She shook her head to rid herself of such an absurd notion. Rionna was a laird’s daughter. Keeley was nothing. She had naught to bring to a marriage save herself. No connections. No dowry. Not even the support of her clan.

“Then ’tis the wrong woman you’re kissing,” she said lightly.

Alaric sighed and leaned his head back on his pillow. “You cannot expect me to ignore this attraction between us, Keeley. I couldn’t even if I wanted. ’Tis the strongest reaction I’ve ever had to a woman. I burn for you, lass.”

Keeley closed her eyes. Her throat tightened and she swallowed against the restriction. When she reopened them, she saw answering agony in Alaric’s gaze.

“Tell me, warrior. What happens to me?” she asked softly. “Am I to give myself to you only to watch you wed another? What becomes of me when you become laird of the McDonald clan?”

Alaric reached out to touch her cheek. “I would see you well cared for. You have to know that. I would do nothing to cause you shame or disgrace.”

She smiled faintly. Shame and disgrace were things she was well accustomed to. “If you care for me at all, you’ll not pursue whatever is between us.”

He looked as if he would argue, but she pressed her finger over his lips in gentle reproach.

“ ’Tis dawn now. We’ve slept the night away. I must see to your wound and call for a meal to break your fast. Then I must see your laird to determine my place in this keep.”

“He’ll see to your care,” Alaric said tightly. “If he doesn’t, he’ll answer to me.”

She let her hand fall away and then she busied herself inspecting the stitches on his side.

“The redness is almost gone,” she said. “A few more days’ rest and I’ll allow you out of bed as long as you don’t go back to fighting the moment your feet hit the floor.”

Her attempt at levity was wasted. Alaric still stared at her, his eyes bleak and full of regret. She looked away and then pushed herself from the bed.

She went to the window, and pushed aside the furs to allow fresh air and the morning sun in. For a moment she stood there, cursing fate and its inevitable grasp. She gripped the sill until her knuckles were white and faced sunrise with all the sadness and regret in her heart.

Her life—her future—had been determined by the actions of others. She’d sworn that never again would her fate be left up to others. But now, deciding her own had a decidedly unsatisfactory feeling.

She’d done what was right. She’d taken a stand to protect herself … from what? Unhappiness? Disgrace?