The woman petulantly kept her arms folded, refusing to hold onto anything for balance, and Tearloch accepted it for what it was—a last act of defiance. If he were not so weary, he would laugh.
The stiff way Duncan dismounted looked like he had taken the beating she deserved, but no one would dare suggest it. The men turned to Tearloch for an explanation, but everyone would be going to sleep unsatisfied. Better they remain wary and on their toes where Kenna Carlisle was concerned.
Of course, she wasn’t a Carlisle and had never been one. But she would have to learn that later.
“Jamie, make a tent for the lass. She’s fainted again and needs to recover. Monroe, get her some food. Leland,” he paused while lifting her down. He glared into her eyes, trying to ignore the pouting mouth just inches below, “I need…rope.”
Tossing the reins of his horse to another man, he grabbed a wool roll from behind the saddle as it was led away. He pulled another from her mount and threw it to her.
The adept catch surprised him, but he showed no signs of it. He expected her to catch it. He expected her to follow him, to obey him. More than likely she believed if she turned his world around, she would get her freedom. If that were true, she was in for a surprise herself.
He gestured for her to follow Jamie. The lass smiled and moved off in the correct direction, Saints be praised.
Duncan also saw the smile and rolled his eyes to the stars and back. “I’ll not put up with any more of yer shenanigans this night, milady!” When Tearloch glared at him, he shrugged carefully. “Well, I’ll not.”
The woman turned back. “It is dark, sir. What do you fear I will do?”
Her question was as innocent and sweet as her smile. Tearloch sensed an unfair fight coming and Duncan was not wellfavored. The image of a chamber pot came to mind. Quickly, he closed the distance to her and tugged at her arm to pull her away, but she slipped out of his grasp and planted her feet. “Well?”
“I have never feared a day in my life until meeting ye, milady,” Duncan snarled. Tearloch’s warning scowl had no effect and the man did not hesitate to step forward, hell bent on a fight.
Duncan’s voice rose with every admission. “Now Ifearwe will never see our homes again, though they are but a day’s ride from here. Ifearthere is not a sound thought in yer head. IfearI shall strangle ye in yer sleep!”
“Duncan!” Tearloch shouted. And when his captain did not flinch, he wondered if the man were going deaf in his dottering, or if Tearloch had but shouted in his mind. He’d been witness to Duncan’s unleashed temper on many occasions, had even felt pity for a few men who had deserved the man’s wrath, but he could not allow his friend to destroy the spirit of his bride-to-be. She was the king’s sister, after all. Princess of Scotland by blood.
He was halfway to reminding his friend of that fact when she opened her mouth.
“What would you do in my position, sir? Oblige a horde ofunknownmen because they claim to be following the king’s orders? You would have me meek and foolish?”
“Thishordehas the king’s writ, with his seal,” Duncan parried.
“And how would I know the king’s seal?”
She had him there.
Tearloch’s mind scrambled for something to say, but he found only the frustration of the mute.
Duncan had no such difficulty. “Ye should trust us because of our actions. Ye have been saved from an awful fate at Gowry’s hands. That alone should prove us worthy.”
The combatants had adopted a reasonable tone, but the rest gawked like they were shouting. His men were a well-behavedaudience. Attentive. Silent. Patient. As was Tearloch, without the patience, of course.
“You must think me a great fool, Duncan, if you believe I would place my trust so lightly. No doubt Gowry had many enemies that might wish to use me as some pawn.”
Her hair tossed back and forth with each gesture and toyed with the reflection of both fires, enflaming her head all around. Her eyes were black with small specks of light that flashed as she spoke. How could he ever hope to speak aught but gibberish in her fiery presence?
The lass calmed herself and folded her arms, but fought on. “For all I know, you were already set on killing Gowry and it had naught to do with me. Or, you may be leading me to my own execution. A woman of Macbeth’s blood raised me. Is King Malcolm set on spilling mine?”
Duncan again rolled his eyes. “Ye’re a ward of the king, milady. Ye’re to be protected—even if it needs befrom yerself!”
“Only until I can be brought before him. Isn’t that right, Laird and Master?” She looked at Tearloch and his heart leapt. “I’m to be brought before the king and onlythenbe told of my fate? Is that correct?”
He could only eek out an “Aye.” His temporary cure had well and truly worn off. If there was any hope of getting another word out, he would need to touch her. He moved forward to do just that, but she must have seen it as a threat because she sidled away.
He expelled a breath he had not intended to hold.
“So you see, Duncan. I verra well may be fighting for my life, and you would condemn me for it. I am sorry you were hurt when I set my horse on you, but I will never regret fighting for myself.”
The lass looked at the other faces around her, as if seeing them for the first time. His men looked as fatigued and resignedas he must. The fight had even left Duncan, since he’d squatted and turned his attention to the meat cooking over the fire nearest him.
