“Because it is my burden to carry. No one else’s.”
“I willna rest until ye tell me, so I might help ye. Ye understand that, aye?”
She sniffed, wiped her eyes again, then gifted him another sad smile. “Then ye shall grow verra weary.” She rose to her feet and vainly attempted to brush away more of the dried mud encrusting her trews. “I am sure yer men are ready to be on their way. We best join them.”
He didn’t want to join them. He wanted to stay here and keep her all to himself until he convinced her she could trust him. But the vexing woman was right. They needed to get moving. “Verra well, then.” He gallantly offered his arm.
She spared it a glance, then took off at a rapid pace. “It isna rocky or difficult walking here,” she said without looking back. “I can manage quite well, thank ye.”
“Mistress Abernathy.” He hurried to catch up with her. “The offer of my arm was an act of politeness. Respect. I didna think ye incapable of crossing a few rocks.”
Without slowing, she tossed him a dismissive shrug. “I saidthank ye. Was that not a gesture of politeness too?”
“Fine. On wi’ ye, then.” He waved her toward the wagon.
As she marched away, he forgot his wounded pride while taking in the tempting sway of her hips. Those trews left nothing to the imagination. Or more aptly, they fanned the fires of many heated imaginings. Why the devil would she dress in such a tempting way? If she and her son were on the run, such clothing only created more risk for them. Did she not realize that?
He caught back up with her just as she hoisted herself up into the wagon. “Wrap a blanket around yer waist, aye?”
“Not necessary,” she said. “I am quite warm enough now that I have dried out.”
With an easy lunge, he joined her up in the wagon, grabbed a blanket, and slung it around her waist. As he knotted it, he leaned in close and locked eyes with her. “Every man who sees yer fine arse in those trews will be quite warm enough, if ye ken my meaning.” He yanked the knot tighter. “Show a bit o’ sense and heed my words for yer own protection, aye?”
Her eyes widened. The fears he longed to free her of filled them once again. She looked down at the makeshift skirt, then blinked rapidly as though waking from a dream. “Ye make a good point.” She squared her shoulders, donned her jacket, and buttoned it up to her throat. “Thank ye, Chieftain MacDonald.”
“Teague, mistress. Call me Teague, aye?” He allowed himself an irritated growl, jumped down from the wagon, and strode to his horse. Once seated on his mount, he threw up a hand. “Arses in the saddle! Now! The day burns.” He took the lead, not looking back to make sure they followed. It was better that he rode alone for a while to ponder the puzzle of the most frustrating woman God Almighty ever created.
*
“What did yesay to give him such a case of the red arse?”
Mila started to correct the lad then decided not to bother. “When I call him Chieftain MacDonald, it irritates him.”
Robbie eyed her like he didn’t understand. “What does he want ye to call him?”
“Teague.”
“Well then, call him that.” The boy scowled at her. “Ye’ve used first names with lots of men.” He wrinkled his nose. “Even smelly old Gunner from the shops.”
“This is a different time.” She had neither the inclination nor the energy to explain it. The only bright spot that gave her the strength to get through this was that Robbie appeared to be adapting quickly. “Did any of them mention the date?”
“Nah.” He drew up his leg and propped his arm on his knee. “And I didna ask. Figured they might think it odd.”
“Probably.” She pulled in a deep breath and blew out, dreading what the day would bring. “Ye chatted with them a lot. What about?”
He grinned. “They noticed yer prettiness and kept trying to get me to answer questions about ye. About us.”
A surge of panic increased her heart rate. “And what did ye say?”
“Dinna worry. I can change the subject good as you can. Remember?” He flinched as the wagon lurched over a big bump, bouncing them hard against the boards. “I kept asking about knives, horses, anything I could come up with to wear out their ears.” He shrugged. “I dinna think they are bad people. If they were, they wouldha already hurt us both.” He turned to her. “Do ye not think so?”
“They seem kind enough.” She didn’t addfor now. She feared the kindness would end if she or Robbie said or did anything out of the norm with whatever year this was. Their clothing endangered them enough. Even the chief said so, and he thought they belonged here.
They careened along in silence for a while, made a hard turn in a wide area, then retraced the route they had just traveled. “It appears the chieftain remembered yer advice about hiding their tracks.” She cast a glance at the barrels behind them. “Wonder if he lifted all this cargo from the Campbells?”
“Speaking of lifting things, what do ye reckon will happen to our stuff back home?” Robbie swayed hard to the left as the wagon made another hard roundabout. “Ye think Auntie Loraine will come back to Edinburgh when we dinna answer her texts or emails?”
“Doubtful.” Mila huffed out a pitiful laugh, filled with both sadness and amusement. Auntie Loraine. Her mother’s eccentric, seventy-eight-year-old sister who ran off to the Caribbean with a lover half her age. “Auntie Loraine will consult her tarot deck and accept whatever they tell her.” She massaged her temples. The lack of her regular dose of morning caffeine was bringing on a fearsome headache.
