As would the man she would be hunting, once she found him.
An arrow pierced the wall near her, bringing her out of her musings. Seeking the source, she locked gazes with that magnificent warrior who had spared the boy. Dark-haired and fearless, he stood in the middle of the fray, a languorous breeze teasing at his uncovered mane. Heavy chain mail secured his black clothing against a body that seemed...familiar.
But that was impossible. This was the first time Kenna had ever been away from Carlisle’s stronghold since being taken there when aged five. She saw very few visitors and in her twenty summers since, had seen fewer than a dozen men. Had this one been among them, she would remember.
Bodies, including that of Laird Gowry, lay motionless at the man’s feet as he lowered his bow, still facing her. When she looked at him in question, he smiled, his teeth a welcomed brightness against his sun-browned face. He tipped his head to one side and motioned her away from the window. She immediately realized her foolishness and stepped back. Then, peeking out from deeper in the room, she watched him turn once again to his bloody work.
Each time a fight would turn in the direction of the lad on the ground, the warrior would draw it away. More than once, whenmatching blows with a frightened Gowry man, he would fell the other with a single blow of his fist. Looking again at the green of the turf and the scarcity of blood, Kenna wondered just how many of these Gowry’s were enjoying a long needed rest from their laird’s demands, and how many were actually dead.
Except for the man whose head now lay a horse length away, of course.
She understood why the dark one wore no helm. He moved with the confidence of a god. If Kenna were a man, she would not want to face this one moving toward her in battle. Every stride was sure, intentional. Every stroke of his great sword met its mark. She never saw his bright eyes blink, but standing on the upper level of Gowry Hall as she was, made it a bit far to tell.
He never seemed surprised. Each attack from his enemy was predicted; even those from behind, and she wondered if it was a rule that men could only strike at a certain angle and in a certain order. This entire fight seemed well practiced. After all, the poor man looked bored.
Handsomeand bored.
When she had first met his gaze, her heart had tripped and assumed a new rhythm. She waited for it to slow to normal, but while she watched this warrior it would not. She imagined being caught up against that chest and wondered if she would struggle. A wicked thought, that, but she was far from pure. No angel ever plotted her childhood away, imagining different ways in which to murder a man.
And now, here she stood, thinking dangerous thoughts about a strange man only moments after he’d killed her bridegroom. Perhaps, like Aunt Agatha warned, he would take what he wanted as all men do, caring little for her preferences. At the moment, however, Kenna had no idea what those preferences were.
Perhaps she would like to be held gently by those anything-but-gentle arms in an embrace like the one Fia and the stableman, Peter, often shared. Was that such a sin? Compared to the one Kenna was determined to commit, perhaps not.
Temptation held an entirely new meaning.
But Kenna would avoid that temptation. With the task she now had before her, she would not tie her lot to a man—or a god. Nor, she was sure, would any God tie his lot to her.
The battle looked to be settled, now that Gowry was dead, so she’d best make her escape. She would search the whole of Scotland if necessary for the creature responsible for her brother’s death, the man she would murder, the laird of the Clan MacPherson.
CHAPTER THREE
Tearloch MacPherson dared not trust his eyes. A goddess with dark red hair fairly leaned out her window to watch the fighting. Her deep colored gown made her appear an Angel of Death come to collect souls while she intently watched the foray below her.
God’s teeth, let this be my prize.
Eager to know the color of her eyes, he glanced around to assess his own danger, freed a bow from one of the bodies at his feet and an arrow from a quiver spilled upon the ground. He shot a safe distance from the window’s opening yet close enough to gain her notice.
Struan Gowry had just vowed to see the woman dead before he let Tearloch have her. And just in case one of Gowry’s few loyal followers thought to fulfill the dead man’s vow, he didn’t want her dangling in full view tempting them to do so. He warned her back inside and bit his lip to keep from grinning, pleased that she seemed to realize her folly. Perhaps she could think to protect herself until he could get to her.
For her further safety, he whistled to Duncan. At 46 the man was surprisingly fit and could climb a wall like a cat climbeda tree. Tearloch gestured toward the window. Duncan nodded, then quickly moved beneath it.
Tearloch was tiring of the battle. Those who came forward to challenge him were quick to admit they had no love for Gowry. Once they believed the bastard was dead, they were more than willing to surrender their swords. Luckily, clouting these men both saved their honor and gave Tearloch the feel of a good hall fight. However, with none of them resisting, it was quickly losing appeal.
He took but a moment to assure himself the boy was safe, then cursed the dead coward.
“If the man is not yet in Hell, the queue must be long this day.”
The lad spared him a broad smile, which Tearloch was careful not to return. A glare and a slight shake of his head sent the boy back into feigning dead. He neither wanted the child nipping at his heels, nor declaring Tearloch’s mercy to the multitude. As the king’s champion, he had his reputation to maintain.
From just inside the window,Kenna heard the warrior whistle, and his men moved toward the fort wallsen masse. If she hoped to escape their notice, she’d have to move quickly.
For a few moments, she had been free of her bridegroom, and now the small army threatened to take that freedom away. How convenient it would be if they all came inside the hall so she could climb down the wall and sneak out the window without their notice?
Fia would be a problem, however. She’d never get the girl through the window without clouting her, and she couldn’t verywell carry her down the wall either. The image of Fia waking in mid-flight, vomiting down the back of Kenna’s gown made the decision simple. She would find another way to escape.
The dark warrior would not let anyone harm her. Not after the smile he gave her—the grin of a boy who had just found something he thought was lost, not the leer of a man. And not after witnessing his mercy to the child and the others. No, she was in little danger, from him at least, but heaven forefend he should pack her up and return her to Aunt Agatha.
“Stop that cowerin’ this instant, Fia, and help me block the door. I need a bit of time to think.”
