Free Until the Knight Comes by Sue-Ellen Welfonder

dipped far too low and clung much too provocatively.
    She moistened her lips, something in her eyes telling him that she recognized his . . . discomfiture. “Well? What
are
your tastes?” she asked again. “What do you find pleasing?”
    “Things that ought not be distracting me,” he blurted, curling his hands around his sword belt to keep from reaching for her.
    To keep from questioning what he was about to propose and shield him from how easily a few sweet words could make him forget his reasons for wishing her safely elsewhere!
    She touched a hand to his chest, the innocent contact making him hard. “And what do you find so distracting?”
    “
You
are distracting,” he vowed, a muscle working in his jaw. “But never you mind. Of greater import is that I have a . . . proposal for you.”
    “A proposal?”
    He nodded. “See you, just as my uncle’s name is not strange to you, so do several of my men believe they know of your father—a puissant warrior laird of the north. Archibald Macnicol?”
    She gasped, but caught herself as quickly. “Your men know him but you do not?”
    “Och, lass, but I have told you—I am anything but a court-bred knight.” Kenneth tightened his grip on his belt, struggling anew to ignore how provocatively her bodice strained across her breasts.
    Breasts he just knew would be soft, warm, and plump in his hands. Deliciously sweet beneath his lips.
    He swallowed, struggled even harder against a certain
discomfort.
    “See you,” he began again, speaking in a rush, “ask me of the people of this glen and I can tell you who their great-grandfathers’ grandfathers were, and who they married. But”—he shook his head—“I am no man to ken the names of the titled and privileged.”
    He frowned, wished she weren’t standing so close. “Is this great man of the north, this Archibald Macnicol, your father? Do my men tell me true?”
    “Why do you speak of him?” she flashed, the hot lights in her eyes answer enough. “He would sooner cut out his tongue than utter my name.”
    “That, my lady, I can scarce believe, but I’ve not forgotten that you said your family is wroth with you.” He reached out, captured her chin when she tried to look away. “Surely it is not that grim?”
    She pressed her lips into a hard, tight line and shook her head, her eyes glittering.
    Frustrated, Kenneth blew out a breath. “Ach, see you, I’d thought to please you by offering you safe escort to your father’s holding, Dunach Castle. Thought Dunach’s stout walls and your father’s own formidable reputation might prove a more secure refuge for you.”
    “My father . . .
was
formidable,” she said, her voice sounding distant, someone else’s. “He no longer is. Now, he is ailing. A broken man—a shadow of his former self.”
    “Then mayhap you ought return indeed? To comfort and care for him?” He let go of her chin, smoothed a strand of hair behind her ear. “If he is ill, he will surely welcome you.”
    She drew a deep breath. “You do not understand. I am the reason he fares so poorly. To take me there would only worsen his condition, and that is a burden I do not wish to add to the ones I already carry.”
    “But—”
    “No, you must believe me,” she said, her voice edged with finality. “You thought and are thinking wrong. I cannot return to Dunach.”
    He touched her cheek, letting his fingers glide close to the corner of her mouth. “And if I would help you make things right?”
    She stiffened. “You cannot—unless you can undo the past.”
    “No one can work such a wonder, my lady.” He quirked a brow at her, attempted a smile. “But if it is impossible to forget the past, mayhap I can help you to look forward?”
    She glanced aside, said nothing.
    He frowned.
    And grew increasingly alarmed by the depth of his concern for her.
    Alarmed enough to resort to his alternative plan.
    He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. “If you do not wish to be