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Pansy whispered, upset. "When I asked him about his family, did you see his face?"
    Susannah nodded and released her mother's hand. As she continued to finish her meal, she ruminated on that very point. Killian had reacted violently to the question, anguished pain momentarily shadowing his eyes. Susannah had found herself wanting to reach out and reassure him that all would be well. But would it?
    Morosely Susannah forced herself to finish eating her dinner. Somehow she wanted to let her mother know that there had been nothing wrong with her questions to Killian. As she had so many times these past months, she wished she could talk. Pansy was just a warm, chatty person by nature, but Susannah understood Killian's discomfort over such questions. Still, she wanted to try to communicate with Killian. She would use the excuse that he could walk her home, since it would be nearly dark. Her father never allowed her to walk home alone at night. At the same time, Susannah felt fear at being alone with him.
    What was there about him that made her want to know him? He was a stranger who'd walked into her life only a few hours ago. The fact that he was Morgan's friend meant something, of course. From what her cousin Laura had told her, she knew that Morgan Trayhern drew only loyal, responsible people to him. Still, they were hard men, mercenaries. Susannah had no experience with mercenaries. In fact, she had very little experience with men in general, and especially with men her own age. She felt she wasn't equal to the task of healing the rift between her mother and Kil lian , but she knew she had to try. Otherwise, her mother would be a nervous wreck every time Killian sat down to eat. No, something had to be done to calm the troubled waters.

    Killian was sitting in the living room, pretending to watch television, when he saw Susannah come out of the kitchen. He barely met her gaze as she walked determinedly toward him with a piece of paper in her hand. He saw uncertainty in her eyes—and something else that he couldn't have defined. Knowing that his abruptness had already caused bad feelings, he tensed as she drew close enough to hand him the note.

    Walk me home. Please?

    Killian lifted his head and studied her darkly. There was such vulnerability to Susannah—and that was what had nearly gotten her killed. Killian couldn't help but respond to the silent plea in her eyes as she stood waiting for his answer.
    Without a word, he crushed the note in his hand, got to his feet and headed toward the door. He would use this excuse to check out her house and the surrounding area. When he opened the door for her, she brushed by him, and he felt himself tense. The sweet, fragrant scent of her perfume momentarily encircled him, and he unconsciously inhaled the subtle scent.
    It was dusk, the inky stains across the early-autumn sky telling Killian it would soon be dark. As he slowly walked Susannah back to her house, his ears were tuned in to the twilight for any out-of-the-ordinary sounds. He needed to adjust his senses to the normal sounds of this countryside, anyway. Until then, he would have to be even more alert than normal. There were no unusual odors on the fragrant air, and he couldn't ferret out anything unusual visually as he restlessly scanned the orchard.
    When they reached her home, Killian realized that it had no electricity. He stood just inside the door and watched as Susannah lit a hurricane lamp filled with kerosene. She placed one lamp on the wooden table, another on the mantel over the fireplace, and a third in the living room. The floorboards, old and gray, creaked beneath her bare feet as she moved about. Uneasy at how little protection the house afforded against a possible intruder, Killian watched her pull open a drawer of an oak hutch.
    Susannah located a notebook and pen and gestured for Killian to come and sit down with her at the table. Mystified, Killian sat down tensely at Susannah's elbow while she wrote on the