Chapter 7
Pherson had never feltthis way before; his insides were all tied up, his heart was pounding against his ribs and his eyes burned…mayhap he needed a good shite.
Nay, ye dobber. ‘Tis the fault of this woman.
He stole a secret glance at the woman strolling by his side. Since he’d kissed her—and really, what else could he have done, after the gift she’d given him?—Wynda had been smiling. And saints protect him, Pherson felt like smiling, too.
Och, add that to the list of ailments. Knotted stomach, hard cock, and unusual smiling.
Mayhap he was ill. Mayhap he was daft.
Mayhap he was in love.
Fook.
He couldn’t be in love. Wren and Geraldine were enough females in his life. His world already revolved around the pair of them.
Aye, but ye wouldnae mind adding Lady Wynda Oliphant to the mix. Allow yer life to revolve around her, too, eh?
He already woke up hard and aching after dreaming of her. He already spent his time hunting with his mind on her, distracted from the task at hand. He already found himself wondering at how she’d fit into his cozy little life with Wren and Geraldine and the rest of the hawks.
Fook.
I’m already in love with her, am I no’?
Her fingers tightened around his and he managed not to startle. When had he taken her hand? It just seemed so damn natural to stroll slowly beside her, his heart full as they watched his daughter scamper back and forth in her new brace.
“She’s doing verra well.” Wynda’s low-pitched voice was pitched low, and didn’t fail to stir his cock.
He cleared his throat. “’Tis amazing, Wynda. She’s running.” When Wren stumbled, he winced and involuntarily tightened his hold on Wynda’s hand. “I mean, no’ well, but running nonetheless.”
The woman beside him gave a husky chuckle. “She’ll improve. Can ye believe how well she’s doing?”
Truthfully, he couldn’t believe the smile on his daughter’s face. That was the truly remarkable thing.
Taking a deep breath, he dragged his gaze away from the cavorting lassie and pulled Wynda to a stop. He turned so he could take her other hand in his and just stood there, staring down at her.
He liked the way her cheeks pinked, darkening a few shades to match her hair.
“Thank ye,” he managed, his voice rough. “Thank ye for giving her wings.”
“She wanted to fly.” Her gaze dropped to his chin, looking awkward. “And I am glad I could help her.”
Help her? Wynda’s brilliance had been responsible for a miracle.
Pherson loosened his hold on one hand and lifted it to cup her cheek. “Wynda, I’m…awed.”
Her gaze jerked to his.
He nearly drowned in the green depths of her eyes. “What ye did…what ye did for Wren, what ye did for me...” He shook his head, knowing he was making a mess of this. Knowing the calluses and small scars and nicks on his hand had no place against the skin of someone like her…and not sure if he cared. “Thank ye,” he finished roughly.
She was still blushing, her gaze studying his face as if searching for the truth. “Of course. I told ye I love Wren—of course I’ll do whatever is needed to ensure her happiness. But…ye’re odd?”
“I am.” How could he not be in awe? “Ye have a brilliant mind, love, and an even bigger heart.”
“But what does that have to do with yer habits?” Her free hand rose until the pad of her finger tapped against her lower lip, a sure sign she was thinking. “I mean, aye, I am brilliant, and I thank ye for the compliment. But I cannae make the connection between one and the other—och, I’m blathering.”
A smile tugging at his lips, Pherson nodded. “Ye are, love.” He tugged her closer. “And mayhap ye’re no’ so brilliant if ye cannae see the connection between yer mind and yer heart and me being awed by them.” Her lips were inches from his.