Not with fear. But with plain frustration and embarrassment.
Maxwell felt something in his chest lurch unpleasantly.
“Daenae cry,” he said, more gruffly than he intended.
“I am nae crying,” she snapped, blinking furiously as tears betrayed her anyway. “I am simply tired. And angry. And...”
“Frustrated,” he supplied quietly.
She tugged her hand free. “Ye mock me.”
That pricked. “I am nae mocking ye.”
“Ye are,” she insisted. “Ye are enjoying this. Watching me struggle.”
“That is nae what I am doing.”
“Then what are ye doing,” she demanded, her voice thick with tears she clearly hated.
He exhaled sharply. He had not meant for her to cry. He had expected fire, not this rawness.
“I am showing ye the truth,” he said. “The road ye meant to take tonight is far more dangerous than I am. If ye cannae best me, and I have nay intention of harming ye, ye would have nay chance out there. Ye would be dead by dawn.”
She stiffened at that. A small, wounded sound escaped her, quickly stifled.
He cursed under his breath and dragged a hand through his hair. He was armored for battle and hostility, not for this.
“I did nae mean it cruelly,” he muttered. “But ye must hear it plain.”
Her lashes were wet, cheeks blotched with color. Yet her gaze sharpened suddenly, as if a new thought had struck her.
“Ye speak as if danger follows me clan too,” she said slowly.
He stilled.
Her voice lowered. “Why would it matter to ye if I ran? Why does McNeill care whether McIntosh has its alliances or nae? Why…”
She trailed off as realization began to stir. Her lips parted slightly.
“Frederick did nae tell ye, then?” Maxwell murmured.
Her eyes lifted, searching his face. “Tell me what?”
For a moment, he considered saying nothing. It was not his place. Frederick should have explained long before this night. The lass had every right to be furious.
And he could not bear the thought of being the cause of her tears a moment longer.
He drew a slow breath. “O’Douglas has been sniffing around both our borders.”
Fear flickered through her eyes.
“Our lands lie nearest his,” Maxwell continued. “He has been pushing farther each season. Testing our defenses. Raiding crofts. He wants more land, more power. And he kens that if he can pit our clans against one another, if he can make ye vulnerable, he wins.”
She said nothing. So he pressed on.
“A marriage between McIntosh and McNeill shows him yer laird stands with mine. Two clans united. Two armies. Twice the resistance. It is a shield he dares nae test easily.”
Her lips parted, but no sound came.
