Kenna walked away in a daze. She heard the whistle come from inside the tent and stared at the ground when Monroe hurried past to answer his leader’s call.
Oblivious to others, she hiked up her skirts, climbed onto her horse, and straddled the beast before pushing the cloth over her legs again. Only then did she notice Kincaid standing slack jawed beside the beast, his fingers clasped to help her mount. She hoped a smile was thanks enough for his consideration.
He nodded and walked away.
“Jamie,” Duncan shouted. “Trade horses with Lady Kenna.”
Kenna noticed Duncan then. “You do not trust me on this one?”
“I think the destrier may keep ye better occupied.”
Jamie’s jaw fell open. Obviously, he was not accustomed to the request to give up his mount. The idea of trusting the animal to a woman likely angered him, but Kenna was in no condition to disobey anyone. She just hoped she could keep Jamie off the list of men who hated her. Honestly, she was surprised any of them could tolerate her after their reaction at the fire last night.
“This is not even my horse,” Kenna reasoned. “If I hadmyhorse, you would be fools to trust me.”
Tearloch came upon the gathering carrying the plaids from their tent and bedding. After handing off the rolls, he strode straight to her. She worried she had not obeyed Duncan fast enough for the man’s liking, but he only laid a hand on her foot before speaking.
“Ye should have spoken up, my lady, and we would have brought the beast along.” He stroked the top of her foot. It tickled, but she enjoyed the touch too much to pull away.
He regretted leaving her horse behind? Was she supposed to have fit it in the one sack he allowed her?
Of a sudden, she realized this man’s feelings for her had changed dramatically. And in just a day. Was it possible?
But of course it was. Hadn’t her feelings for him changed just as fast? And then there was Duncan. He’d gone from spitting mad to calling her Lady Kenna. Perhaps nothing was impossible with these men. Perhaps, if she continued with them for a while, they might be swayed to her argument. Perhaps one of them might eventually be willing to help her in her quest to find The MacPherson.
Maybe even Tearloch.
Her feelings for him hadn’t just turned, they’d grown. No, they had swelled. When she looked at him, there was a fullness in her chest she had not known before. Was that for him?
Or was it only because her belly was so empty?
“Forget the horse, man. Have you any food?”
Men chuckled. Tearloch was taken aback. “Ye’re not disappointed about yer horse?”
“Nay. Agatha took it from me years ago. Perhaps one day I shall find another so clever.”
His hand froze. She had no idea why that would make the man scowl again, but it did.
“Give her yer horse, Jamie.” He looked around. “Frazier—no,Leland, give her a pie.”
He reached up to lift her down, but she had swung her right leg over the animal’s head and slid silently to the ground. Since he hadn’t stepped back, her nose skimmed his chest when she landed. She paused only long enough to breathe him in once before sidling away and darting over to Jamie and his massive black beast.
She wondered if the young man kept his destrier intentionally removed from the other horses. It must have galled him to do it, but he clapped his mouth shut and held up the leads.
“Beautiful,” she whispered, looking the horse over, itching to touch it.
“Aye, at least that,” he grumbled as he looked her over in a like manner. The sound of Tearloch clearing his throat got Jamie’s attention and, after adjusting the stirrups, he backed away and mounted Kenna’s animal with no further complaint.
She turned to her audience, who seemed eager to see her struggle. It would serve them right if this beast of war killed her. But she didn’t need them to suffer. She needed them to like her, to listen to her. To aid her.
The horse was too wild by half, already anxious from her standing so near. Any pretense at incompetence would truly be the death of her.
Leland appeared with the promised pie, and she devoured it in half a dozen bites. Then she brushed her hands together and moved smoothly to the horse’s head. He pushed her away. She laughed and came back. He pushed her again, then reared to scare her off, but she firmly pulled down on the leather in her hands and gently, forcefully, brought its head lower.
Then lower still, until its long black main nearly hid its face.
Her movements were so slow, so deliberate, that the beast was intrigued. And it was not alone.
