That tore her gaze from the boy, and she leveled it on him. She studied him with a leery, feral look for the span of a heartbeat. “Will we arrive at yer destination today?”
Sly woman. She avoided answering anything that might pull the conversation deeper.
“Depends on the horses.” He tipped a nod at the heavily laden wagon. “Full barrels make for a heavy load. Especially throughBidean nam Bian.” He couldn’t resist testing the waters just to see what she might say. “Back of the wagon canna be comfortable. Ye are more than welcome to ride with me.”
She cut another feral look his way. “That willna be necessary, thank ye. The wagon is fine.” Her eyes took on a calculating glint, warning him more was coming. “Ye could go on without us.” With a noncommittal shrug, she added, “Less weight in the wagon. Easier workload for yer horses.”
“And where would ye go, Mistress Abernathy?” He delighted in this jousting with words.
Before she composed herself, he picked up on her unsettledness. “Robbie and I would be fine. Dinna worry about that.”
“I think ye safer with us, mistress.”
“Prisoners are never safe,” she said, with a quietness lined in steel.
“I never said ye were prisoners.” He offered a smile. “It would be most unmannerly of me to ignore a woman and her child in need.” He winked. “No matter how stubborn and secretive that woman might be.”
Her jaw flexed, then hardened with what was surely the clenching of her teeth. “If ye will excuse me, Chieftain MacDonald, I must attend to my morning ablutions so we can be on our way.”
“Call me Teague, mistress.”
She didn’t comment, merely shot a stern glare back at him as she marched off toward her privy bushes.
“There is a fine burn running a few paces beyond yer wee hedge,” he called after her. “In case ye wish to splash a bit of water on yer lovely face.”
She threw up a hand as though demanding silence.
He couldn’t resist chuckling to himself. What was it that made nettling this lass so pleasurable? Perhaps because she sometimes rose to the challenge and gave back in kind? Or maybe because, when she forgot to be afraid, he glimpsed a passionate warrior within her. He knew she would fight to the death to defend her son.
Calder joined him at the wagon. “Are we nearly ready, then?”
“A bit longer.” Teague folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the load. “Give the lady a chance to take care of her morning needs.”
Calder squinted at him, disbelief filling his face. “Ye know a lot about a woman’s morning needs, do ye?”
With a smugness befitting his pride about the knowledge of such things, Teague cast a sly look at his friend. “Ye would know about them too if ye stayed awake after a good tumble.” He thumped the man’s shoulder. “Or at least that’s what Lucy told me.”
Calder snorted and headed toward the horses. “I shall see we are packed and ready when the lady is, aye?”
Since his men and the lad had everything well in hand, Teague meandered closer to Mistress Abernathy’s privy. It had been a while since she disappeared behind it. He tipped his head closer and listened, growing mildly concerned. Then the sound of splashing water came to him—along with soft weeping.
A heavy sigh escaped him, and he bowed his head. He could bear no one’s suffering. Especially not a woman’s. He was born amid the Glencoe Massacre and survived when many in his clan did not. He and the throes of suffering were well acquainted.
Silent as a breath, he eased around the screen of bushes and made his way to the stream. There, he found her, kneeling at the water’s edge, face in her hands. Her shoulders trembled in rhythm with every new wave of tears. Just as he was about to go to her, she lifted her eyes to the sky as though pleading with the Almighty. Sunlight flooded her face, setting her misery aglow. Her beauty struck him hard. If he was God, he would grant her anything she asked.
“How can I fix this?” she softly cried to the clouds. “Tell me how.”
Even though he knew she wouldn’t wish it, he could stay back no longer. He went to her and knelt at her side. “Let me help ye,” he said with tender quietness. “Please.”
She stared at him with such a woeful expression that he ached to gather her into his arms. But he stopped himself, sensing she would not wish it.
“Ye canna help me,” she whispered. “No one can.”
“How can ye know that, lass?” He risked taking her hand and gently cradling it between both of his. “How can ye know if ye dinna share yer troubles?” He offered a gentle smile. “I am a MacDonald chief, powerful, connected, and sly when I need to be. I can protect ye and yer son both. Avenge ye, if need be. Tell me what causes ye such sorrow. Let me aid ye.”
With a tearful smile, she eased her hand free and hugged it to her middle. “Ye are verra kind.” She leaned forward, splashed water on her face, then dried it with her shirttail. After several sniffs, she gave him a steadier smile. “I will be fine. Robbie and I both will. But thank ye, anyway.”
He rubbed his knuckles across his brow, frustrated beyond measure. “I dinna understand why ye feel ye must carry this burden alone.”
