The Rogue Read Online Free PDF Page B

endure walking through the orchard to her folks' house with him. She forced herself to look into his dark, angry features. This mute life of pad and pencil was unbelievably frustrating. Normally she believed mightily in communicating and confronting problems, and without a voice, it was nearly impossible to be herself . The old Susannah would have asked Killian what his problem with her was. Instead she merely gestured for him to follow her.
    Killian maintained a discreet distance from Susannah as they wound their way through the orchard on the well-trodden path. He wanted to ask Susannah's forgiveness for having abandoned her earlier—to explain why he had to keep her at arm's length. But then he laughed derisively at himself. Susannah would never understand. No woman would. He noticed that as they walked Susannah's gaze was never still, constantly searching the area, as if she were expecting to be attacked. It hurt him to see her in that mode. The haunted look in her eyes tore at him. Her beautiful mouth was pursed, the corners drawn taut, as if she expected a blow at any moment.
    Not while I'm alive will another person ever harm you, he promised grimly. Killian slowed his pace, baffled at the intensity of the feeling that came with the thought. The sun shimmered through the leaves of the fruit trees, scattering light across the green grass in a patchwork-quilt effect, touching Susannah's hair and bringing red highlights to life, intermixed with threads of gold. Killian wondered obliquely if she had some Irish blood in her.

    In the Andersons' kitchen, Killian noted the way Susannah gratefully absorbed her mother's obvious care and genuine concern. He watched the sparkle come back to her lovely gray eyes as Pansy doted over her. Susannah had withdrawn into herself on their walk to the farmhouse. Now Killian watched her re- emerge from that private, silent world, coaxed out by touches and hugs from her parents.
    He'd made her retreat, and he felt like hell about it. But there could be no ambiguity about his function here at the farm. Sitting at the table now, his hand around a mug of steaming coffee, Killian tried to protect himself against the emotional warmth that pervaded the kitchen. The odors of home-cooked food, fresh and lovingly prepared, reminded him of a far gentler time in his life, the time when he was growing up in Ireland. There hadn't been many happy times in Killian's life, but that had been one—his mother doting over him and Meg, the lighthearted lilt of her laughter, the smell of fresh bread baking in the oven, her occasional touch upon his shoulder or playful ruffling of his hair. Groaning, he blindly gulped his coffee, and nearly burned his mouth in the process.
    Susannah washed her hands at the kitchen sink, slowly dried them, and glanced apprehensively over at Killian. He sat at the table like a dark, unhappy shadow, his hand gripping the coffee mug. She was trying to understand him, but it was impossible. Her mother smiled at him, and tried to cajole a hint of a reaction from Killian, but he seemed impervious to human interaction.
    As Pansy served the dinner, Killian tried to ignore the fact that he was seated opposite Susannah. She had an incredible ability to communicate with just a glance from those haunting eyes. Killian held on tightly to his anger at the thought that she had almost died.
    "Why, you're lookin ' so much better," Pansy gushed to her daughter as she placed mashed potatoes, spareribs and a fresh garden salad on the table.
    Susannah nodded and smiled for her mother's sake. Just sitting across from Killian was unnerving. But because she loved her mother and father fiercely she was trying to ignore Killián's cold, icy presence and act normally.
    Sam smiled and passed his daughter the platter of ribs. "Do you think you 'll get along with Killian hereabouts for a while?"
    Susannah felt Killian's eyes on her and refused to look up, knowing that he was probably studying her with the icy