Agnes cried for over an hour before her tears finally dried. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t known Keiran was not a man of honor. Gentleman helped ladies in need and they certainly didn’t yell at them in front of a room of assembled guests.

Knowing what she did about him, she tried and failed to understand why he could hurt her so? Why did she care? She already knew the answer. He was strong, handsome, and he had some moral fiber. He hadn’t touched her at the inn. Agnes and her mother had been making their way in the world without her father for some time. When she was with Keiran, she felt…safe again. In a way she hadn’t in a long time. When he wasn’t berating her that was.

But she did need a man who would cherish her, and that wasn’t Keiran.

With a sigh, she readied herself for bed.

The next morning dawned gray, but the rain held off, and after breakfast, Agnes headed outside to work on the cradle. Collecting up a pail, lye, and a rag, she began by washing the piece down. Then, using a bristle brush, she removed any dirt or debris from the cradle. As she finished, she heard what started as the pitter-patter of rain on the roof.

But it picked up in intensity until it was coming down in near buckets. Agnes sighed. She couldn’t paint with it this wet, and she couldn’t return to the house. She’d have to sit and wait it out.

The barn door creaked open and Keiran came striding into the barn, soaked through. Agnes stood when she saw him, every muscle tensing. Which Keiran might she get today?

His gaze swung to hers and she noted his grimace. Why should he be upset? He’d been the one to be mean to her.

“What are ye doing in here?” Her voice was sharper than she’d intended, but she was angry at him. He’d been a cad at dinner last night and seeing him reminded her of how mean he could be. It also brought out the other feelings she had for him, the tender ones and the heart throbbing need she couldn’t deny. That, in turn, made her even angrier. Why couldn’t she move past that?

He ran his hand through his soaking hair, shedding water as he did so. “I was circling the lower field and the upper one for fresh signs of poachers when the storm came in.”

Agnes swallowed, much of her ire evaporating. In that way, Keiran was so noble. Helping his friend who was in need. “Any luck?” she asked, looking away and sitting back down to continue brushing the dirt from the cradle.

“Nay, and any sign will be lost now.” He walked into the stall where she was working. “A hog is missing though, and I can’t help but wonder if they are related.”

She gave a nod as she turned the cradle over to brush the bottom. There was likely very little dirt there, but her hands needed to be busy now. “It does seem likely.”

“The cradle looks better already.” He cleared his throat.

With a nod, she continued brushing the legs and the bottom without answering. Truth be told, she admired the work he was doing on the estate, but she didn’t want to make small talk with him like nothing had happened.

“Agnes, I am sorry about what I said last night.” He moved closer. “There’s no excuse for it, but I hope ye’ll forgive me.”

“Of course,” she answered automatically, without emotion. He moved away from her then, and she was sure he was leaving, but then she heard the stove swing open as he fed more wood into its belly. Returning to the stall, she noted that he wasn’t wearing his jacket or his shirt. An ache started between her legs as her gaze swept down the broadness of his shoulders and the sculpted muscles of his chest. She gasped. “Where are your clothes?”

He gave a chuckle, but it held little humor. “I suppose this counts as one more time I’ve been less than a gentleman.”

It was Agnes’s turn to look abashed. That hadn’t been a nice thing for her to say either. “I didn’t intend to be so rude—”

“It’s all right.” He waved his hand. ”I deserved it. When it comes to ye, I haven’t been much good. I know it’s not a proper reason, but the war in India began during the monsoon season. I spent weeks soaked to the bone, couldn’t get dry. I’ve wondered if I should leave Scotland because I hate the rain now.”

Agnes bit her lip. That was why he hadn’t gotten off his horse that first day. “You didn’t fix the wheel because of the rain?”

He didn’t look at her, his voice quiet. “It’s not a good reason, I ken. Any man should help a woman in need. I was tired in body, and my wounds, the ones deep in my soul, are still healing.”

Agnes didn’t realize she had stood until she was crossing over to him. She stopped just short of touching him, though part of her wanted to reach up and comfort him. She understood how the past could affect one’s present. Wasn’t she carrying around her own hurts? “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He shrugged. “Ye didn’t think much of me anyhow. And it’s not something I admit often. I haven’t even told Ewan…”

“Your secret is safe with me.” She reached for his hand grasping it in her own. It was warm and firm, his skin heating hers. Because she couldn’t be mad anymore, not after he’d laid himself bare.

“I’m sorry too,” she started, but he put up his other hand.

“Don’t be sorry. You’re right. I’m not gentleman enough fer ye.” Keiran stood then. “But as soon as the rain lets up, I’ll cover ye with my coat and get ye inside.”

“Well, that’s very nice of you, Keiran. And you should let me apologize.”

He shook his head. “I wish I could have known ye before I left. Or maybe that I’d never gone at all. But I know I can’t change who I am now.”

Guilt made her wince. He thought he was lacking? Of course he did, likely because she’d made him feel that way. “Why would you want to?” She stepped closer, she lifted her other hand to touch his bare chest. It was a mistake because his skin beneath her fingers felt rough and hard and so right. “I was wrong to judge you that day in the rain.”

He brought his free hand up to tangle in her hair. His voice was gentle. “It’s more than that, Agnes. I wish it weren’t so, but I’m not meant to marry. I don’t want a wife.”

She wanted to refute what he’d said. Nausea was rising in her stomach. His words making her shake her head in denial. “I feel this connection with you. Yesterday on your horse, I know you felt it too.”

He sighed. “I want you, Agnes. There is no point denying it, and there is nothing wrong with passion. Ye need to ken that. But I won’t marry, so it’s best we keep our distance.”

Her heart jumped into her throat. She supposed it would have been worse if he hadn’t admitted that and had taken advantage of her. In that way, he was upstanding. To admit he wanted no part of marriage, however, was just too much. “Oh, I see,” she answered with a blandness she might normally use when discussing the weather. Inside, however, her chest ached and tears pricked at her eyes. She wouldn’t allow him to see her cry again. Not after yesterday.

But she understood clearly now. His past and hers were at odds. She needed a man willing to do whatever it took to heal the wounds her father had left, and Keiran had too many wounds of his own to help with hers.

She let her hand drop as she stepped away. “I can’t paint the cradle with it this wet.” Then she turned and fled out of the barn, running headlong into the rain.

* * *

Keiran watched her go and debated chasing after her, but decided against it. It wasn’t because of the rain. Much as it had pained him to hurt her, it had to be done.

He waited until the rain let up and then shrugged his damp clothes back on. He still needed to check around the coops for the chickens, and tomorrow he’d search the woods. While the deer did not belong to Ewan, the land did, so hunters were not to use it for their own gain. He’d take the aging gamekeeper with him. Hopefully the man would remember where he’d made kills.

The rain had brought frigid air with it and Keiran tried to shake off the cold. He’d make a quick circle of the coops, and then he’d head inside to change. His thoughts immediately strayed to Agnes. What was she doing? Would he see her?

Clenching his teeth, he tried to eliminate her from his thoughts as he rounded the corner to the first coop.

He was barely paying attention when the sight of a man with two dead chickens in either hand caught his attention. There was something familiar in the set of his shoulders, but Keiran didn’t have time to place it before he yelled, “Hey.”

The man gave a quick glance back and then broke into a run toward the trees. Keiran pulled out his pistol as he picked up the pace to follow. He didn’t know why he pulled out the weapon, other than it was force of habit from fighting for his life.

“Stop this instant,” Keiran yelled.

The man looked back then and suddenly halted, dropping the chickens and raising a gun of his own. Keiran realized his mistake a second too late. He would never have shot the poacher, but the other man felt threatened. The same moment Keiran was about to yell not to shoot, the pistol’s blast rent the air.

He felt it hit his arm, a burning, stinging pain, but he didn’t slow his pace. He leveled his own gun and fired back. He narrowly missed as the poacher reached the forest line and disappeared into the trees.

Kerian watched as blood trickled down his arm, and he winced at the pain as he bent to pick up the chickens the man had dropped.

Gritting his teeth, he grabbed them and made his way back toward the house.

Blood was steadily oozing down his arm, but he ignored it as he entered through the kitchen, dropping the chickens on the cook’s counter.

Dimly, he was aware his pace was slowing, but he had the sudden urge to see Agnes. To hold her, and tell her he was sorry.

He made his way up the steps, dragging his feet with him as he went. Where might she be? He hoped not Clarissa and Ewan’s room, though perhaps Ewan could help him. It felt like a long way from there, though.

Entering into the entryway, he moved toward the grand stair but decided a rest might be in order first as he leaned against the wall.

He hadn’t even realized the edges of his vision were dimming until Rhona stepped into his field of view.

“Are ye all right?” she asked, her brow crinkling.

“I need to see Agnes.” He croaked out, looking down at his arm.

Her gaze followed and then she gave a cry. “Oh, dear lord. Agnes didn’t shoot you did she?”

“What?” He tried to laugh, but his mouth didn’t work quite right. “Agnes hurt me? She’s the sweetest woman I know. I am an arse, but she…”

Rhona gently guided him to the floor. “Of course, you’re right. That girl wouldn’t hurt a mouse. She just looked so upset when she came in.” Then sitting him against the wall, she stood. “You’ll be fine, don’t move and I will be right back.”

He gave a small nod and closed his eyes. He’d just rest while Rhona got help. Then he’d find Agnes. Because he needed to see her, hold her, and tell her how precious she was.