“Ye misjudge me, sir. I but remind you of the dangers of battle.”
“Not all of which come from the enemy.”
“Aye, sadly true. The confusion of battle can lead to many a tragic error,” Sir Balreaves murmured, and smiled faintly before he walked away.
That clear threat to Hacon forced Jennet’s thoughts to the matter at hand. It was evident that Sir Balreaves was still fond of killing. She decided not to mention Balreaves’s part in her mother’s death and set her mind fully on the danger of the present.
As Jennet began to stitch up Dugald’s wound, she asked Hacon, “What have ye done to that mon?”
“Naught. Why?”
“Why? Because he hates you, hates you with every drop of blood in his veins. Did ye bed his wife?”
“Nay. I dinnae bed other men’s women. Never have.”
“How noble.” She knew the sarcasm she had aimed for was not really there, for she did think it a rather fine constraint for a man to place upon himself. “Ye most have done something.”
“Aye,” Dugald said, his voice hoarse. “He breathes.”
Jennet frowned as she carefully bandaged Dugald’s arm. “’Tis all?”
Hacon shrugged. “’Tisnae quite that simple. He wants Dubheilrig and believes I try to steal his place at the court. Then there is the insult he thinks the Gillards have dealt him.
“He wished to wed Katherine, my sister and Ranald’s mother,” Hacon continued. “Howbeit, she wed another. ’Twas Katherine’s choice. When she was widowed, Balreaves again sought her hand and again he failed. She left him at the altar, changing her mind at the verra last moment. That too was her choice. Howbeit, I believe he thinks that I, and my family, forced her to refuse him. As the years pass, his hatred deepens.”
“To the point where he will stand idly by and watch ye and yours slain and ne’er lift a hand to help you?” Jennet asked.
“There has been a time or two when that seemed the way of it.”
“Seemed? Ha! Ye ken it and ken it weel.” Finished with Dugald, Jennet stood up and collected her nursing supplies. “Men. ’Tis not enough to make an enemy of the English or those who dinnae support the Scots king. Nay, ye must also have a few of your own holding swords at your back.” She looked at Hacon, knowing that her fear for him ate at her, a realization that only added to her anger. “And ye will continue to set yourself in his path.”
“I willnae cower in some corner, nor can I accuse him. He is higher born than I and has a firm place in the Bruce’s court. I havenae enough proof yet to accuse a mon like that.”
“Dugald nearly losing his sword arm as the mon idly watched isnae proof enough?”
“Dugald’s arm still looks weel attached to me.”
“So ye will continue to stand firm and wait for his treacherous strike.”
“I havenae much choice, lass.”
She softly cursed. “With the rule of the world in the hands of such idiots, ’tis little wonder that it crumbles to ruin about us.” Still shaking her head in disgust, she walked away.
Hacon grinned as he watched her leave. “The lass is softening, Dugald.”
“Oh? I think your mind rots. I didnae see any softening; I saw anger. And she called ye an idiot.”
“Ah, but ’tis concern for me that stirs her anger.” Looking at the scowling Dugald, Hacon laughed quietly. “Ye dinnae see it.”
“What I see is that the lass may weel be right when she says ye have been knocked offside the head too often. Ye see things with the twisted clarity of a madmon.”
“Aye, mayhaps, but ’tis a verra sweet madness, Dugald,” he drawled as he rose to follow Jennet.
Chapter 7
A soft murmur of pleasure escaped Jennet, and she rubbed her cheek against Hacon’s warm chest. She shook free of sleep’s hold only to be caught in passion’s grip. The way Hacon moved his hands over her back, lightly cupping her derriere and pressing her tightly against his hardness, made her ache. She gave a soft gasp of delighted surprise when he smoothed his hands up her sides and cupped her breasts, rubbing the tips to hardness with his thumbs.
Hacon took quick advantage of her parted lips, covering her mouth with his and plunging his tongue deep inside. He groaned softly when she wrapped her limbs around his body and eagerly welcomed his fierce kiss. It took every ounce of his willpower not to take her there and then, but they were far from private. He could hear the rest of the army camped all around them beginning to stir. Soon, too many eyes would see their heated embrace. He ended the kiss, grit his teeth against his strong reluctance to do so, and gently broke free of the embrace. Before his aching hunger for her made him change his mind, he hurriedly rose to his feet. The way she looked at him, her beautiful eyes warm and inviting, made it the hardest thing he had ever done.
