Kieran was hot. But not the hazy, aching burn of a fever. It was more the toasty heat of several layers of wool.

And a warm body pressed against him.

He cracked an eye to find midday light streaming through a gap in the shutters. He lay on his side, with Vivienne’s golden head tucked beneath his chin. She curled into him, her legs intertwined with his and her hand tucked against his bare chest.

For a long moment, he didn’t remember where he was or how he’d gotten there. All he knew was that Vivienne was in his arms, her delicate scent of violets and woman’s skin enveloping him, her touch warm and soft.

Well, she was in one of his arms. He had a hand snaked underneath her and around her back, holding her close, but his top arm lay stiff and still against his side.

Recollection crashed over him like a breaking wave. The attack. Their flight into the Highlands. Her careful ministrations and his collapse into unconsciousness.

She must have crawled alongside him on the bedstead, exhaustion dragging her into a deep slumber. They’d been awake for two days, unable to do more than nod off briefly atop his stallion. And she’d been left with the burden of looking after him for the last… He had no idea how long he’d been out, but it must have been at least a full day judging by the light filtering into the cottage.

He shifted slightly, careful not to disturb her. He needed to get a better look at her, to reassure himself that she was well even though he’d failed to look after her in his injured, fever-addled state.

Her delicate features were smooth with the peace of sleep, yet he noticed dried tear tracks cutting through the smudges of dirt on her cheeks. He silently cursed himself for allowing her to come to any distress under his watch. Hell, they’d both been damn close to losing their lives to their attackers—they had to be de Soules’s lackeys, for who else would target her so single-mindedly? He could never let danger get so near again.

He must have tensed, for she stirred, her brows furrowing for a moment before she slowly blinked. The breath caught in his lungs as eyes darker and more dazzling than the finest sapphires met his.

“You are awake.” Her voice was thick with sleep and confusion. Then her eyes widened. She snatched her hand from between them and placed her palm against his forehead. “And the fever has broken.”

“A wonder what sleep—and whisky—will do,” he murmured, giving her a lopsided smile. “I feel much better.”

He rolled his shoulder experimentally, and though the skin felt tender where the arrow had pierced him and pinched from the stitches, it no longer throbbed with his pulse.

Vivienne lifted her head and peered at the shuttered window. “It is past midday!” she exclaimed, tossing back the plaids covering them.

He caught her waist with his good hand, stilling her. “Be easy. These last few days have been hell.” He lifted his fingers to the dried tear tracks on her cheeks and gently brushed them. “And ye have borne a great deal.”

Her eyes flashed with embarrassment and she scrubbed her palms over her face, wiping away the dirt and the remnants of her tears. “I…I was worried about you.”

Hell and damnation, he would be ruined if she kept looking shyly at him like that under her lashes. Her flaxen hair was tousled from sleep, her cheeks and lips rosy.

She’d worried over him. And from the deepening color in her face, it wasn’t simply because she’d nearly lost her bodyguard yesterday.

Though he knew it was wrong, his heart swelled at the thought of gaining her trust, her affection. Aye, desire flared between them, as bright and undeniable as the sun. But a traitorous voice in the back of his mind whispered that he wanted so much more.

“Careful, lass,” he murmured, his lips quirking. “Else ye’ll make me think ye dinnae loathe me quite as much as ye’d have me believe.” When she opened her mouth for a retort, he quickly added, “Och, dinnae fash. Remember, I dinnae mind ye overmuch, either.”

Damn him, he was a bloody fool for teasing her. The bonny blush that stole over her face made her look all the more delectable. What was worse, in echoing the words he’d spoken to her at her father’s estate, he was coming dangerously close to confessing something he shouldn’t.

If he were honest with himself, he’d have to admit that the sweet ache in his heart had become stronger than the heat in his veins. He couldn’t deny it—he already cared deeply for her. But caring was complicated. And dangerous.

Lust, on the other hand, was simple. Straightforward. They’d already acknowledged their desire for one another—and acted on it. Surrendering to it again would be easy given the fire of need that was burning him from the inside out at the moment. Far better than admitting the truth in his heart.

Shoving aside all rational thought, he leaned forward and kissed her soft, petal-pink lips. She pulled in a surprised breath, giving him access to the warm recesses of her mouth.

When their tongues met, she melted back onto the plaid beneath them, one hand sliding around his neck to tangle in his hair.

Sensation shot through him at her touch—straight to his cock, which already stood painfully erect beneath his kilt. He growled, sinking his teeth into her bottom lip to show her how he hungered for her.

Damn all the layers of wool separating them. At least he was shirtless. Her dress rasped against his bare skin as she arched into him. Beneath, he could feel the soft swells of her breasts, needy for his touch, his kiss.

She sighed as he delved deeper into her mouth, their tongues tangling in an erotic preview of what he longed to do with the rest of their bodies.

He rolled on top of her, but when he took some of his weight onto his elbow, his injured shoulder barked in protest. He winced and sucked in a breath.

Vivienne froze beneath him, her eyes flying open.

“We cannot.”

“Och, aye, we can,” he countered, sending her a smoldering look. “There is naught wrong with my cock, I assure ye.”

“You are injured. You need to rest and heal.” To prove her point, she placed a single finger on his wounded shoulder and pressed lightly.

The dull ache there turned into a quick flash of pain. He rolled onto his side with a curse, bested by her delicate touch. She took the opportunity to scramble up, straightening her gown modestly.

In truth, she was right that he needed to let his shoulder mend and get his strength up, but the fact was, too much needed doing around the crumbling cottage for him to lie back at his leisure.

Kieran exhaled. “Rest may have to wait. I need to tend to the horse and see what can be done about the leaking roof. This is October in the Highlands, after all—rain isnae a question of if but when and how much.”

“But I’ve already done that.”

Confused, he propped himself up with his good arm and frowned at her.

“I saw to the horse last eve after you passed out,” she went on. “He is in the barn, though he will likely wish to be let out to graze in the clearing.” She tapped a finger to her lips in consideration, then moved to where her boots sat at the foot of the bed.

“But ye couldnae have fixed the roof,” he said, eyeing her incredulously.

She waved with one hand as she pulled on a boot. “Non, of course not, but I think my solution will have to do for now.”

The clever lass had put out a pot to collect the drip, allowing the puddle beneath it to dry.

“The food is just there,” she continued, pointing toward one of the cupboards. “And the rest of our things are below. I can help you get into a new shirt if you like, but first I think you had better drink and eat something.”

He noticed the full bucket of water in the corner and couldn’t help but gawk. “Ye…ye did all this while I was sleeping?” he murmured. “On yer own?”

“Oui.”

By God, this woman never ceased to surprise—and impress—him. She was a lady-in-waiting for the bloody Queen of France, for heaven’s sake. When was the last time she’d had to tend a horse, or carry water, or come up with a solution for a leaking thatch roof?

Yet she’d done all that—after removing an arrow from his shoulder and stitching up the wound.

“Ye…ye are…” He shook his head. “I’ve never kenned a woman like ye, Vivienne.”

A slow, radiant smile broke over her face before she regained her matter-of-fact air. “Let me fetch us something to eat, then I’ll see to the horse.”

She set about her task, moving gracefully through the small, dilapidated cottage as if it were the King of France’s palace. Kieran sat in silent wonderment, his chest swelling nigh painfully.

He’d forgotten just how damn good it felt to let someone look after him, to give him attention and care.

And how good it felt to wake up with a woman in his arms. But not just any woman.

Vivienne.

Hell and damnation. Aye, he was indeed in danger. But worse, he no longer wanted to keep himself safe.