Free Highland Champion by Hannah Howell Page A

was within a heartbeat of demanding that he put his shirt back on. That would have told him far too much about how she felt. Anger was something she could explain away. What woman would not be angry to discover that the man she had worked so hard to heal was little better than a hound constantly sniffing the air for a bitch coming into season? She also suspected that most women would be as hurt and angry as she felt for one of the reasons she was rather ashamed to admit to—this hound had not sniffed her out.
    It hurt more than she cared to admit, far more than Duncan’s sorrowful lack of desire for her. What that told her about the state of her feelings for the man was something she was too terrified to look at closely. He had been cloistered in a remote cottage with her for a whole month, and he had not even kissed her. Was it any wonder she felt such a strong need to weep she could barely swallow her food?
    Something white flashed before her eyes and splashed into the bathwater. Keira stared down at Liam’s shirt. Slowly, she picked it up. He obviously expected her to wash it. For a moment, she savored the image of pinning him to his seat and making him eat it. She glanced at him, seeing that he had already returned to the table and was calmly eating the last of the food. He smiled sweetly at her, and she glared at him before turning back to her washing.
    Liam smothered a laugh. That glare had been so sharp he was surprised he was not bleeding. He had always thought his cousin Sigimor’s tendency to stir people into a rage an odd way to sort out problems and conflicts, but he began to see some merit in it. Keira was definitely smoldering at the moment. If he kept poking at that fire, it would soon flare up, and then all those words she was choking back would come out He suspected he would not like some of what she said, but at least he would no longer have to guess at what she was thinking.
    He made a few idle attempts at conversation, but was glad when Mary and her two brothers appeared to remove the tray and the bath. Talking to Keira was no better than talking to himself or the wall, for what few responses she made were indistinct murmursand something that came perilously close to a grunt. Then Mary began to speak of something from the past, a particularly lusty time when he and a few of his cousins from Dubheidland had stopped for a night Liam quickly ushered the still chattering woman out of the room, but could see from the narrowing of Keira’s eyes that it had probably been too little, too late. Inwardly cursing to himself, he sat on the edge of the bed and began to remove his boots.
    “What are ye doing?” asked Keira.
    Glaring at Liam, she tried to banish Mary’s words from her mind. It was not easy, and Keira doubted it would get much easier for a long while. Mary had not said anything very precise, but she had said just enough before Liam had pushed her out of the room to give Keira a vague idea of what had gone on in the past. Now her far too keen imagination was running wild. She was going to have to strangle it, or she would never sleep again.
    “Going to bed,” Liam replied even as he settled down on the bed, idly arranging the pillow until it was in just the right shape.
    “We cannae share a bed.”
    “I have kept my breeches on. And we have lived together for a month.”
    “We have ne’er slept in the same bed. Sharing the cottage was necessary, especially until ye began to heal enough to do some things for yourself. Sharing this bed isnae necessary. Ye can sleep on the floor.”
    “I have a broken leg, if ye recall. It isnae pleased that I have bounced it about on the back of a horse for hours. I am sleeping in this bed. If ye arenae able to trust me to restrain my lechery for a night, then ye can sleep on the floor.” The way her eyes widened slightly told him that a little too much of his anger and frustration may have been revealed in his voice. “I will use the top blanket. Ye can wrap