Dark of the Moon by Karen Robards

last she lay quietly against him, gulping and sniffing like a tired child. Her fingers had curled unconsciously in his shirt front, which was damp from her tears.
    When her snifflings were reduced to no more than an occasional shuddering breath, he spoke very quiedy to the top of her head, which still rested against his chest. "Now you see I haven't harmed you, and I will not. You have no need to fear anyone at Donoughmore."
    Caitlyn stiffened, sitting upright in his lap. With her tears behind her, her wariness of him returned, not as strong as before but still warning her that he was a man and she a defenseless female. Her eyes flew to meet his, huge blue pools in a tear-drenched little face. Her mouth trembled. With a conscious effort she stilled the trembling, gathering up the shreds of her pride as best she could.
    Then she remembered her torn shirt, which in the face of all her unaccustomed emotion she had forgotten, and looked down to find her breasts exposed again.
    Gasping, she scrabbled for the ends of her shirt and clutched them together, her eyes flying to his. He met her wary look with a slight, reassuring smile. Caitlyn was not reassured. As she had bolted erect, his hold had loosened, his arms slipping from around her so that they rested now on the arms of the chair. There was nothing compelling her to stay in such close proximity to him. She scrambled off his lap and whirled to face him, glaring down at him as she held the front of her shirt together. He looked very big and very strong sitting there at his ease, his shoulders as broad as the back of the chair against which they rested and his legs in their black breeches and boots stretched out before him. His curly black head lay back against the rose-colored horsehair, and those light eyes fixed on her face. Her eyes touched on the cradle of his thighs. Momentarily she pictured herself curled up there. A vivid scarlet blush stained her cheeks. To compensate for her embarrassment, she glowered at him. Like a man in the presence of a frightened young animal, he made no sudden moves but stayed seated, smiling wryly up at her.
    "Back to yourself already, I see," he said.
    "I'll not be staying here." It was a challenge. Gripping her shirt together with one hand, she swiped the back of the other over her still-wet eyes. Connor sighed and got to his feet with slow, careful movements. Caitlyn took a quick step backward, eyes widening as they fixed on him. He shook his head at her. Then he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned one shoulder against the wall, regarding her as if she were a problem the likes of which he had not faced before.
    "I offered you a home, child, and employment. The offer is not withdrawn simply because you are a lass."
    "Still, I'll not be staying." Caitlyn was bristling at him, desperate to get back to her lost sense of self after the demeaning weakness of tears. With the revelation of her sex, she felt as if her soul had been stripped bare. As a female, she felt vulnerable, and she hated the feeling. She longed to step back into the skin of the cocky, self-sufficient lad she had been for so long.
    "So you would go back to Dublin, back to being O'Malley the thief." The words were slow, drawn out, and he studied her as he spoke.
    "Aye!"
    "What do you suppose would happen to you if your sex were discovered in Dublin, as it inevitably would be? 'Tis not something a lass can conceal forever. You've been lucky so far because you're not much more than a child. As you mature, the secret is bound to come out.
    What then?"
    "No one will find out. No one ever has."
    "We found out, just because my nitwit brothers were joking around with you. If we can discover your secret, so can others. Others who might not scruple to hurt a wee lassie. What if you were taken up for thieving? Do you not think that they would find out you were a lass as soon as you were put into the gaol? Not that it would keep them from hanging you, but they'd have fun disporting