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now encountered a lass who didn’t find him charming—or at the least, desirable. Of course she didn’t know who he was, but he’d always thought that being a MacLawry was merely the second—or third—most interesting thing about him. For a man of nearly seven inches above six feet and all of it lean, fit Highlander sinew and muscle, well, he showed fairly well if he said so himself.
    The damnedest thing of it was that while he didn’t seem to be making an impression with her, she’d obviously done so with him. Otherwise he wouldn’t be standing there with a gun pointed at his heart. He didn’t know quite what to do with that fact. Arran had always teased that if he couldn’t eat something, bed it, or punch it, he had no use for it. Well, he wanted to bed her, so he supposed this all made some sense, at least.
    â€œI’ll go, then,” he finally said, taking a half step backward when he would much rather have been moving forward. “I’m nae afraid of ye, Red, but I’ll respect yer wishes. And ye need nae fear me, either. I’ve nae told a soul that ye’re here.”
    She tilted her head, dark brown eyes regarding him. “I dunnae fear a thing in this world, Bear,” she retorted. “If I did, telling me there’s nae a soul but ye to put me in danger might cause me to pull the trigger and end the annoyance ye’ve caused me.”
    Very well, he could concede that admitting he’d kept her presence secret likely wasn’t the most brilliant thing he’d ever done. That would teach him to try comforting a female who didn’t need or want comforting. “That would be unneighborly of ye,” he said aloud.
    For a heartbeat he could have sworn the corners of her mouth lifted, but he wasn’t about to wager his life on that. Nor could he afford to take the time to note that her lips looked soft and supremely kissable, or that the brown of her eyes was so deep a man could find himself lost inside them. That was not the sort of thing a man contemplated while a woman was threatening to kill him.
    â€œYe said ye were going,” she reminded him after a moment. “So go.”
    Munro didn’t feel ready for the meeting to end, but pushing her further this morning would be risky at best. And taking the gun out of her hands, while it would end the danger to him and likely surprise the devil out of her, wouldn’t make them friends. “Aye,” he agreed, and slowly turned for the gaping hole where the front door had once stood. “Just keep in mind that I’m a neighborly lad, and there’s no reason fer ye to flee on my account.” After this, he didn’t want to come by again and find nothing but cold ashes in the hearth. “Or to shoot me.”
    â€œI suppose that’s my concern, and none of yers,” she said coolly, the musket turning to match his retreat.
    â€œAnd ye’re welcome fer the bread and blanket, Red,” he commented over his shoulder. “I’d say a prayer fer yer safety in church if I knew yer name. Or I could just ask Saint Andrew to look after the mad, redheaded lass with a musket and no manners presently resting her head at old, haunted Haldane Abbey. That’d suffice, I suppose. There are those who’ve told me I have something of a booming voice, but I’ll try a manly whisper.”
    He could almost feel the heat of her annoyance and frustration against his spine. The odds were fairly even that the next sound he heard would be a ball carving through his backside, after all. Eventually perhaps he’d come up against a challenge he didn’t care to meet, but today wasn’t that day. Then he heard her slow breath, in and out. “Cat,” she said, so quietly he almost didn’t catch the word.
    â€œBeg pardon?”
    â€œYe heard me, ye big lunk. Ye may say a prayer fer Cat, if ye’ve a mind to. But dunnae come back here to