Free Every Heart Has Its Day by Lynda Lukow

on him. Though always blue, their color revealed her mood. When playful or pensive, they mirrored sapphires. In anger they darkened to a moonlit, snow-covered hill. He had seen his favorite hue, the shining blue-black of a raven’s wing, only twice—after they kissed. Aye, he would forever thirst for the magic of her lips. He had to dip his chin just a bit to sip her nectar. At the cottage, those rosy cushions had looked so warm, so inviting, he could not resist tasting her then any more than he could this day.
    Her passionate response excited him beyond measure. Her thundering heart matched his beat for beat. The uncertain strokes of her tongue met his every demand. The hardened tips of her full breasts teased his chest. Her full hips cradled his arousal as securely as a lover’s hand.
    She threatened his control more than any woman ever had. He should have heeded his body’s demand.
    Still, more than lust defined her appeal. When doubts flooded his mind, her whispered hopes dammed them. Concern gleamed from her eyes, yet she wasted no time cooing or crying. She issued orders with a commander’s authority as well as a lady’s modesty.
    She had spirit, too. The king’s earlier intervention most likely saved both Connor and Randall from a longer sentence. But he doubted Kasey needed help. She did not cower or cry. She returned Randall’s glare and then some.
    She had called herself a mouse. Hah! Many had fawned in his presence, but he doubted Kasey ever would. His size, his intentional rudeness had made her stand straighter and jut out her wee, perfect chin.
    Her courage, her gentle strength warmed the darkest niches of his heart. A laird’s wife required these qualities, and he would not settle for less.
    Many lairds had paraded their daughters before him. Those lasses may have looked like roses, but they were dandelions gone to seed. One misspoken word would destroy their fragile existence.
    But not Kasey. She was velvet-covered iron. Not since his mother’s death had he met such a woman.
    His chest tightened. More than ten summers had passed since his mother died, and still he grieved.
    He was not alone in his sorrow. The entire clan remained cloaked in gray. Though no one could replace his mother, Kasey could ease the loss.
    Her Cameron blood would make proving her worth much more difficult, but she would rise to the challenge. His clansmen would not be able to resist her any more than he could.
    If only she did not have the frustrating habit of daydreaming during conversations. It had taken him years to find the courage to voice his devotion. From the faraway look in her eyes, she had not heard him.
    He yawned. If that was her only quirk, he could learn to live with it.
    Watch yer back, Mackintosh. Her forewarning echoed through his mind. She did not seem prone to dramatics. Quite the opposite.
    He closed his eyes. Her tone held certainty, not malice. That could mean but one thing—she had second sight.
    Aye, he would be careful. Nothing would keep them apart a moment longer than necessary.
    ****
    A gentle hand shook Kasey’s shoulder. She rolled away. Fatigue dragged at her limbs, and her dream refused to release its hold.
    The meager candlelight at the end of the cave did not seem worth the effort. Echoes of unspoken promises beckoned her forward. The sun waited to enfold her in its glory.
    A hand grabbed her arm. She swatted at it. “Milady?”
    Wearier than before she slept, Kasey yawned as the last vestiges of her dream faded.
    “Broderick said we leave at first light.”
    New images halted her attempt to rise. Her mother’s beautiful face first bathed in red, then shrouded in black. Laird Cameron’s eyes slitted in anger, then glazed in madness. Evonne’s countenance cloaked in pain, then faded to naught. Yet behind them, the light still glowed.
    She rubbed her eyes and wondered if she teetered on the brink of madness.
    More likely concern over her forthcoming consequences tainted her dreams. The