“Aye, m’lady,” Dugan chimed in, his ruddy cheeks flaring to an even deeper shade of red.
“Thank you, Rosstan.” She couldn’t resist shooting a teasing smile Dugan’s way. “And thank you, too. By the way, you are quite forgiven. I know you were trying to watch out for my husband.”
He ducked his head and gave a sheepish twitch of a shoulder. “Aye, m’lady. ’Tis verra true.”
“What did ye do now?” Rosstan asked him.
“Never ye mind.” Dugan cleared his throat and flipped a hand in Kendric’s direction. “Kendric here thinks the English might ha’ shot at Himself.”
“The English?” she repeated, turning to the war chief who still hadn’t properly greeted her. “How would the English get the Munro garb?”
Kendric’s light blue eyes flared wider, then narrowed. Apparently, the man didn’t appreciate her question. She didn’t care. It was valid. “Well?”
“I received word that they have infiltrated Munro lands.” After a snubbing dip of his chin in her direction, he returned his attention to Quinn. “That is why I feel it proper we march south since their lands abut ours.”
“That makes no sense,” she said, determined to keep Quinn’s attempted assassination at the core of the conversation. “Alec Munro reported his clothes stolen. How do you explain that?”
The man’s nostrils flared, and a muscle in his cheek ticked with his tightening jaw. “Who’s ta say?” With a dismissive shrug in her direction, he added, “Coincidence, I am sure.”
Evie slid her arm free of Quinn’s and stood her ground. Kendric didn’t like her. Thought he could passively bully her. Poor man. He didn’t have a clue who he was dealing with. “There have been four attempts on my husband’s life, Mister Macwaters. I daresay, we shouldn’t discount anything as coincidence and concentrate on finding the assassin instead of fretting about the English who are still quite far south of us. Are they not?”
“Munro lands are nay that far south.”
She almost laughed out loud when the man had the audacity to bare his teeth like a dog guarding a bone. “My husband met with you in this very library this morning and yet, had to send several of your own guards to find you this afternoon. If we couldn’t find you without sending so many to look for you, how could you receive word so quickly from some mysterious informant about the lands south of us? How were they able to find you so easily?”
He took a threatening step toward her, then stopped himself. “Are ye calling me a liar, m’lady?
“Of course not,” she said as sarcastically as possible. Actually, she had called him a liar and obviously struck a nerve. “You are war chief. Why would you need to lie?”
“Evie,” Quinn rumbled softly, sounding like an amused parent scolding a bratty child.
Kendric squared his broad shoulders and stood taller, scowling down his nose at her as he directed his words to Quinn. “I am done here. If anything new develops, I shall be at the training field. I have yet to inspect the guards today and test the swordsmanship of the new ones.” He pulled a single black glove out of his belt and yanked it on, his glare filled with loathing. “Good day to ye, Lady Evaline.”
Evie found herself unable to breathe. “That glove,” she whispered.
Kendric flexed his right hand, making the metal eyelets and brads decorating the long, broad cuff of the heavy leather gauntlet rattle. “Aye, m’lady. I must wear this glove when I grip my sword because my fingers sting with a vengeance. They have done so since I nearly lost them while saving yer husband’s life.”
“Nerve damage,” she said under her breath. A sickening weight settled firmly in the pit of her stomach and threatened to send her tea spewing back out.
“What did ye say?” he snapped.
“Kendric.” Quinn’s tone held an unmistakable warning. “Mind yerself, man.”
“As I said, I am done here.” Kendric gave a curt nod to the men and turned to go.
Evie darted back to the library door, pressed her back against it, and spread her arms across its width. “I have seen that glove before. It is very distinctive.” Unsure as to how the man would react, she braced herself. This could all go very badly.
Kendric’s eyes narrowed again. He eased toward her as if stalking game.
She glanced around for something to use as a weapon.
“What are ye saying, love?” Quinn asked, looking first at Evie, then at Kendric.
“It was you.” She kept her gaze locked on Kendric, recalling it clearly now. The sunlight had filtered down through the leaves and bounced off the metal bits on that glove as he nocked the arrow and pulled back the bowstring. None of the Munros wore gloves, and Kendric’s was unmistakable. “It’s been you all along. Every time. Hasn’t it?”
“Yer bride has gone mad,” he growled, then shot a scowl at Quinn. “Who do ye trust? Me or this English woman ye’ve known but a few days?”
Quinn’s focus slid to her, and he barely arched a brow.
