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of the most unsettling of men? Do you, Evan MacKay?”
    “To tell you the truth, ma’am, you’re the first woman who’s ever told me that.” He managed a lopsided grin and held out an empty bucket. “Reckon I kind of like it.”
    Claire glared back at him. And wasn’t he the cocky one, she thought, standing there barefoot and clad only in his black trousers and hastily tucked in shirt, the early morning sun catching in his tousled, ebony hair and glinting off his strong, highbred features? Did he realize how handsome he was? Or how the sight of him made her heart flutter as wildly as some bird’s wings?
    Most likely he did, Claire realized sourly as she finally accepted the bucket. A man like him surely had the lasses swooning at his feet. She’d not be joining, however, the swarm of avid little bees sure to buzz about this particular honey pot. No good would come of it.
    “Well, don’t let your pride get the best of you,” she muttered. “Anyone in Culdee could tell you I’m not the sort easily swayed by sweet words or empty compliments. Best you save them for the other lasses.”
    Evan’s grin faded. Blast, but the woman could get her dander up in the blink of an eye! He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. Anyone with such red hair most likely couldn’t help having a temper. And it wasn’t as if he didn’t find her feisty nature appealing. He always liked a challenge, whether it be an unbroken filly with fear in her eyes or a maverick steer ready to cut and run.
    Problem was, the last thing Evan wanted was for Claire to be afraid of him, or mistrust his intentions. He meant her no harm or dishonor. On the contrary. When he looked into her deep green eyes, all he felt was admiration, attraction, and a fierce protectiveness.
    The reason for his sense of admiration and attraction was obvious. Claire Sutherland was like some beautiful doe with those big eyes and long dark, lashes, her lithe, slender, but wonderfully feminine body, and delicate features. For the life of him, though, he didn’t know why he felt so protective of her.
    Perhaps it sprang from the realization that, just like some wild thing of the forest, there was an air of vulnerability about her that belied all her attempts at a fierce independence. There was also a pain glimmering deep in her eyes, a haunted anguish that plucked at him more strongly than her beauty and grace ever could. It touched something in Evan, something familiar that spoke to him of his own pain and unrequited needs.
    But how to reassure Claire he only wanted to get to know her better, be her friend? With a sigh, Evan walked to the well and leaned against its stony bulk.
    “So what would you have me say and do, Miss Sutherland?” he asked, shooting her an inquiring glance. “I’m trying to be friendly and honest. Can’t you just accept my comments at face value, until I prove myself otherwise?”
    His blunt query seemed to take her momentarily aback. She stared at him, narrow of eye, as if she were trying to probe his mind. Then she shook her head.
    “I don’t know how to answer you.” Claire set down the bucket, once more grasped the windlass, and began to turn the handle.
    “Why not just say what comes to mind? Treat me as a friend, rather than as the enemy. It’s as good a place to start as any.”
    She gave a shrill laugh. “Aye, and how about you treating me the same way then—as a friend—rather than as some lass to tease and goad for the sheer sport of it?”
    Evan straightened and turned to her. “It’s not just me, is it? You don’t really like men at all, do you?”
    Claire couldn’t quite meet his gaze. “Not most men,” she admitted reluctantly at long last. “I haven’t had much reason to trust them.”
    He smiled, inordinately pleased she had been willing to confide even that much. “Nor should you, especially not me, who you met just yesterday. All I’m asking, though, is that you give me a chance.” At her look of surprise, he