“Truth be told. I’ve not given it much thought. I couldna leave her behind for fear of her safety, and…” he paused. “Then there is the small fact she did kill our enemy for me. Even though, I’d rather have killed him myself.” He sighed with regret that he hadn’t been the one to end Fidach’s life. “I owe the lass somethin’. I’ve no doubt that she’ll fit into our household.”
“But she is a lady,” Duncan protested.
“Aye. Though at the moment she looks no better than a servant.”
Duncan nodded. “Do ye want me to take her for a while and give yer arm a rest?”
Roderick glanced at the battered woman nestled in his arms. “Nay. The sun is going down. We’ll camp for tonight and give the horses a rest. She’ll be waking soon.”
“Gareth!” Roderick called, then waited for him to join them. “Find a suitable place to make camp.”
Without warning, the slip of a girl in Roderick’s arms bolted straight up, bumping his chin. He had to tighten his hold to keep her from falling. The sudden shifting on Hercules’s back, startled the horse, and he reared. Roderick tightened his knees to keep them both seated.
“By all that is holy! Hold still before we both fall to our deaths!”
Chapter 2
The woman squirmed and struck him several times until he wrapped his arms tighter around her, pinning her arms against her sides. His patience had worn thin. “Och, get still or I swear, lass, I’ll toss ye on the ground myself.”
Roderick realized that the woman had no idea who he was, so he took a calming breath. “I’ll no hurt ye, lass. I’m not one of yer brother’s men. Stop fightin’ me.” Roderick saw uncertainty in one wild, blue eye as the other was swollen. “I’m the one who pulled ye from the hangman’s noose.” Patience wasn’t something he possessed in great quantities and this slip of a girl was trying his patience greatly.
“For Christ’s sake, lass. If I had wanted to harm ye, I’d have left ye to dangle from the end of a rope,” he said, frustrated. “And I’m beginnin’ to doubt the mercy I’ve shown ye.” This woman was going to be more trouble than she was worth, he’d wager. “I’ll loosen my grip if ye will hold still.”
He glared down at her and in a stern voice said, “I’ll have yer promise now.”
Agatha rode up beside them and laid a weathered hand gently on Siena’s arm. “Milady, he is helping us. It will be all right.”
“He is blue! He’s the devil.”
“Nay. He has on warpaint and that is the reason he is blue, milady,” Agatha explained.
At long last the girl relaxed at the sight of her maid, then croaked, “Some water, please.”
“In a minute,” Roderick told her.
Warily, Siena watched the warrior who held her, wondering how she’d gotten in this position when she should have been dangling at the end of a rope.
She remembered seeing a man on a black horse coming through the crowd just before the stool had been shoved out from beneath her feet. She thought it had been the Devil come to claim her, then she recalled her breath leaving her body, and she shuddered at the memory. By the grace of God, she’d been spared. Yet she felt her neck and found it tender to the touch. Apparently, this man had saved her. Now that everything was over, she felt his strong arms around her, and found it comforting. She had no idea why she should feel this way when men had always been trouble in her past.
The intimidating warrior was huge, and his dark eyes were penetrating. She couldn’t help feeling as though he was trying to see deep inside her when he looked at her, but at the moment he wasn’t paying her any attention. “Water,” she rasped again. Her throat was so parched it felt like it was on fire.
At last, the man nodded and nudged his mount over to a clearing in the middle of oak trees. The dead leaves on the ground would provide a good cushion for their tired bodies when they slept.
The sun was lowering, giving a dusky glow the clearing. Only then did Siena notice that there were five other men with them, and they were dismounting too. Who were these strangers? And why had this man saved her? Thankfully, she didn’t recognize any of them. Of course, it was hard to get past their blue painted faces. They would scare the hell out of anyone.
However, her brother’s solders were no better than he was, and she was grateful, but she didn’t yet trust any of them. They appeared to be Scots. They wore red with green and black pinstriped plaids. The tartan pattern consisted of crisscrossed horizontal colors that came to the top of their knees. The rest of their legs were covered in doe-skinned boots. Everyone knew the Scots had no love for the English, so she wasn’t sure she was any better off. She’d learned a long time ago not to trust anyone no matter if they were English or Scot.
A warrior with long, blond hair approached and shoved a soft-skinned pouch up toward her. With trembling hands, she took the pouch and lifted it to her dry lips. The cool water felt like refreshing nectar on her dry throat. “Thank you,” she said as she handed the brown, leather pouch back to the man on the ground.
She turned and looked at the warrior who held her and asked, “Who are you?”
“I’m Laird Roderick Scott, Warlord of Kirkurd.”
She knew the name, but her head hurt too much to think, and her right arm throbbed mercilessly. Perhaps later she could think straight. “I am Lady Siena of Berwick. I know I’m merely a captive, and I’m sure you’re very busy, but my arm really hurts.” She held it up and the throbbing increased. “I see a bandage. Has it been stitched?”
“Nay.” Roderick didn’t bother to look at her, his attention seemed drawn to his men as he added, “We’ll be caring for yer arm once we make camp and get settled, lass. We need to make sure we are safe first.”
Another soldier just as big as the first approached Roderick and held his arms up to help her down, she hesitated until she heard Roderick say, “We will camp here tonight.” He pushed her toward the other man.
