The Kindling Heart by Carmen Caine Page B

deep within Ruan’s chest. He clenched his fists. He took a step forward, lip lifting into a snarl of its own accord.
    Tormod shrugged. Looping his thumbs in his belt, he retraced his steps and disappeared back into the castle.
    Ruan could not pursue him for Bree suddenly emitted a yelp and proceeded to topple his way. He was there, catching her deftly in his arms but losing his balance in the process. He saw the wide green eyes and a nose even more swollen and purple than before. Then, they were rolling, miraculously avoiding the jagged rocks but collecting bits of bracken in their clothes before landing in the shallows, a tangle of arms and legs.
    Ruan was cold and he growled, not particularly in the mood to be wet yet again. Rising to his feet, he offered Bree his hand in assistance.
    She refused to look at him. Instead, she sat in the shallow water, sucking in her breath in shock.
    “’Tis fair cold, best get back to bed before ye catch ill,” he said, moving to lift her.
    Bree scrambled clumsily to her feet, obviously wanting to avoid his touch, but her wet skirts knotted about her knees like a rope and pitched her directly into his arms. She was soft, shapely. For a brief moment, his blood coursed hotly in his veins, but then she sneezed, startling him into control. Scowling at his temporary lapse, he firmly pushed her away.
    She was looking worse each time that he saw her. Her hair clung in damp strings fastened to her pale, bruised face and her ripped gown revealed scrapes and bruises. His scowl deepened, wondering if he surveyed Tormod’s handiwork. She sneezed again. They were still standing ankle deep in the cold water and while it wouldn’t harm him, she was obviously already ill.
    “Best get back to the tower,” Ruan ordered, gruffer than he intended.
    Her teeth began to chatter as she lifted her foot, but slipped on the slick stones. He tried to steady her but somehow her elbow dug into his stomach. He grunted, taking a step back, but lost his own footing and tumbled back into the loch, once more doused in freezing water. A whimper gurgled from under him, and to his dismay, he discovered this time he’d taken the poor lass with him, half-landing on her.
    Sounds of hooting laughter reached his ears, but he ignored it. His pressing concern was for Bree. He hoisted her to her feet, filled with remorse. “I’ll nae harm ye,” he offered as comfort, half carrying her out of the loch. The poor lass deserved a better life than he’d given her so far. “Best get warm before ye take ill.”
    She didn’t seem to hear.
    “’Tis a wee nippy for a swim, Ruan.”
    Several men had gathered at the top of the stairs, his uncle Robert, Domnall, and Ewan among them, all grinning. He shot them a withering glare, but another sneeze from Bree made up his mind. Ignoring the good-natured jests hurled his way, he unceremoniously tossed her over his shoulder once more and strode up the steps without speaking a word.
    “Ach, yer hands are full with that one, lad,” Robert’s eyes crinkled in amusement as he passed by.
    “Aye,” Domnall agreed, but there was a worried glint in his eye. “Would ye expect ought else from a lass called ‘Bree’?”
    “Nothing less, Domnall, nothing less,” Robert murmured. A shadow of sorrow fell across his brow.
    Ruan frowned. He’d heard tales of Bree, Robert’s love, and her short stay in Dunvegan. She’d died of fever, though some claimed it was fairy mischief while others swore it was her weak Irish blood.
    Suddenly, Bree sneezed. He clenched his jaw and pushed past them all. He made his way back to the tower to drop her once more upon the bed. Belatedly, he recalled her bruises and prepared to apologize, but it was too late.
    She’d fainted.
    She was not moving. Someone should remove the wet clothing. A bluish pall had settled over her skin. With a growl of frustration mingled with a large dose of guilt, he pulled a dry plaid from the chest. Tossing it over his shoulder, he