Unbidden thoughts returned to her of the Highlander’s sure, strong voice while comforting a little girl. And then to his embrace and passionate kiss beneath the moon. Slapping him had been difficult because the last thing she’d wanted him to do was stop, and satisfying because she wasn’t a wench to be manhandled and because he made a living from fighting. His cheek could take it. She imagined many women had slapped it.

​

But there was no place in her future for a charming rogue. Too many people needed her. And how could she betray Kendrick’s memory by letting herself be seduced by a man like Patrick? It was best if she forgot him now.

​

Bending to the first bucket handle, she hauled up both and turned to leave. As she went, she thought she might have to spike Mr. Campbell’s drink tonight to keep him from following her.

​

She stepped outside and set down the buckets so she could shut the door. When she saw the Highlander leaning his back against the outer wall, hands crossed over his chest, his face tilted toward the sun, she drew in a tight gasp.

​

The sound drew his attention and he turned his head to set his eyes on her. “I can think of nothin’ but our kiss last eve. How aboot ye?”

​

Her knees went a bit weak—before she pulled herself together again. He was a bold rascal who was well practiced in the art of seduction. The slant of his scandalous lips proved it. He expected her to swoon. Instead, she straightened her shoulders.

​

“You call that a kiss?” She tried to maintain a serious composure while he laughed. “What is it truly that possesses you to follow me around the vale, uninvited?”

​

He unclasped his arms and stretched them outward. “I’ve been askin’ m’self that verra question.”

​

“And?” She turned away and pulled on the door.

​

“And,” he replied, pushing off the wall and bending to her buckets, “the answer still eludes me.”

​

What was he trying to say? What was so difficult about deciding why he followed her? She glowered at him and snatched one of the handles. He let her take it.

​

“I thought at first,” he continued, picking up his pace to walk beside her along the path back to the henhouse, “’twas the way the sun spills over ye like ye were created to dance in the light.”

​

Oh, but he had a masterful tongue. It worked like soothing ointment to a wound that had been opened too long. Her lips ached to form a smile. Her heart raced, wanting to let go and fly. She loved to fly.

​

“I considered if ’twas the challenge of winnin’ a mare as wild as the wind in winter, or a naggin’ affliction to want to know who ye are, that possesses me to follow ye.”

​

Affliction?

​

“But I’m still undecided.”

​

So, getting to know her was an affliction. She flicked her eyes to him. As for his confession of being undecided, could he possibly be as guileless as his current smile implied? Oh, but he had other smiles, ones that were tainted with trouble.

​

It frightened her. Allowing him, or any man for that matter, to distract her from saving Elsie. She couldn’t lose sight of her task. Not even for a man whose kiss curled her toes and scorched her blood.

​

She had to keep her head clear and her heart well guarded. This Highlander, with his dancing eyes and full, decadent mouth was temptation incarnate. But she didn’t want to be tempted. She didn’t want to note the height or breadth of him so close, or how his easy smiles put her at ease. Or how he’d snatched the power from Nonie’s monsters and given it back to her. But he didn’t want a wife. Hadn’t he told her? He was a rake of the worst sort. She’d seen him with Bethany. He considered integrity and honor dusty ideals.

​

“Did you ever consider,” she put to him, “that the reason you want to win my favor has nothing to do with me, but with you?”

​

He quirked his brow at her, his dimple flashing.

​

“Your victory,” she explained, “would be another notch for your belt.”

​

He paused and looked down at his belt. She kept walking until she reached the henhouse and entered it. When he caught up, she should have insisted he leave, for the small shack was dimly lit and being alone in it with Patrick Camp- bell wasn’t wise. But when she heard him enter a moment later, she inhaled a satisfied breath.

​

“Ye think ye know me.”

​

His voice was like feathers falling over her skin when he spoke behind her. The hairs rose off her nape while the feathers continued down to her belly. She took a step away and turned to face him.

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“I do know you, Mr. Campbell, and many men like you. I know your ultimate goal is to have your way. You think to flatter me into submission, but you will not succeed.”

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He grinned, addling her senses. What in blazes was wrong with her? He was a man, just like any other man— only he wasn’t.

​

“I disagree.”

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Perhaps she was wrong. She wanted to slap him again. “You think me weak?”

​

“No’ at all,” he said lifting his fingers to her face. “In fact, I think ye’re quite extraordinary.”