Free Highland Storm by Tanya Anne Crosby

himself.
    His lips curved into a smile, and he moved his boot and thrust a hand down into the snow, groping, searching for something, and then, seeming to find it, he plucked his hand back up, producing one of Uhtreda’s stones.
    Lianae’s eyes widened.
    “Something tells me, lass… if ye meant to leave, ye would already be gone.”

Chapter 6
    “ T hat is mine ,” she said, and reached out to snatch the stone from Keane’s hand. Her expression turned to one of outrage when he held it firmly in his grasp, studying her.
    While her coldstones might be rare, they were hardly unknown to him. Small and etched with symbols, they reminded him of knucklebones—a game wherein you placed four bleached bones from the ankles of a sheep into a sack. Each bone had four sides, and each side a different shape, each side a different value. Players tossed them from the sack, and the one with the greatest value won, but these coldstones were not quite so easily decipherable, and neither was the end result the winner of a game. Betimes they were rolled and the fates were not so kind. Una kept a purse full in her grotto, hauling them out whenever Aidan wished for her to seek answers from the gods. The only difference between these and the ones Una possessed was that Una’s were not marked in the same manner. Regardless, they were valuable enough to steal, particularly if one knew what they were and how to use them. And whether Lianae knew such a thing or nay, she clearly understood the stones’ value because she’d fled without her shoes and took the purse, when her shoes might have served her better in this inclement weather.
    And by the by, although she could have at least attempted to run away, she’d spent the past hour trolling the courtyard, searching for missing stones. In fact, she seemed far more concerned over the loss of her coldstones than she was about the company of strange men.
    Smiling just a little, Keane released her stone, despite his suspicions and she closed her fist possessively about the bauble. Up close, it was perfectly clear there was a bruise on her face, right below the cheekbone.
    Did she steal the stones? Were they payment for her favors? A bridal gift?
    Somehow he didn’t think so.
    He plucked a wad of red velvet cloth out of his belt, unwrapping it to show her a second small coldstone that had been caught in the folds of the purse she’d torn. He handed it to her. “Did you steal them?” he asked outright.
    “Nay.”
    Nevertheless, she seemed to blanch over the question, and he didn’t let it stop him from speaking his mind. “One must ask oneself why a bonny lass would run away, barefoot, dressed in her bride’s gown, with naught more than a cloak on her back and a velvet purse full of coldstones to her name.”
    She blushed prettily, averting her gaze, her fist turning white over the stones she held in her hand. Keane watched as she placed both stones he’d produced into the hem of her gown. By now her cheeks were bright pink. Was she embarrassed because he’d called her bonny?
    Or mayhap she has something more to hide?
    Something more than coldstones…
    “Why is that d’ ye think?”
    Keane let his question hang in the air, along with the mist from his breath, until he was fairly certain she would never respond, and then decided to give her a rest—not that he was meant to get anything more from the lass if she didn’t wish to give it, for her shoulders were set as stubbornly as his sister Lael’s. He recognized a brick wall whenever he met one. Unless he meant to take a harsher stance, he might as well let it go… for now.
    On the other hand, if he waited for her permission to tend her foot, she would lose the thing before the night was out. Shrugging off his cloak, Keane produced his woolen breacan, and then, without any explanation for what he meant to do, he ripped a long strip from the end, and then another. Glenna, the weaver, would threaten his manhood for ruining her good