Kenna uncurled with the increased heat like a cat stretching on a hearth. Another glance at Ronan’s displeased scowl almost made her laugh. No, Chieftain Sutherland did not fit her idea of a heartless kidnapper at all.
Her gaze meandered around the ring of firelight, settling briefly on each of his men. Chieftain Sutherland also appeared to have the unusual habit of collecting human strays. What little she had snatched hold of in the few minds she had managed to breach was that each and every one of his men had come to be members of Draegonmare after finding themselves alone in the world. And the more she plied the men with questions, the more she came to realize that not once had anyone mentioned Ronan having a blood relative in Clan Sutherland, living or dead. The man appeared to be the lead orphan of them all.
She shook her head. Ronan Sutherland was a definite mystery. What little she had seen of his ability to block her gifts also worried at the back of her mind. How was that possible? He had mentioned that someone had warned himit would be so. Who knew so much about the Sinclairs that they could advise Ronan about their powers?
Granny had warned they must take care and not flaunt their gifts. Kenna thought they always had. But Ronan appeared to know all about them. How could that be? A sense of uneasiness gnawed at the back of her mind like a forgotten thought refusing to be recalled. And what kind of beast had Liam referred to when she had frightened him with her imaginary dragon? What was Ronan’s story and how dangerous was he?
She spread her cold fingers closer to the fire. Maybe if he was so concerned about her welfare, he would finally give her a little necessary information. She shrugged the cloak more comfortably around her shoulders and scooted closer to the fire.
“Just exactly how long of a journey do we have left? It seems we’ve been traveling quite a while.”
He didn’t answer, but his quick sideways glance confirmed he had heard the question. She wanted details. Where were they? At least if she knew how far they had traveled, she might know halfway when to expect her rescuers.
“Many days,” he replied in a vague tone. “They will never find us before we reach Draegonmare. Ye would be far better off if ye accepted yer fate and moved on. Yer life will not be so bad as ye fear.”
“I think I’m more of an expert on my fate than you are.” She pulled her hands up into the folds of the cloak and rolled back into a sitting position beside the fire. “And stop reading my mind. That is just rude.”
He chuckled as he leaned against the boulders of limestone layered at their backs. “Listening to another’s thoughts are not among my gifts.” He nodded at her. “And I would never have to read yer mind. Yer face reveals everything ye think.”
Not among my gifts.Kenna studied him closer, then flicked a hand to encompass the woods around them. “Well . . . since we’re stuck out here in the middle of nowhere, care to explain your gifts? Apparently, you already know mine. Fair’s fair, don’t you think?”
All amusement left him as he stared into the fire. “In due time, all will be revealed. ’Tis best that we wait. . . for now.”
She stared glumly into the spiking orange flames of the now roaring fire. Lovely.The man was afraid to bare his supposed gifts, but he didn’t fear revealing their location with a freaking bonfire. With a fold of the cloak, she wiped her cheek and sniffed back the tide of dismal emotions crashing inside her so that Ronan wouldn’t see them—indeed, he hadn’t been the first person to tell her that her face gave her away. She blinked hard against the renewed threat of tears as Colum’s teasing smile came to mind. Where was he? It had been two days—or had it been three? Fear filled her. Colum had to be okay. And hewascoming for her—he had to be—she wouldn’t allow herself to believe otherwise.
Ronan stood and motioned to Liam. “Bring Lady Sutherland another oatcake. She hasna properly maintained her sustenance. We must not allow her health to fade, lads. We must take care of Draegonmare’s new lady.”
Liam’s dark eyes widened. The uneven fringe of hair hanging down across his forehead did little to hide his apprehension. His eyes grew rounder still as he stared first at his master, then at Kenna as though she were the imaginary three-headed dragon about to toast him to a crispy crunch.
“Make haste, Liam.” Ronan rose from his crude seat and glared at the lad.
Kenna tucked her face into a fold of the cloak to hide her smile. Poor Liam. He hadn’t forgotten the vision of the monster she had planted smack in the middle of his mind. Too bad Ian had been there to interrupt her hold and break Liam free. Her gaze slid to Ian. The odd young lad’s face was devoid of all expression as he scraped a whetstone down the length of a sword.
Unfortunately, it appeared Ronan had prepared his men regarding memory manipulation and taught them how to free themselves of it. Kenna found that discovery mildly disturbing. It possibly meant Ronan Sutherland had been plotting her abduction for a while. But how had he known of her gift so quickly? She had only been in Scotland for a couple of months.
She held her hands to the fire, wishing she could use the roiling coals to contact Granny and let her know where she was. A glance around the encampment warned that she didn’t dare attempt such a thing. Not with all the men watching.
Granny had always stressed they had to keep their abilities hidden safely behind closed doors and among trusted friends. More than one time runner in their long line had been put to death for making the fatal mistake of flaunting her abilities in front of the wrong folks at the wrong time. Maybe that was what Ronan feared when he said it wasn’t the right time for him to share his gifts. He couldn’t be a time runner—time runners were always female and he didn’t appear to have any strange power over natural elements like fire or water, so chances were he wasn’t a druid. But what then? What could his secret be?
A palm-sized chunk of what looked to be a dried glob of baked oatmeal trembled just inches from her nose. Kenna glared at the oatcake and shook her head. “I don’t want it, Liam.”
“Have pity on the poor lad, dear wife. Take the oatcake afore he shakes himself to death.” Ronan stirred the coals of the fire, smiling at the crackling yellow sparks spiraling up into the darkness.
“And I am not your wife.” Kenna snatched the oatcake from Liam. The boy darted to the other side of the camp as though chased by the hounds of hell. She stared down at the oatcake and started to toss it into the fire, but one glance at Ronan’s stern look stayed her hand.
“Stop calling me Lady Sutherland, wife, or any other form of endearment. Call me Kenna or Lady Sinclair—nothing else.” She broke off a bit of the cake and grudgingly popped it into her mouth. Nutty. Chewy, and yet crunchy. Not as stale and tasteless as the one she had eaten earlier. Must be because she had refused anything resembling a full meal since she had been captured. “I am not your wife,” she repeated. Maybe if she said it often enough, the man would give up and release her.
A hint of a smile teased across his mouse as Ronan stirred a stick through the glowing red coals. “Ah . . . and that is where ye err, my dear. I have publicly addressed ye several times aswife. Doing so gives notice of my claim and my rights.” The smile disappeared, and his face settled into the expression of a determined man bent on seeing things through.
Kenna forced the bite of oatcake down past the lump in her throat. She had heard of suchmarriagesin Scotland, but never dreamed she would find herself trapped in one. “I hardly consider your menpublic.I think you are going to have to come up with something better than that to make people believe I am your wife.”
“When ye publicly acknowledge it, or yer body grows round with my child, either or both will be proof enough that we are married. All will know ye as Lady Sutherland.” Ronan dropped the stick into the flames and faced her.
The glint in his quicksilver gaze scared the daylights out of her. She tucked what was left of the oatcake into an inner pocket and tightened her arms around her knees. After a hard swallow, she lifted her chin. Might as well get this over with and grab the bull by the horns. Granny always said a fight was easier won when you faced it head-on.If you act like you’ve already won the battle, you plant seeds of doubt in your opponent’s mind.Lordy, she hoped Granny was right. A lot was on the line this time. “So, you’re telling me that you have no moral hesitance about forcing yourself on defenseless women as well as kidnapping them?”
She pushed up from the ground and widened her stance against the stone embankment. She might not be able to hold him off forever, but he would damn sure have some major regrets over forcing himself on her and would end up with some permanent scars for his trouble.
His left eye twitched at the corner and his mouth flattened into a displeased line. Without a word, he clasped his hands to the small of his back, turned, and slowly walked away. After a few steps, he paused and stared down at the ground just before stepping out of the ring of firelight beating back the darkness. “No, my lady. I am no mauler of women.” Then he turned and faced her, pointing at the center of her chest. “But I am yer husband, and no man will ever steal away what I have named as mine.”
