Taming The Lion. Suzanne Barclay

cold and still in a pool of blood. Guilt rose in her throat.

      Catlyn shook her head and shoved the memory away. “He died when he was ten and five.”

      “I feel for you,” he said gently.

      And Catlyn believed he did. As she stared into his eyes, she fancied she saw her own pain reflected there. “Thank you.”

      “I have two younger brothers and a sister. Much as they did plague me when we were growing up, I do love them dearly.”

      “You are fortunate to have a large family.”

      “Aye.” Something shifted in his eyes, a shadow of remorse or a trick of the light? “I did not fully appreciate how much they meant to me until just lately.”

      “I, too, took my family for granted,” her heart contracted, “not realizing how precious they are till they are gone.”

      “Or threatened.” His voice went hard and flat. “When your family is in danger, you will do anything to protect them.”

      Catlyn nodded, understanding that grim determination. Sharing it. “My father died a month ago while taking a shipment of whiskey to Doune. I know Hakon had a hand in it, though I cannot prove it. As I stood over Papa’s grave, I vowed on his soul that Hakon would not get Kennecraig, too.”

      “That is a large undertaking.”

      “For a woman?”

      “For anyone. From what I saw, he is ruthless and canny.”

      “We will survive.”

      His eyes locked on hers, and his expression changed. What looked like respect flickered in their azure depths, along with something else. Something strong and earthy.

      Catlyn’s pulse quickened, and her skin prickled. She could not move, could only stare into those compelling eyes, acutely aware of him on some new level. She inhaled sharply, her senses filled with the unique scent of soap and man. This man. Never before had she felt so small, fragile and wholly female.

      “Catlyn,” he whispered.

      Never had her name sounded so beautiful and lush. “Aye,” she murmured, her body warming, melting.

      “I...” He lifted a hand, grazing her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “I am sorry, I—” He started, dropping his hand as though he’d been burned, shattering the moment.

      Catlyn blinked. “What?”

      “I am sorry,” he said again, eyes flat and shuttered.

      For touching her? Confused, Catlyn turned away from him, tripped over her hem and would have fallen had he not grabbed hold of her elbow. Even that slight contact sent a jolt up her arm. She looked at him again and saw her dazed features reflected in his eyes. Or was he as confused as she? “What is it? What is happening?” she whispered.

      For a long moment, he did not reply, just studied her, as though seeing her for the first time. When he spoke, his voice was low and harsh. “You are a most unusual lass.”

      Catlyn tried not to be hurt. “Thank you, I think.” She dredged up a smile and freed her arm. “If you will excuse me, I have much to do today.” It astonished her that she had wasted so much time talking to him. It frightened her that she had felt at ease doing it. Turning away, she started down the hall.

      He kept pace beside her. “I wonder if I could beg a favor?”

      Glancing sidelong at him, she saw the easy smile was back. “I doubt you have ever begged anything from a woman.”

      He laughed, the sound, deep and infectious. How could a large man manage to look like a lad caught in a falsehood?

      Catlyn couldn’t help but smile. “What do you want?”

      “Hmm.” He arched one black brow, teasing. “You should not ask a man that, lass. Gives him all sorts of ideas.”

      “I am not the sort of woman men get ideas about,” she said crisply, braced for a flood of false compliments.

      “Then you’ve not met the right sort of man.”

      “Mmm.”

      “But as to the boon,” he said as they reached the stairwell. “Would you read to Callum? I speak French well enough, but I read so slowly the story would suffer.”

      “I am far too busy,” Catlyn said quickly. Too quickly.

      “Are you?”

      Catlyn sighed and stopped. Because they’d spoken openly about losing family, she felt she owed him the truth. “I cannot be near the wounded.” She looked down at her knotted fingers. “It’s the blood.” No matter how she fought it, the sight of blood turned her stomach. Even saying the word made her shudder.

      “Why? What happened?”

      “I cannot speak of it.” She gritted her teeth, trying not to remember the horrible way she’d found her brother.

      “Callum’s wound is completely bandaged.”

      “It would not matter. I...I would know.” She shivered.

      “Easy. I am sorry to upset you.”

      Catlyn nodded. “And I am sorry I cannot do as you ask. It is my mother’s book in any case. I have no time for romances.”

      “Indeed?” He cocked his head. “You should find time.”

      Catlyn shrugged, uncomfortable with the subject. “You must be fond of your squire to worry so.”

      “It is my fault. Had he not placed himself between me and a Fergusson ax, he’d not have been wounded.”

      Catlyn gasped. “You were nearly killed?”

      “Nay, my armor would have blunted the worst of the blow, but it cut right through—” He cleared his throat. “Suffice to say, he was hurt in my place.”

      “I see,” Catlyn mumbled, shaken to learn he could have been hurt. Last night it would not have mattered so, but something had changed while they stood talking this morning. She had begun to see him not as a shallow rogue, but as a compassionate man who cared for his family, his men and even for her losses. She could not afford to care about him. “I will pray for Callum’s swift recovery.” And your swift departure from my life. Picking up her skirts, she scampered down the stairs.

      Catlyn half feared, half hoped he would follow her. That spark of anticipation worried her. She must find Old Freda and ask when the wounded would be able to ride.

      

      Ross stared after Catlyn till she turned the corner and disappeared from sight. Tempted as he was to go after her, he knew better than to press the slender advantage he’d gained.

      It had been worth the hour spent lurking outside her door for the chance to waylay her. And the book had worked as well as he had hoped, giving them a common interest, a base from which to launch his assault on her defenses. They had not crumbled, but there were chinks in them.

      The victory left a sour taste in his mouth.

      You cannot afford to admire her, Mathew had said last night.

      Ross doubted his cousin would be pleased to hear that he not only respected her but lusted after her as well.

      There was no other word for the flash of heat that had passed between them as they gazed into each other’s eyes. The unexpected quickening sensation had rocked him, mocked him. It was surely the greatest perversity that he should desire the woman he had come to betray.

      For one mad moment, Ross considered following Catlyn, telling her why he was really here and...

      And what? Throwing himself on her mercy? She had no reason to help him, not when it would mean betraying her clan.

      Growling a curse, he slapped the flat of his hand