“Who are those people?” she continued, pointing her finger at him. “The ones you were looking for? Then why didn’t you want to talk to them? And why in God’s name did you steal one of their horses?”
“It’s...complicated lass. My apologies. I should have explained things to ye.”
She crossed her arms. “Go on then.”
“Go on what?”
“Explain things.”
He raked a hand through his hair and then blew out a long shuddering breath. “All right. What do ye wish to know?”
“Let’s see shall we?” She tapped her chin in thought. “How abouteverything? Magnus, what the bloody hell is going on?”
Chapter 6
Isabelle’s question came out as a shriek and Magnus could see from her pale skin and wide eyes that she was frightened. Very frightened. It made his insides churn to know he was the cause of it. He didn’t want her to be scared—especially not of him. Yet he couldn’t blame her for it, as most of it was his doing. If she hadn’t met him, no doubt she’d be safely ensconced in her manor house with her husband and servants right now, not out here on the moors in the gathering dark.
And yet, even as he thought about her manor house and her husband and all the other things he’d assumed she had, he began to question his assumptions. An eccentric English noblewoman? He wasn’t so sure. It was the way she spoke. The way she dressed. The things she’d mentioned that he didn’t understand. A car. The police. That...mobile phone thing. No, he was no longer sure Isabelle Ross was what he’d assumed she was.
In fact, a very different suspicion was beginning to grow on him, one he didn’t like one bit.
He squatted next to the dog, using the action as a means to gather his thoughts. Snaffles nudged his hand with a wet nose, seeking attention. Magnus absently scratched the beast’s enormous head as his gaze flickered back to Isabelle.
Her raven hair was disheveled from their wild ride and her hazel eyes were vibrant in the gloom as she watched him, displaying not just fear but anger and frustration, too.
“Magnus?” she said, arms crossed. “I’m waiting.”
He sighed and scratched at the stubble that covered his chin. Truth was, he wasn’t entirely sure where to start.
“All right. Ye want the truth? Here it is then and make of it what ye will. I’ve been tracking a group of people who have been terrorizing villages all across this area: the people we have just run from. They are outlaws, living beyond the king’s justice, beholden to no law but that of the fist and the sword. That’s why they’re dangerous. That’s why I had to get ye away from them.”
She didn’t blink, didn’t speak, but the set of her mouth shifted from anger and frustration to incredulous disbelief.
“You’re telling me there areactualoutlaws running around here?” she said, her skepticism evident in the tone of her voice. “This isn’t Robin Hood’s era, you know? There’s no such thing as outlaws anymore!”
He narrowed his eyes. “Why would ye say that? Outlaws and bandits are always a threat in these remote places. Perhaps it’s different in England—”
“It’s different right here! Criminals donothide out on the moors! The police would find them with sniffer dogs and helicopters and heat-seeking equipment, and drones and God-knows what else!”
There she went again, saying things he didn’t understand. That dark suspicion in the back of his mind began to grow, but he pushed it aside, not ready to face it yet. There had to be a simpler explanation. “Where do ye live, lass? It’s time we got ye home.”
