“But we only just returned, Jacob,” she said. “Ye were wounded.”
“'Tis nae matter, that. Mam patched me up last night,” he replied easily. “And I ken where last they were, the raiders. We aim to ride directly there, and search from that point.”
“But Jacob, can ye nae simply give them their direction?” she asked. “If I am expected to rest, to recover, should ye nae be afforded the same courtesy?”
A short laugh escaped him; he couldn’t contain it. “Elena, this is...necessary—but it’s nae familiar to ye, hence the need for ye to recover.”
“It isna,” she claimed, quietly but desperately. “Ye’ve done yer part, went above and beyond—who would make ye—”
“Nae one is forcing me,” he cut in, scowling. “I want them found. I dinna want to hear another was taken—and mayhap nae recovered—because I or we dinna stop them.” Sensing her anxiety, and beginning to see it now for what it was, concern for him, he reminded her gently, practically, “Elena, this is what I do. And it’s what I’ll always do.”
“But can yenae?” she cried, the words tumbling out as a plea. “Can ye nae simply return to Blackwood and... be safe?”
Jacob’s jaw clenched. The bailey was crowded. Men moved all around them, intent on horses and harness, on weapons and orders. This was no place for a lass’s worry to linger so plainly.
And yet, the words struck home, lodging beneath his ribs with unwelcome weight. He understood them at once—not as a challenge, not as a claim, but as something simpler and more dangerous. Care.
Absently, he reached out and pulled her mantle together, closer under her chin.
Clearing his throat, he said, “If nae this, then another fight. There is war, and that’s nae something a man can escape.”
He looked at her then, really looked, and saw how unguarded she was, how unused she was to hiding what stirred inside her. That would change—it would have to. She was betrothed to another, bound to a future that left no room for whatever had been reawakened between them, what they had been to one another while on the road. That time was finished now.
He softened his tone then, just a fraction. “What... happened out there, Elena, it came of circumstance. Fear. Necessity. It dinna and canna carry beyond that.”
There was no world in which he ever wanted to be unkind to Elena, but she needed to be reminded of the truth.
And yet the words seemed to strike like a blow, melting Jacob’s resolve. But then she shook her head and forced a smile.
“Verra well,” she said and moved in the most unexpected fashion.
It was quick—so quick it seemed to happen almost as instinct. Her shoulders shifted and she began to lift her arms, her body swaying forward as if she would come close, as if she meant to eliminate the space between them altogether and—
Jacob froze, his eyes widening. Every instinct in him recoiled at once—not from her, but from the danger of it. This was the bailey, open and crowded, men passing close at hand. There were a hundred reasons this must not happen, and not one of them had anything to do with what he felt.
She seemed to catch herself in the same instant, her hands faltering, a quiet horror flashing across her face as if she just realized what she’d almost done.
—and then Liam MacTavish was there.
He came in from Jacob’s left, swift and silent, catching Elena’s arm just above the elbow a split second after she caught herself.
“Elena, ye should nae be out here,” he said, the words ground out low and sharp.
Elena froze, color rising fast in her cheeks. “Da, I—”
“This is nae the place,” Liam said, cutting in, his gaze flicking darkly to Jacob before returning to his daughter. “And nae the hour.” Without another word, he steered his daughter away from Jacob and toward the keep.
Jacob watched them go, Elena’s legs moving twice as fast to keep up with her father’s long, angry strides.
“Shite,” Jacob seethed, finally releasing his breath.
