Page 51 of The Guardian

Chapter Eighteen

Ailith crossed the sunlit courtyard, skirts brushing against her ankles, when a familiar streak of black fur barreled toward her. Teller’s tongue lolled from the side of his mouth, his amber eyes bright with mischief and contentment. If anything, life at the keep had transformed him. The once scrappy creature now ruled the motley pack of dogs that roamed the grounds, leading them like a furry general teaching the fine arts of chasing shadows, looking pitiful enough to beg scraps, and launching fearless, if usually unsuccessful, hunts for small swift creatures from the nearby woods.

She bent to scratch between his damp ears, wrinkling her nose.

“Ye’ve been in the mud again. Off to the bath we go,” she scolded, though her voice held more fondness than reprimand.

Teller, of course, heard only the promise of adventure. Tail high, he trotted after her toward the edge of the keep where the forest loomed. Just beyond, a narrow creek, its shallow water clear and enticing.

Only when she coaxed the muddy dog into the cold stream, laughing as he paddled in lopsided circles, did Hendry’s stern warning echo in her mind: Never wander alone.

Her smile faded. She scanned the tree line as the wind stirred the leaves. The sound made her pulse leap. “Teller, we best go back,” she called, the unease sharpening her tone.

The traitorous hound ignored her, darting back to the water’s edge and splashing with oblivious glee. “Teller,” she hissed, lunging for him. He barked and danced away, paw prints marking the wet earth.

After several failed attempts, she stopped, breathless. “If there was an evildoer nearby, ye’ve made enough noise to lead him straight to us,” she muttered.

“I am leaving,” she warned, turning on her heel. Teller, his fur dripping, finally dashed after her, pausing now and then to shake himself, sending icy droplets against her legs. She tried to towel him off with the cloth she’d brought, but each time he slipped away, making a game of it.

She had just straightened from one such failed attempt when she nearly collided with a wall of warm muscle. A startled yelp escaped her as she stumbled back, Teller’s bark ringing out at the same moment. Hendry stood before her, hands raised as if to dispel any more fright.

“Oh, Hendry… ye startled me.” She avoided his eyes, instead casting a silent glare at Teller, who clearly had failed in his duties as her self-appointed protector.

The dog, momentarily surprised, froze. Then recognition lit his face and with a full-body quiver of delight, Teller launched himself at Hendry as if greeting an old friend after years of absence.

Hendry gave Teller an absent pat on the head, his attention fixed entirely on her. His gaze clung to her face, willing her to meet his eyes.

When she finally did, her breath caught. He was furious. The sharp set of his jaw, the dark glint in his eyes, the way his lips pressed into a line so tight, all of it radiated restrained anger. He looked past her toward the creek, his voice low and taut.

“I assume ye came alone.”

“I… er… aye. With… Teller.” The words stumbled out, awkward and thin. “I ken I should have asked Tobin or someone else to come with me.” She searched for a plausible excuse, but the effort crumbled. “Surely any wayward MacLeod has been caught by now…or gone.”

In the years apart, they’d changed. They’d become different people. She a woman who’d been misled, married someone she didn’t love, and then widowed.

He was no longer simply Hendry, but a man who’d been heartbroken by betrayal and tempered in battle. A warrior whose name carried weight in Clan Ross.

They didn’t know each other any longer, not really. They were very different people now, very little of who they’d been remained.

So it meant, Ailith had no earthly idea how to soothe his anger, what to say or do to lessen his ire toward her.

“I am truly sorry for worrying ye. I promise it was without thinking that I—”

“Stop,” Hendry said, moving closer. “It is because of fear that I am angry. When a stable lad told me ye had gone toward the creek, I imagined so many things.”

His statement should have made her feel better, that he acknowledged and explained the reason for his earlier tone was refreshing. Brant would have died before admitting to being wrong about anything. At the same time, Ailith felt worse. Guilty.

“Come,” Hendry said, pulling her into his arms. His chest expanding and deflating as he took in a long breath and let it out, his hold on her tightening.

“I dinnae wish to lose ye. Not after waiting so long for this.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

Ailith leaned back in his arms, tilting her chin to meet his gaze, and managed a small, apologetic smile. “I truly am sorry. I should nae have come alone. Teller was so muddy, all I could think was that I needed to wash him before letting him into yer cottage.”

A shadow flickered across his features, darkening the warmth in his eyes.

“It is yer cottage as well, lass. Do ye nae feel at home here?”

Her breath caught, but she forced herself to shake her head. “I am nae home. My home is the cottage in the forest, Hendry. Nae here at the keep.”