“Oh, we ken that weel enough. We try, lassie. Dinnae worry over us. It hasnae been as long as ye think either.”
“Weel, mayhaps not. It has been all of my life but, ’tis true, my life hasnae been so verra long.”
“’Tis a verra short time when it comes to feuds.”
“Ye should have told me of this before,” Hacon said. “What led to the trouble?”
“We had the impudence to treat the Douglasses as we do all who travel through this rough land.” When Hacon grimaced, Malcolm shrugged. “Aye, we robbed them. Spilled a wee bit of blood along the way, too, although no murder was done, I swear it. Sadly, one mon did get maimed, and I fear he feeds the hatred.”
“Have ye ceased to attack the Douglasses’ men?”
“Oh, aye. As Jennet says, they grow verra powerful. We are but a small group, not even a clan yet, and verra poor.”
“I will see what I can do.”
“That would please us, but ye should clear aside your troubles with Balreaves first, ere ye take on ours.”
Jennet frowned. “Isnae the trouble with Balreaves over? We have proof now.” When Hacon did not immediately respond, she pressed, “Weel, dinnae we?”
“Nay, we dinnae.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.
“The mon said nothing before he died?”
“He did admit that he was one of Balreaves’s hirelings.” Hating to see her growing disappointment, he carefully related what little the man had said and exactly why it would not help to defeat Balreaves.
Jennet found it hard to hide her dismay. For a brief moment she had felt certain that Hacon could now end the threat posed by Balreaves. She hated to feel her fear for Hacon return. She did not know whether to curse or cry, knowing all the while that neither would help her feel better. Nor, she mused with a heavy sigh, would either help Hacon. In truth, there wasnothingshe could do for him. That was what bothered her most.
“God curse Balreaves and his mother,” she cried.
“Again?” Hacon briefly smiled at Dugald. “My cousin did the same. That poor woman may be completely innocent.”
Giving him a disgusted look, Jennet shook her head. “So we continue to wait. The mon tries to murder you at each turning and we can do nothing. There is no justice in that. Justice would be served if that worm was suddenly struck down by lightning,” she finished, savoring the thought of it.
“A fine idea.” Hacon could not help laughing. “If a mon can be hurt by ill thoughts, Balreaves must be writhing in unendurable pain right now. Come, my sweet plunder, dinnae let the matter trouble you.”
“This mon continuously tries to murder you and I shouldnae let it trouble me? Wouldnae ye be troubled if someone kept trying to murder me?”
Hacon frowned, not at all pleased with that question. “’Twould be different. ’Tis a mon’s duty to protect his wife.”
Jennet stared at him, wondering idly if she should hit him, then decided it would not help. “I may not be able to protect you, but I can worry as weel as you. If ye expect me to sit quietly and ply my needle day after day, not burdening my poor weak wits with any thought, mayhaps we should reconsider this marriage.”
Hacon eyed her warily. “Are we having an argument?”
“If ye wish to call it that—aye.”
Glancing at the others around the fire, who were watching them with amused interest, he said, “Weel, if we are to have one mayhaps we should do so in private.”
“Fine.” She stood up and started toward the place where she had seen Dugald spread out their bedding.
“Wheesht.” Hacon grinned at the others as he stood up. “I wonder what I said to so rouse her ire?”
“Ye willnae find out by talking to us,” drawled Dugald.
“Am I to have this quarrel all by myself?” Jennet called.
Quickly smothering a laugh, Hacon hurried after her. When he saw her standing by their poor bed, her hands on her hips, he almost smiled. She looked beautiful. He knew, however, that saying so would only add to her temper.
“Now, dearling, what have I said to make you so angry?”
