The Angel and the Highlander by Donna Fletcher

bother you,” he assured her.
    “They better not,” she said and stormed off.
    The news changed nothing for the others at the convent, Frances summoning it up the best. “Nuns or not, they are good, kind, generous women.”
     
    It was four days before Lachlan got to talk with Terese, not that he hadn’t tried before that. Rowena had told him that she slept and was in too much pain to be disturbed. He wasn’t sure if he believed her, but when she walked him down the hall and eased the door open to Terese’s room, he saw for himself.
    She lay pale and sleeping, and tucked under a mound of blankets.
    “The chills,” Rowena had whispered, but had assured him not to worry.
    He continued to inquire about her progress and on the morning of the fourth day he woke before sunrise and saw her. Her long blond hair was free and fell slightly unkempt around her face, and she hugged, with a degree of difficulty, a green wool shawl around her as she walked to her favorite spot on the hill.
    He caught up with her and slipped an arm around her to help her sit.
    “You are a gentlemen,” she said.
    He turned his charming smile on her. “At times.”
    “And other times?”
    “That would depend on the women you asked.”
    Terese smiled and shook her head.
    “I am glad to see that you’re feeling better.”
    “Rowena told me that you frequently inquired as to how I was doing.”
    “I was concerned,” he said. “Not all wounds heal as they should.”
    “No…No, they don’t,” she agreed slowly, making him wonder what wound she was recalling that hadn’t healed.
    “I’d like to know who you really are.”
    “Nobody,” she said softly.
    He felt the pain of her response. It was like a stab to his heart and he wanted to beat the person who had hurt her.
    “That’s not true,” he said adamantly. “You are a courageous and beautiful woman.”
    “You stand alone in that opinion.”
    “Mine is the only opinion that matters.” He smiled, but in his eyes there was a fire.
    “A champion,” Terese said as if giving it thought. “I’ve never had one.”
    “You do now,” Lachlan assured her.
    “Why?” she asked on a soft breath.
    He leaned closer. “You deserve one.”
    “I do no—”
    He pressed his finger to her lips. “You deserve much more, like the kiss I’ve wanted to steal from you ever since I met you.”
    “You don’t have to steal it,” she encouraged.
    “I’m glad to hear that,” he said and leaned in close to brush his lips across hers as if first familiarizing himself with her and letting her do the same with him. She eagerly returned the favor and soon their lips were seeking more. She was confident in her kiss, with a firm certainty that sparked his passion. She wanted him and she wasn’t afraid to show it.
    Their kiss deepened and his arm slipped around her, carefully so as not to cause her injured arm pain. Her little moans and groans excited him and damn if he didn’t want to make love to her here and now. But it wasn’t the time or place, and there was her wound to consider.
    “You taste good,” she said with candor when he eased their kiss to an end.
    “And you are intoxicating.” He pressed his cheek to hers and lingered in the cool softness.
    “We have a situation here, Lachlan.”
    His name rolled so comfortably from her lips, as if she were familiar with it and liked the taste.
    “We certainly do,” he agreed.
    “What do we do?” she asked, though he thought she already knew the answer just as he did.
    “We let it happen,” he whispered and kissed her cheek.
    “You are not angry with me?”
    He understood her query. “I must admit that at first I was, but my anger was more over my own foolishness than anything else. Giving the matter more consideration, I realized the situation you all were in and the wisdom of your choice.”
    She scrunched her brow. “You are so very different from the men I have known.”
    “And how many men is that?” he asked, unable to hide his