“I vow I will not try to escape tonight, if that will allow you all to rest easier,” she offered.
“Ah, but milady,” said Kincaid. “What else would ye have us believe if ye intended to do just that?” asked Kincaid.
She laughed and shook her head. “There is nothing for it then. I tried.” She turned to follow Jamie once again, but Tearloch stood in her path. His retort should have come sooner, but he was just now capturing his thoughts. When she bumped into him, he once again found his tongue.
He let her find her own balance, and waited with arms crossed over his chest. With his glower he proved the conversation was not yet over. “Milady, you have insulted the King of Scotland.”
She merely blinked at him.
“As his champion and friend, I assure ye he is not one to spill the blood of innocents. I insist ye cease believing ye’re in danger.”
She laughed!
How dare she?
Had he completely lost his ability to intimidate? Finally, after tossing a quick wink in Kincaid’s direction, she answered. “Ah, but sir, what else would ye have me believe if the king intended to do just that?”
She had used Kincaid’s argument, but Tearloch was not to be teased where his liege was concerned. He grabbed her upper arms and pulled her to his chest. If touching her had such an effect on him, perhaps touchinghimwould work some magic on her.
“Ye will not be harmed,” he promised, but his voice was harsh with fatigue. He knew he handled her roughly while at thesame time declaring she was safe, but he was too weary to be reasonable. “I swear upon my honor that I will protect ye with my life. And so will my men. If the king were to declare yer life forfeit, I would defy him. For the first time in my life, I would defy King Malcolm of Scotland to see ye safe. I swear it on the blood of Christ.” And even as he said it, he knew it was true—he would protect her from her own brother if need be.
And she trusted him; he could read it in her eyes. Though she may not believe her king wished her no harm, she was at least convinced of her safety while at Tearloch’s side. Perhaps the conviction would keep her from running again.
As he held her near, her gaze fell to his mouth. Ever so naturally, yet again, he judged the distance to her lips and began the descent. The top of her head came only to his shoulder, so he had a fair way to go. But with adequate time to avoid the embrace, those beautiful lips merely softened and opened with an anticipation that made his heart race.
After the fleetest kiss that turned his blood to fire, she turned her head away, and it took great effort not to wrap his arms around her and close his eyes.
“I trust nothing to Christ, sir,” she confessed, pulling him from his warm reverie. “And I do not believe you can give your word of honor if you cannot even give me your name.”
He leaned back but did not release her. She held no faith in Christ? He could not know how hard her life had been. How minor his own struggles. The loss of his father, of some comrades in arms—despite all of it, he had found no fault with God, only with himself.
So what might have happened to Kenna at the hands of Agatha Carlisle, among those odd women in even odder clothing, who feared Agatha more than the king?
Whatever it was, he had the rest of their lives to make it up to her.
How strange, after but a day, to feel so protective of one woman. Had they taken her from the Carlisles years ago, when they collected Malcolm, would he have ended up feeling the same for her? It was much to think on, this idea that somehow they may have been fated from the beginning.
So he thanked God enough for both of them.
A searing in his veins flowed from his hands, up his arms, and collected in his heart. He cautiously offered her a small sacrifice, a piece of the secret he had vowed to keep. “Ye will call me Tearloch. And ye will believe me.”
“Thank you,Tearloch. I promise to try.”
Finally, she would stop calling him Laird and Master. But it was not enough. One day soon, she would call himTearloch, my love.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Kenna’s tent turned out to be a length of plaid thrown over two branches then draped down to the ground on both sides. In the light of a makeshift torch stuck in the ground, she watched Jamie, the youngest, while he rolled out another plaid for a pallet. When finished, he pointed to the trees.
“Take some privacy while ye can, lass, but dinnae go far—wolves.” Then he turned his back to her, letting her know he was standing guard to keep her safe, but more importantly to keep her put.
“Won’t I be needin’ a knife then? Just in case?” She thought it rude the way he laughed and coughed but declined to answer, but to be fair, she’d earned no one’s trust.
She moved cautiously into the trees and saw to her needs, assuring herself that mention of wolves was only meant to scare her. She grumbled aloud about being expected to trust without getting trust in return.
Just as she straightened her gown, a wolf howled from the east. She stiffly but quickly walked back to Jamie’s side. “Can I not sleep by the fire?”
“Ye’ll need to ask yer laird and master.” He laughed as he walked away and Monroe was suddenly there to take up the post of guardian. He held out a cloth filled with warm meat and an oatcake.
