Page 69 of Highland Ruse

He stared into the licking flames, seeking the glossy tube, when Delilah touched his cheek in a tender, distracting caress. His gaze found hers, and he forgot the valerian root. Her lips pressed to his, warm and sweet, before she pulled back, leaving him wanting so much more.

“Good night, Kaid,” she said solemnly. Then she turned and left without giving him an answer at all.

Chapter Eighteen

It was a minor victory to keep Kaid from his nightmares.

A far bigger victory awaited Delilah in helping his people.

She pressed her hand to her brow to shield the glare of the sun and watched two boys dash across the lawn near the orphanage. After bringing them the remnants of the noonday meal, Delilah had stayed to assist Aida any way she could. After all, the young woman had her work well laid out for her with so many children.

The air was tinged with the mustiness of sweat and the lushness of a new day after a night of rain. It was a smell which lightened her heart and yet burdened her shoulders all at once.

She could save them.

All of them.

If she played Elizabeth for MacKenzie.

If she turned her back on Sylvi and Liv and Isabel and Percy—the ultimate betrayal.

A boy across the field took up a stick and brandished it like a sword toward a younger boy who was held between two others. The disconcerting scene intruded on Delilah’s thoughts and she quickly made her way toward them.

“Take that, ye filthy MacLeod,” the older boy bellowed in a nasty growl and plunged the stick toward the younger one’s armpit so it seemed to penetrate his chest.

Delilah stopped short in horror.

The younger boy collapsed to the ground in a dramatic death. “Dinna hurt my wife.” His head dropped to the side, and he went still.

Aida rushed past Delilah toward the boys and bent at the waist to speak to them. Delilah could not hear what she said, but could tell Aida was not rebuking them for their gruesome display. With a pat on the back for each of them, the boys disbanded in pursuit of other activities.

Aida straightened with the stick in her hand and cast Delilah a woeful, apologetic smile that was altogether too tired for a woman so young. “They dinna know what to make of it all,” Aida offered in a sad tone. “They saw more than children ever should.”

Delilah nodded silently. Aida patted her shoulder in the same manner as she’d done to the boys, and turned back toward the orphanage.

How could any woman endure such heartbreak daily?

Something warm brushed against Delilah’s fingers before sliding against her palm. She found Claire standing beside her, her hand clasping Delilah’s.

Claire gave a shy smile. “I’m Claire,” she said in a very little voice.

“I’m…” Delilah caught herself. “I’m Elizabeth.”

Claire’s lips screwed up toward the left side of her cheek, and she studied Delilah with unabashed curiosity. “Are ye an angel?”

Delilah shook her head.

“Ye look like my ma,” Claire said in an awestruck whisper. “I thought ye might be her angel since ye said ye werena her.”

The girl’s voice was so small, so hopeful that it left emotion crowding in Delilah’s chest. “I’m sorry to not be. I would very much love to have a daughter like you.”

Claire’s hand in hers was growing overly hot and sweaty, but Delilah had no intention of breaking the tender hold.

“I think ye’d be a verra good ma,” Claire said with a bashful glance at the ground. “Because ye’re pretty and ye’re nice.”

“Is that what makes a good mother, then?” Delilah asked with a laugh.

The girl’s lips twisted in thought once more. “I think the nice more so than the pretty,” she conceded earnestly.