There were suggestive comments uttered by the crowd and a few whistles. His offer embarrassed her, though it was made in teasing. It was what she’d set out to do . . . find a man who would defend her, claim her and give her the bairn she needed. Undoubtedly, Robbie MacKinloch would do anything she asked. Yet, she couldn't allow that to happen. It was wrong.
She met his gaze for a moment, then turned back to look at Dougal. He’d stepped away, as if he’d predicted her decision and didn’t care what she did. When she studied his face, it was devoid of all emotion. If she walked away with Robbie this very moment, Dougal would do nothing to stop her.
But she didn’t want Robbie. She wanted the man whose kiss had shaken her out of slumber into a moment where her world was made real again. Where she no longer felt so desperately alone.
“You are a brave fighter,” she said to Robbie after a long pause, “and I am grateful to you for the offer.” She squared her shoulders, facing the crowd. “But I have already asked Dougal MacKinloch to be my guard.”
The color in Robbie’s face darkened. She tried not to look at him but instead stared at Dougal. His brown eyes had narrowed, his mouth taut with banked fury.
He didn’t want this at all—she understood that. But she’d put him in a position where he could say nothing to deny her without doing so in front of everyone.
She moved through the people, seeking her own retreat, but Dougal was pushing his way past his brother’s wife, heading straight toward her.
To her shock, he spoke loud enough for others to hear. “Robbie is a skilled fighter. And he would still go in my place if you asked it of him.”
He was telling her no, admitting his reluctance before everyone. It would only be right to accept his reasons and let him go. But she was not willing to give up just yet. Instead, she continued her retreat, moving far away from the others so that no one would overhear them.
“I have not asked it of him,” she responded quietly. “I’ve asked it of you.”
A dark rage slid across Dougal’s face. “You do not command me,” he said, his voice like the edge of a blade. “You do not come into my home and make demands.”
“I asked for help—”
“There was no asking.” He moved forward and gripped her around the waist. All of a sudden, her decision no longer seemed like a sound one. She hadn’t considered his response would be this angry.
“Where are you taking me? I’m not going anywhere.” She twisted against him, but he countered by lifting her up. She tried to fight his grasp, but his strength far overpowered hers.
“I’m taking you somewhere we can talk without a thousand ears listening.” He strode farther away from the others, her waist tight in his grasp.
She went motionless, realizing what this could mean. He took her outside the gates and toward the dozens of small crofters’ homes, with thatched roofs and walls made of mud. A dark memory assailed her, of living in a house hardly fit for pigs, much less her mother and siblings.
He led her into a home so small, she could cross the room in three strides. A small pallet lay on one end, and the peat fire had died down to coals.
Calm yourself, she ordered. He only wants to talk.
“This is where you live?” she asked.
He nodded. “I built this place with my own hands. It’s enough for me.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he added, “Though I suppose you would look down on it.”
She moved to the far wall, touching the wattle-and-daub walls. He made it sound as if she valued wealth over love. And years ago, his accusation might have held a grain of truth. But, at the time, she'd not been thinking clearly. She and her sister were starving, and when she'd had a choice between giving Melisandre a home and everything she'd ever wanted, it had felt selfish to choose Dougal. She didn't deserve love—not when it meant an uncertain future for her sister.
And so, she'd made an unforgiveable decision.
“There’s nothing wrong with your home,” she said softly.
“It wasn’t good enough for you when I asked you to marry me two years ago.” His words lashed at her, breaking down her emotions. “You chose a man you hardly knew because he owned hundreds of acres.”
Her hands curled against the wood, and she didn’t bother to hide her tears. “You meant everything to me.”
“If I meant so much to you, then why did you choose another man to wed?” The words were so quiet, they held a razor’s edge.
“Because I was afraid.” Seeing this place only brought back all the harsh memories of her childhood. She remembered the hunger in her sister’s face and the cold body of her infant brother. Living in this way would mean returning to those terrifying days of not knowing whether they had enough food to survive the winter.
“Afraid of what?”
She didn’t know how to tell him the truth. None of the words would win his forgiveness, no matter what she said. Dougal was a man of action, not words.
Instead, she chose a place to sit, resting her hand against her cheek. He waited endless moments for her to explain. But the more time stretched between them, the harsher the knots in her stomach grew.
