“I dinnae understand. I had no word of yer impending arrival. We thought we would receive a missive at least before ye arrived.”
“Laird Gillean had word of the imminent attack and decided it best he bring forward his plans to wed ye.”
“And pray tell why ye joined the rescue?” Katelyn drew her feet up and began massaging the soles of feet with her thumbs.
“Well ye will understand when ye meet Lorna that no man can say nay to her. Especially her brother.”
“I must thank ye for yer kindness. Ye risked much.”
“I confess we didnae expect to meet with an army of Norsemen.”
She nodded slowly. “I am grateful ye at least arrived before…” She trailed off and even in the gloom, he saw her skin turn to ash.
In a bid to distract her, he settled in front and drew her feet onto his lap. “I should have allowed ye to tend to these sooner.” He wrapped a hand around her ankle, ignoring the way it made the hair on his arms stand on end.
If he was not careful, those delicate toes in his lap might make something else stand to attention too. How could he find this woman so enticing when scarcely able to make out her features under her bruises?
Katelyn released a tiny sigh, barely audible, yet his hearing immediately latched onto it. Her lips moved as if trying to say something but nothing came. Instead she closed her eyes and leaned back on both hands while he rubbed her feet. Even in the gloom, he knew they were sore.
“Ye dinnae need to do that, sir.”
“Ye may call me Finn, my lady.”
“Finn,” she whispered, sounding as if she was experimenting with the sound. “Ye may call me Cat—Katelyn.”
“I cannae call ye Kat then?” he teased.
Instead of giggling as he expected, her eyes grew wide and she shook her head frantically. “N-nay. Katelyn if ye dinnae mind.”
“I dinnae mind, Katelyn.” Ach, why did his voice drop low as if her were seducing her?
Did she realise she had shifted closer? Her hand crept over to his forearm while her fingers drew circles on his arm, scalding him through the coarse linen of his shirt.
The delicate hand stilled as she peeked sideways at him. Ribbons of moonlight broke briefly through the clouds, sending a sparkle into her full lashed eyes. Regret, deep and bitter, pulled at his gut as it also highlighted the crimson swelling on her cheek.
A surge of protectiveness filled his chest. It was a sensation he hadn’t felt in a long time. And he did not welcome it. It had been many seasons since he’d cared for the welfare of anyone but his kin. But he still had a duty to this woman so he would do what he must and ensure her safe arrival at Kilcree. If he could but force aside these invading thoughts, he would have no problem handling her with the same courtesy and teasing manner with which he always treated the lassies.
“Will we see the Norsemen again?” she asked quietly, breaking his thoughts.
“In truth, I dinnae know but dinnae fear. We have the strongest men my sister could offer.”
“Yer sister was very kind to send ye. Ye risked much.”
He offered a half shrug. “’Tis no matter. Ye are safe now and none were harmed.”
In the dim light he saw her lashes drop, as if to conceal some emotion. He silently cursed his glib words. A delicate lady like Katelyn had no place amongst battle and had seen more than her fair share of atrocities.
“I am only sorry I didnae come sooner. Ye should never have experienced that brute’s wrath.”
A tiny shudder wracked her. He would not have made it out had he not been so close to her.
“In the midst of battle, some men are consumed by bloodlust. I cannae speak for my enemy but I would never allow my men to mistreat a lass, lady or no’.”
“Aye,” she agreed quietly.
“Alas, I dinnae think ye believe me yet, but I dinnae lay blame with ye. My barbaric ways didnae do much to recommend me. Ye must forgive me for frightening ye.”
Her lashes lifted, her gaze glittered and he found himself staring at her, his fingers moving leisurely over her feet. Ach, when had he ever sat and stared into a woman’s eyes? He was getting soft in the head in his old age. The only woman to ever draw his attention had been wee Alice. None could take her place and he did not wish them to. Aye, he was well enough on his own.
If only his body agreed. It had been too long. He simply needed a warm lass in his bed. A shivering, frightened, beaten woman was far from the perfect bed mate. If she had any idea of the heat that was amassing beneath his skin, she would think him no better than her attacker. Finn had never needed to force a woman to bed and he refused to have her think that of him.
In an effort to control himself, he retreated and released her foot. She made a tiny sound—like a noise of protest—but remained still. That puzzled him. Although her hand stroked his arm, seeking comfort, she did nothing else. After such a trial, would she not need reassurance from her rescuer?