“Say what?”
“That ye think me a fool.”
“Nay, not a fool. She is a fair lass, as fair as I can ever recall setting eyes on. I would wonder what ailed ye if ye didnae want her. Aye, I might even consider ye a fool if ye tossed away the chance to lie in her arms.”
“Then why do ye keep harping at me?”
“I just wanted to be sure that what is dangling between your legs wasnae dulling your mind. I wanted to be sure ye saw each and every problem. Ye do, and so I willnae worry on it. There is one thing I will ask of ye though.”
When Dugald paused, Hacon frowned. He pressed, “What is it?”
“Leave Ranald to guard her and the bairn.” He grimaced. “And these rank beasts. Aye, ye are right in saying that there are always some on a raid who hold back to make a small camp. Make Ranald be the one, or one of the ones to watch our goods.”
Hacon sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Ye think him a poor fighter.”
“Nay, ye set that laddie to guard the woman and the bairn, and he will do as weel as any other. Aye, better than most. That would be something he could put his heart into. But he cannae stomach this butchering, Hacon. He will get himself killed. Mayhaps take one or more of us with him. He is one who needs to feel he has a just cause to strike out at another. A threat to his home, his own land . . .”
“Or a wee bonnie lass and a helpless bairn.”
“Aye.” Dugald nodded. “He isnae one for raiding. He is one ye leave behind to protect your family. He isnae a coward. I’m not saying that, but . . .” He grimaced.
Lightly clapping Dugald on the back, Hacon smiled. “I see what you mean. Ye are right.” Starting on his way again, Hacon added, “I but pray I can do what must be done without cutting the lad’s pride. But do ye think he has the stomach to hold the lass for me, to stop her from trying to flee?”
Keeping pace with Hacon, Dugald replied, “Aye, especially if ye remind him that she could get her fool self killed. ’Twould also be best if he isnae too close to a Douglas mon. I dinnae ken who he faced, but there are some cold, hard men in Douglas’s band. If they feel the lad gave them some insult . . .”
“’Twill not be an English sword Ranald best keep the closest watch for. They would use the guise of battle, hide in its confusion, and murder the boy. To the rear he will stay. I but need to find the words to ensure he sees no insult or criticism in the order.”
Jennet exclaimed with delight when they dragged the goats into the house. She wasted no time in feeding the fretful baby. Hacon turned his attention to Ranald, helping the youth get comfortable on a pallet on the floor. The lad would be sore for a day or two, but Hacon was heartily relieved to see that he would suffer no lasting damage.
It was late when Hacon finally sought his bed, a sheepskin laid before the fire. Although he had not told Jennet outright that they would share that bed, he saw no surprise on her face, only annoyance, when he gestured for her to lie down. At least she showed no fear, he told himself as he unwrapped the thongs holding his cuarans in place and removed the rawhide boots. He was eager to feel her slender body curled up against him. Stripping down to his braies, he cynically eyed the sleeping child she had set between them.
“That game willnae work, lass,” he said, and decided her look of puzzled innocence was very well feigned.
“And what game is that, Sir Gillard?” She had not held out much hope of success in using the baby to keep him at a distance but was still annoyed that her ruse had failed so completely.
“Using this innocent bairn to keep me away. Put him on the other side of you.”
“Then he would be between me and the fire. That would be too dangerous.”
“Ah, is that the difficulty? Weel, ’tis easily solved. We will just change places. Slide over, lass.”
She inwardly cursed as she did as he commanded. Then the fear she had more or less kept at bay began to break the bonds she had placed upon it. She concentrated harder on quelling it. There was no way she could fight him. Not allowing him to see her fear was her only hope of retaining some shred of pride.
Closing her eyes tightly, she tried not to look at him. To her great self-disgust and consternation the man’s image was already etched clearly in her mind. It was impossible to understand, but she felt a hint of fascination mingled with her fear.
He was far too easy to look at, too pleasing to the eye. When he had started to take his clothes off, she should have looked away, but she had not been able to. He was all lean, hard muscle. A light triangle of blond curls, a shade darker than his pale hair, adorned his smooth, broad chest. It tapered into a thin line which disappeared into the top of his linen loincloth. His legs, lightly coated with hair, were long, attractively muscular, and excellently formed. His skin was a light golden tone, not as pale as she would have guessed. He was also remarkably free of the scars that men of battle tended to collect. There was one on his right thigh and one over the left half of his rib cage, but neither was very big or ugly.
A flaw would have been helpful, she thought as she felt him settle down beside her. She should be disgusted by the thought of lying with him, yet she was not, not really. A perverse part of her whispered that if rape was unavoidable, at least her abuser was not ugly or still carrying the stench of battle. It hinted an acceptance of her fate that chilled her.
She supposed the fact that he had not yet raped her, had not even struck her, made the threat too tenuous to seem real. It could be the only explanation for why she found herself wondering what Hacon would be like as a lover. She knew few women who got the chance to hold such a fine-looking man in their arms. She would not be a woman if she did not at least ponder what it would feel like. However, such complacency and curiosity could prove very dangerous in her situation. The man did not offer lovemaking but rape, not desire but defilement. She must not forget that.
When he curled up against her back, slipping his arm around her waist, she tensed. That was a liberty she should immediately and sharply rebuff, but she made no move to do so. What good would it do? It could anger him, which would only add to the brutality of what was to come. Worse, she found the weight of his arm upon her pleasing, comforting. Still, when he nuzzled her hair, she instinctively tensed and hunched her shoulders in rejection to the caress, then waited for his violent reaction. None came. Confusion began to crowd out her fear.
“Do ye always come to bed fully dressed?” he asked, ignoring her scrunched-up shoulders and touching his lips to the outer curve of her ear.
“Of course not, but I willnae shed my clothes before a roomful of men.” She struggled to remain stiff, rejecting his touch, but the warmth of his mouth softened her, heating her blood in a way she strove to deny.
“I wouldnae let them look. I would cover us with my plaid.”
