She was a kind woman, that was all.
A kind lady. Try to remember that.
Wren hobbled up to them and Wynda’s smile bloomed. His hands still on the hilts of his daggers, he clenched the muscles in one forearm moments before his daughter wrapped both sets of fingers around it. It was the simplest way to offer her support when she stood or walked, and he knew she liked it because it made her feel like a fine lady on the arm of a warrior.
“Wren, can ye guess?” Wynda sounded excited. “Yer da says I can try to help ye walk better! I’m no’ a healer, but I ken how to design braces.”
When his daughter glanced at him, her eyes were filled with hope. With a slight grin, he inclined his head. “Aye, little bird,” he rasped. “Mayhap ye’ll be able to fly.”
Wren bounced twice in excitement and turned once more to Wynda, who looked ready to clap and bounce herself.
“We could go up to my solar now and measure—“
He almost hated himself for dimming both of their enthusiasm, but knew no good would come of either himself or his daughter being in the laird’s family’s private chambers.
“Nay, lass. I…Now that Geraldine has dined, she’ll be ready to hunt. I have a duty. To the clan.”
To protect himself. To protect them from him.
“Of—of course.” Wynda’s chin rose, her shoulders straightened, and her expression faded to neutral. She looked like a lady, wrapping herself in a cloak of respectability.
He hated it. He hated he’d done that to her.
“We’ll escort ye to the courtyard,” he offered. “In case ye become light-headed—“
“I am—I will be fine,” she said stiffly, as if disliking the reminder of her accident. “I’m functioning perfectly.”
He didn’t smile at her declaration, but it was close.
What a strangely wonderful lass.
She took two steps away before her haughty demeanor fled, and she whirled back. “Could I—if I came to ye? Tomorrow? Might I take measurements tomorrow?”
Wren’s fingers tightened on his arm and he knew she was hopeful. So he finally nodded. “Aye, that would be good.”
And her face broke into that beautiful smile again, the one which reached under his kilt and stroked along his cock, defying him not to imagine the taste of those lips. The feel of those lips…
“Tomorrow, then!” She waved happily to Wren, who untangled one hand to wave in return. “Tomorrow!”
Wren grinned. “Wind.”
“Aye, Wynda.” The redhead’s grin grew in excitement as she stumbled backwards a few steps before turning herself toward the main gates of the castle.
“Tomorrow!” she called over her shoulder.
Pherson stood there, his hands wrapped around his daggers, watching her trip happily out of sight. She really didn’t seem to be suffering any ill-effects from her fall, and he breathed a silent prayer of thanks he’d been able to catch her.
“Da?” Wren whispered.
He forced a smile. “Aye, little bird. Tomorrow.”