Page 18 of Plaid Attitude
Tears—angry, helpless tears—came to her eyes as she pressed her hand against her lower back and turned to face him.
Doughall’s gaze was on her arse, or where her arse would’ve been when she was waving it about in the air, and his gaze was…
Admiring.
She remembered Bess saying her father had been studying her rear, remembered the way that made her feel, but now… Now, instead of being flattered, the realization he’d caught her looking like a complete loon made the hot ball of frustration in her chest just expand.
Before she could stop them, two fat tears spilled down her cheeks, just as his gaze rose to meet hers.
She’d seen him fight—she’d sparred against him. Butneverhad she seen Doughall move as fast as he did then.
The moment he recognized her tears, his hand dropped to his sword hilt and he threw himself across the room toward her. While she hated the weakness she’d let him see, she was also impressed by his reaction.
He reached for her with one hand, catching her shoulder and pulling her to him, as he spun them both about, placing his body between her and the potential danger he’d been imagining from the bed.
From a hedgehog.
Of course, her instincts had kicked in as well, and as he’d pulled her out of “danger,” she’d thrust a forearm between them, grabbing his arm and breaking his hold on her. Her brain was screaming at her—What are ye doing? This is Doughall! He’s nae danger!—but she neededsomethingto lash out against.
So while he was distracted by the hedgehog, she twisted and ducked…and flipped him over her shoulder.
Doughall hit the ground with anoomphand stared up at her, mouth agape.
Well, she certainly had his attention now.
Coira bit down on the urge to apologize. In fact, she bit so hard she tasted blood, and tears came to her eyes.
From his supine position, Doughall’s expression went from surprise to concern in a blink. “Coira?” He pushed himself up on his elbows.
She wanted to reach down, to help him up. But right now… Shaking her head, she backed away, wrapping her arms around her belly, trying to hold in the anger and fear and frustration.
Because if she couldn’t contain it, she was afraid it would all burst out. She didn’t want him to see her weakness. Her breath seemed to catch on a sniff, which came out as a strange laugh-sob-hiccup.
But he was already pushing himself upright. “Coira,” he asked again. “Milady, are ye hurt? Did I hurt ye?”
By the Virgin! Was she hurt? She was hurtingevery day. She gave and gave and gave to the Oliphants, until she felt as if there was naught left inside her, and now Da was going to take even more.
“Go away, Doughall,” she sniffed.
But he was on his feet now, and moving toward her. For each step back she took, he was two steps closer, until eventually her arse bumped into the table and she had to stop.
And he was there, before her, reaching for her.
Another pair of tears finally won the struggle and spilled from her eyes, although she kept her chin up, daring him to comment on her weakness.
Doughall never minded challenging her. “Coira…” He lifted his hand to her cheek, but didn’t hold her. Instead he merely wiped the pad of his thumb across her skin, scooping up the teardrop. “What’s wrong, love?”
Blessed Virgin, he’d called herlove?
Despite her best efforts, another pair of tears slid down her cheeks.
“Coira.” His voice grew harder, and he dropped his hand to her shoulder, the way he might touch a comrade, another warrior. “Tell me. Are ye hurt? Is there someone who hurt ye?”
He looked ready to do battle on her behalf.
“Nay,” she sniffed, her resolve wobbling. He’d called herlove.“Nay, I was just…startled.”
Had anyone ever swooped in to rescue her, the way he had? Aye, the only danger had been from a hedgehog, but the intent had been true.
