“I see I am late to the battle,” Duncan drawled from the door. “Forgive me, Sir Tearloch. My lady.”
She stiffened at the sound of his voice.Why would that be?
She tried to see past Tearloch’s shoulder, but he had rendered her immobile. And when a tiny whimper escaped her, it dealt a blow to his heart.
She is afraid of Duncan Keith.
He caught her gaze and held it. “But why,” he whispered.
When her bottom lip trembled, ever so briefly, he released her arms but remained where he was, between her and the man she feared. He cupped her face and pushed his fingers into her hair, then looked into her eyes and repeated, “Why?”
She bit her lips together but soon answered with a whisper. “He vowed to kill me.”
“When?” Though outraged, he kept his voice low.
She took a deep breath, reached for his upper arm, and slid her hand against his wound. Her hand came back covered with his dark blood.
“Duncan!”
His second hurried up behind him. “I am here, son.”
Tearloch was so angry he fought to keep a tremor from his voice. “When did ye vow to murder her?”
“Murder her? Ye mean Lady Kenna?” Duncan tried to see around him, but he kept his body between them, and Duncan chuckled. “When I took her blade away, and yers, and left ye to her mercy in the tent. I told her…” He took a quick breath. “God’s teeth! I told her if she spilled one drop o’ yer blood, she would be dead before it splats on the ground.”
Tearloch finally relaxed, rested his head against hers for one precious moment, then stepped to the side. “Ye’ve broken yervow, my friend. Ye’re too late. It has already hit the floor. So would ye do me the courtesy of assuring this woman that ye’ll not murder her after all?” He wiped his own hand across his wound and held it up, to help the man understand.
Duncan’s eyes flew wide, then they narrowed at Kenna. “Ye did this?”
She swallowed, then nodded.
“May I know why?”
It was she who looked up at Tearloch now, with venom in her eyes. “Because he killed my brother. He lied about his name. You all lied about his name.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Duncan retreated to the end of the bed. Tearloch played innocent. He’d made it absolutely clear to the entire clan they were never to mention the name MacPherson until after the king’s visit. No one would have told Kenna who he was. She must be guessing. And if so, he need only bluff.
“Ye have more ill will against Clan Chattan, do ye?”
“Youare a Macpherson. Not just a MacPherson, butTheMacPherson.”
“The man who was responsible for your brother’s death?”
“Aye. I have very nearly become a whore to the very man I’ve planned to kill for the better part of my life. And Duncan,” she turned. “I promise… I will.”
Tearloch knew if he allowed this to escalate, everyone in Scotland would believe his future bride was a madwoman, and they would turn against her, permanently. He could not allow that to happen.
When Tearloch came at her,Kenna braced herself for pain, but instead of striking her, he lifted her off her feet and set her next to the bed where he kindly ordered her to sit. He used his boot to pull a table close and sat on it, facing her. “My lady, how old are ye?”
Kenna had no intention of ever speaking to him again. She hadn’t wanted to explain herself at all—just to kill him and be done.
“I asked yer age, woman.”
“Twenty and six,” she spit.
“And how old were ye when ye met me and decided ye would kill me?”
