Page 8 of Sighs of the Highland Wind

For a moment, he stared at her. “I believe you.”

There was something about her, an assurance and confidence that he had only seen in soldiers before. How was it that this woman, who was almost a head smaller than he was, had theability, not exactly to frighten him, but to make him unsure of himself? It was as though she had a secret power over him.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“You tell me yours, and I will tell you mine,” she replied, folding her arms and tilting her chin upward in an attitude of defiance.

Somehow, he was not surprised by her answer.

“My name is Ewan Montgomery,” he replied.

It was the name of a friend he had known in his youth and was the first name that had sprung to mind when she asked him.

“I am Kenna Bowie,” she replied.

“Kenna.” He rolled the name around his mouth as if he was tasting it. “I have always loved that name. It was the name of a cousin of mine whom I loved very much, but she died when we were both twelve years old.”

Kenna looked as though she was completely disinterested in his family history, which, in fact, she was, but she was obviously too polite to say so. He felt embarrassed as she mumbled, “I am sorry to hear that. Now, I will fetch you some water to wash, and you can prepare yourself to go to sleep. I am sorry I don’t have another bed for you to sleep in.”

“Please don’t be sorry,” he replied, smiling. “You are a very kind woman who has taken pity on a complete stranger who might have frozen to death. Anyway, I am used to sleeping on the earth or on stone floors. A carpet is a luxury.”

Maxwell could almost read her mind as her eyes traveled from his head to his feet and back again.

What a disgrace. He must be a drunk or a tramp. Perhaps I should tell him to go.

However, he was at her mercy, so he waited for her to speak.

Yet Kenna merely shrugged. “As I told you, I could not leave you there. It would haunt me, knowing I could help you and did nothing, especially if anything bad happened to you.”

Then she opened the door, walked out, and locked it firmly behind her.

A moment later she returned with a basin of water for him to wash in, as well as not one but two warm blankets. She turned to face the window while he completed his ablutions.

Kenna picked up her knitting and began to work on it, humming a little melody as she did so. He was enchanted as he watched her fingers flying over her needles. She worked so fast that she must be an expert, he thought.

“I am finished,” he announced at last.

He was decently attired once more, and although his clothes were still torn and dirty, she still kept her gaze away from him.

She spread a blanket on the floor and placed one of her own pillows on it, then gave him the other.

“I am afraid this carpet is too coarse to sleep on,” she explained ruefully. “We are not given silk and woolen ones here, only linen and hemp.”

“I am perfectly happy with this,” he replied, smiling. “It is far, far better than a stable.”

4

“Is there anything else you need?” Kenna asked him.

She was trying not to look at him too closely. He was far too handsome, and there was something about him that called out to her in a strange, unsettling way.

“No, thank you. You have been too kind to me already.”

His voice was husky, and for a moment Kenna thought he was going to burst into tears.

“Then please turn your back while I undress and prepare myself for bed,” she ordered. “I am trusting you, so please don’t let me have to throw you out.”

Her voice was stern. She could call a guard at any time, and they would recognize him at once, but fortunately that was something she did not appear to know.