The Maid of Lorne. Terri Brisbin

comforted or bewildered him. Then the glint in her eyes gave away her actions. Most women he had met would be moaning and crying, crumpled into a heap after the last days that she’d faced. Yet here she stood, offering him a not-so-obvious challenge to his authority that she dressed up prettily as acquiescence to his rule.

      “If my duties permit, mayhap I could take you there before the evening meal.”

      “As you wish, sir.” She bowed her head this time, but not quickly enough to disguise the satisfied smile that lifted the corners of her mouth.

      In spite of knowing she was manipulating him, and in spite of knowing that she did not return his desires, that small needful part of him hidden deep inside reveled at the chance of sparring with her. Of drawing her back from her fear and hurt into the person she must have been when her father still ruled here. Of such…possibilities.