.

She was, he realized, easy company. There was a wit to her that had him smiling on more than one occasion and it was pleasant to talk to somebody who didn’t expect anything from him. He couldn’t remember the last time a conversation had felt this unguarded, this simple.