Page 34 of Not a Fine Gentleman

She hesitated. “Don’t you want it?”

“No, you can have it.”

“Thank you.”

Thunder crashed again, and she flinched.

“We’re safe here from the storm,” he said as he draped the blanket around her.

“It’s not the rain that worries me.”

“Lightning and thunder?”

She nodded. With her hair hanging in wet locks around her face and her eyes so wide and frightened, she looked childlike, vulnerable. Innocent.

Was she innocent of anything?

Still, he soothed, “We’re safe here. If lightning strikes, it’ll hit something taller, like one of the trees, or even the cottage’s chimney. This barn is much lower to the ground.”

Thunder stuck again, this time so close that his hair stood on end. Meg let out a cross between a cry and a scream and launched herself at him. He put an arm around her. The cow in the corner bellowed and snorted as it stomped, but it was effectively pinned in its stall and posed no threat.

Another blast of thunder shivered the air. Meg huddled against him, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “Oh, have mercy,” she whispered.

He wrapped a second arm around her. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She huffed a disbelieving laugh. “You can’t stop lightning. No one can. It strikes unexpectedly. I’ve seen it.”

He held her firmly against his chest. “Have you?”

“Lightning once struck the crofter’s cottage.” She swallowed so hard that he felt it. “Started the roof on fire.” Her breathing created little gasping noises. “Burned it all the way to the ground. People ran to help, but it was too late. The whole family perished. I’ll never forget that.” She turned her face into his shoulder.

“Tragic.” How interesting that she cared about a family so lowborn. Surprising. “Did that happen recently?”

“I was nine years old.” Her voice took on the faraway tone of memory. “The noise woke me. I saw the fire from my window.”

“I’ll stay awake to be sure we’re safe.” Between the storm and the gun-pointing farmer, Connor had plenty of reasons to keep watch.

“You will?” She tilted her head to look up at him.

“You have my word.”

Her expression relaxed, and she leaned against him as if her bones had melted. Connor shifted and lay back on the hay. Meg curled up against him. The heat of her body soaked through him, comforting and warm. He could get used to this.

If he let himself.

Which he would not.