Bedding the Enemy by Mary Wine

burned and grumbled, refusing to listen to anything her mind had to say about remaining strong in the face of Edmund’s demands. While her will was strong, her body was starving.
    There was a grinding of metal and a splintering of wood. It seemed so loud after hours upon hours of only her thoughts.
    â€œHelena?”
    She shivered, her mind hearing Keir’s voice, which was absurd. She looked around the tiny attic room, her gaze touching on her small bed to force herself to recall where she was. Allowing her thoughts to dwell on Keir McQuade had clearly been a mistake, for now her wits were addled.
    The door burst open, allowing the light to flood in. A small cry of happiness passed her lips; she could not hold it back. But she froze when the light also washed over Keir, as large and imposing as she saw him in her mind. She was afraid to move, lest the moment shatter and she be forced to admit it was all nothing but fantasy brought on by lack of food and water.
    â€œSweet mercy.”
    It was her brother’s housekeeper who spoke. The woman looked around Keir and covered her mouth with her hand. Horror reflected in her eyes. Helena felt her mind shift back into working order, but it was not fast enough to keep her hand from rising to cover the worst of the bruising on her face. By daylight she had viewed her brother’s mark quite often. Half of her face was darkened, the spot on her cheek the deepest purple.
    Keir was enraged.
    She watched the emotion dance in his eyes, practically felt it leap across the space between them, it was so hot. His attention lingered on her face, studying it for a long moment. Her pride rose, refusing to endure being pitied.
    â€œIt is nothing.”
    â€œThe hell it isna.”
    Keir looked around the room. His face reflected his displeasure. Helena raised her chin but knew what he was seeing. The room was tiny and cold now. Her dress was rumpled from days of use without pressing. On the bed she had piled her traveling clothing to help fight the chill because she had no hot coals to provide heat.
    â€œWhat are you doing here, Keir?”
    His gaze flew back to her face, something different flickering in his dark eyes. One corner of his mouth twitched before his attention settled on her bruised cheek once more. Rage returned to his eyes but it was tightly controlled, which made it even more formidable.
    â€œI’m going to do what needs doing.”
    He turned in a flare of kilt. The housekeeper shrank away from him, but that didn’t save her from his notice.
    â€œCare for her, or answer to me when I return.”
    He was already down the stairs when Helena managed to force her body to break through the chill that hunger, thirst, and pain had locked her into. She followed him down to the second floor.
    â€œKeir…wait.”
    Humiliation flooded her when her knees knocked against each other, refusing to hold her weight. She crumpled on the stairs, her hands grabbing at the walls and slipping because there was nothing to hold onto.
    Keir turned and caught her, gripping her forearms and lifting her with an ease that astounded her. It also sent a ripple of excitement through her. It was maddening to think she enjoyed the demonstration of how much stronger he was. But she could not lie to herself.
    He placed her gently on her feet but maintained his hold on her arms until she proved that standing was not beyond her strength.
    â€œChrist in heaven.”
    More expletives followed. Keir’s men stared at her, their faces reflecting their disapproval. She was honestly surprised by the disgust on their faces. Many men ruled with their fist.
    That sobered her. She could see the rise of anger in their eyes. Every one of them wore a kilt, and the doublets they had on were plain, built for protection against the elements, not for fashion. These were men of action, not hollow words.
    Like their leader.
    â€œKeir, you must let it be.”
    He reached out and gently