Before she could declare that a lie, he kissed her. She knew he was trying to divert her, as he always did when she mentioned Perth. It worked. His slow, deep, inviting kisses soon had her thinking of far more pleasant matters. With a sigh which was a mixture of resignation and desire she went into his arms.
Hacon was halfway to his feet, his sword in his hand, before he realized it was only Dugald who had disturbed his sleep. After a quick check to be sure a slowly waking Jennet was modestly covered, he sat and glared at his cousin. He and Jennet had only just fallen asleep after their lengthy lovemaking. If he was going to be awake, Hacon did not want it to be because of some problem but to savor another taste of the passion he shared with Jennet. His annoyance was tempered by the look of worry on Dugald’s face.
“This had best be verra important,” Hacon muttered.
“Aye.” Dugald grimaced. “Ye were to stand watch tonight?”
“Ye already ken that. I asked Lachlan Macintyre to stand in my place. He owed me.” Hacon felt Jennet, who was now resting against his back and watching Dugald, grow tense.
“Weel, poor Lachlan has paid that debt in full.”
“What do ye mean, Dugald? Dinnae dance about the truth.”
“We found Laclan with his throat cut. He was murdered, set upon from behind.”
“By the English?” Jennet asked, despite her strong suspicion otherwise.
“Nay, though there is no proof that it wasnae.” Dugald ran a hand through his dark, unruly hair. “No other guard was killed or even approached. No attack was made. That doesnae make sense. If the English, even one of them, drew so near to camp unseen and slew one of our number so easily, ’tis certain more killing would have followed.”
Hacon muttered a brief string of hearty curses, then hissed, “So, Lachlan took the blade meant for my throat.”
“I cannae believe otherwise,” Dugald agreed. “From what little could be read upon the soft ground, he was set upon from behind while his back was to our camp. Aye, as it should have been, for he had no cause to expect such an attack from anyone in the camp.”
“Balreaves,” Jennet whispered, instinctively slipping her arms about Hacon’s waist and pressing closer to him.
Hacon patted her hands where they rested upon his bare stomach. “Aye, it must have been. Poor Lachlan. Weel, I will ask no other to take my place, to set his back to a murderer who seeks me out.”
“We should return to camp.” Jennet suddenly sensed danger lurking in every shadow.
“Nay, lass.” Hacon shook his head. “I willnae cower amongst my men, risking their lives to shield mine. Nay, nor will I deprive myself of what few moments of pleasure I might steal.”
“I could say,” drawled Dugald, “that ’tisnae only yourself at risk in this spot, but I willnae.”
After another bout of cursing, realizing he had forgotten for the moment the danger Jennet could face, Hacon grumbled, “Why be so diplomatic?”
“Because I dinnae think Balreaves will strike again. Not this night. Lachlan’s murder had the whole camp alerted. Too alert for the sly killing Balreaves prefers. Aye, enjoy your time alone. ’Twill be your last for many a day.”
“Until we are certain Balreaves isnae close at hand.”
“Mayhaps. I would prefer the mon dead myself. Sleep weel,” Dugald said, adding as he walked away, “but nottooweel.”
Sighing, Hacon laid down on his back and tugged Jennet into his arms. “Balreaves will pay for Lachlan’s murder.”
“How? Ye wait for proof, yet the mon is clever enough to give you none.” Jennet huddled closer to Hacon, more afraid for him now than when he had marched off to battle, for his enemy had no intention of facing him squarely.
“My chance will come.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Dinnae fret o’er it. Not tonight.”
Jennet lifted her head to scowl at him. “And when should I, and ye, fret o’er it? When the mon’s dagger rests in your back?”
“Now, lass . . .”
“Dinnae ‘now, lass’ me. Ye cannae ignore this.”
“I willnae. Come the morrow I shall set my mind fully on the matter.” He placed his hand against her cheek and brushed a kiss over her mouth. “Not now. I dinnae wish to lose one brief minute of this night. ’Tis ours.”
She sighed, then gave herself over to the rich delight of his kisses. It was not very easy to banish her fear, but she knew Hacon’s sweet loving would soon do just that. For once she would not argue. It could be their last night together for a long time. Or, if he left her behind in Liddesdale, it could be their last night together ever. That thought caused her to tighten her grip on him, adding desperation to her kiss.
As he nibbled her ear, he murmured, “Set aside your fears for now, loving.”
