She could still feel him there, taste him. The corridor blurred, and tears scalded her cheeks before she could stop them. He’d apologized. For kissing her. Walked away. Her chest ached. Had she just been stabbed in the heart? Leargan’s apology ruined what they’d shared. She’d been thinking about him when they’d collided in the corridor. Wide enough that two warhorses could walk it abreast, yet she’d run into him. Her cheek had smarted, but she’d been fine. Was it fate? Ansley ignored the notion. Just because he finally knew who she was didn’t mean he was for her. A man as handsome as Sir Leargan Tegran could have any woman he wanted. Why would he even consider freckle-faced Ansley Fraser? But he’d kissed her. Twice. She’d never experienced longing like she had at the first touch of Leargan’s lips. The feel of his hard body pressed against hers. Protected, but consumed at the same time. It was an odd contradiction that left her wanting to get even closer to him. She’d had to hold onto him to remain on her feet, but Leargan hadn’t seemed to mind—at least at the time.
