Page 56 of The Shape of Silence

She held his gaze, unblinking. Nothing in her face suggested fear despite the rage she had just witnessed from him outside. Truthfully, she looked more wounded by the trespass itself than by anything that had followed.

That realization pulled some of the last heat from his temper and left behind something heavier.

Morggán exhaled slowly through his nose before dragging one hand across his growing beard. “I’m sorry, Avery,” he said at last, the words roughened still by anger. “I gave clear orders that nae one was to trouble ye or enter this place. The fault sits wi’ me as much as him.”

Avery’s glistening blue eyes widened. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t trespass. You didn’t rummage through my things. And I’m certain you didn’t tell him to do it.”

Morggán shook his head at once and explained to her, “He wears my colors and rides beneath my banner. What my men do reflects upon me whether my hand guided the act or nae.” His gaze moved briefly across the disturbed shelves again before returning to her.

“Well, that’s dumb,” she said, wearing a perplexed frown.

Morggán’s brows lowered, possibly as confused as she appeared. “How’s that?”

Avery wiped beneath one eye with the heel of her hand before gesturing vaguely toward the doorway through which Kerr had been hauled moments earlier. “He’s his own person,” she said. “You didn’t make him come in here. You didn’t tell him to touch my things. He chose to do that himself.” She frowned harder, plainly trying to work through the logic of it. “You shouldn’t have to... absorb blame because somebody connected to you behaved badly.”

Morggán regarded her quietly a moment after that, his expression thoughtful now rather than merely puzzled.

“Aye,” he said slowly, “and the blame for the act itself belongs to him. But the shame of it falls wider than one man.” He motioned subtly toward the camp beyond the open door. “Those men outside follow me. My word governs what is permitted among them. If I fail to keep discipline amongst my own company, then that failure belongs to me whether I swung the fool’s hand or nae.”

Avery rolled her eyes at this.

Morggán’s mouth quirked a wee bit, but he managed to suppress the grin for her impudence, for her lack of appreciation for the code of conduct he insisted to have from his men. “A laird who claims only the honorable deeds of his men and disowns the shameful ones is nae much of a laird at all.”

Avery shrugged. “If you say so.” With a sigh that wasn’t as forlorn as she appeared, she strode to the bed and picked up his plaid, beginning to fold the overlarge garment in her careful way.

“If ye willna accept my apology for Kerr, Avery, at least believe me when I say I am sorry for what he’s done. I ken how...valuable your privacy and your possessions are.”

She turned her face partly toward him at that, causing the length of her hair to slip over one shoulder in a slow gleaming wave. “I do appreciate that,” she answered softly. “And I do know that you understand it, so thank you.”

The simple sincerity of the words gratified him.

Morggán remained where he stood a moment longer watching her fold the plaid, aware suddenly of how intimate the small scene before him felt after all that fury outside. The hut had grown quiet again save for the crackle of the fire and Charlie’s panting observation of them.

Avery’s fingers moved carefully over the heavy wool, smoothing and turning it with the same deliberate order she brought to every task within this place.

The image of her outside still lingered vividly in his mind. Morggán had known fierce women before in his life, but Avery’s defense of what belonged to her possessed little performance to it. She did not posture or threaten or seek admiration. She had simply stood her ground, strong and sure with the conviction of right versus wrong behind her.

And Christ, he admired her for it even as he was, admittedly, surprised by the vigor of her reaction to Kerr’s intrusion.

With only some half-formed idea in his head, but unable to resist it in this moment, he found himself crossing the small room toward her.

His attention settled first upon her hair, how it swayed so gently across her back with her motions, and then moved to her hands, folding the lengthy fabric in halves again and again and again. She sensed him nearing—he saw it in the slight slowing of her movements and in the faint rise of her shoulders.

Morggán stopped directly behind her, less than a foot away.

He lifted one hand and touched her hair, drawing a lock between his fingers. The silky softness of it stirred something low and dangerous within him, something that had possibly been building steadily since the day she dragged him half-dead through the forest and laid him beneath her roof. He’d wondered more than once if her hair was as silky as it appeared, and he was delighted to know the answer now.

Avery went perfectly still beneath the touch, though she did not move away from him. Her breathing changed though, growing shallower and quicker while his hand slid slowly from her hair along the outside of her arm.

He had desired women before in his life—desire itself was no novelty to him. This was straightforward hunger, something he’d called curiosity before this moment, but there was something deeper and more consuming in him, an admiration tangled inseparably now with tenderness and protectiveness and fascination. He thought of her standing toe to toe against Kerr moments ago, thought of the quiet order she maintained in her dreary little life, thought of the lonely bewilderment in her voice when she confessed that the world itself no longer made sense to her, and lingered over the beguiling image of her smiles from last night.

He clenched his jaw and told himself to stop, to walk away. He was leaving, mayhap as soon as tomorrow. He had no right. And yet, against all better judgment, his hand moved upward until his fingers curved lightly against the side of her neck beneath the fall of her hair.

Avery inhaled softly.

Morggán lowered his head and pressed his mouth just below her ear.

He would swear to God the noise that escaped her in a short burst of breath was an expectant, whimpering sigh.