“I was told,” he said softly, watching her pick at a hunk of black bread and bring it to her mouth, “you were one of the reivers’ fiercest warriors.” And he shouldn’t forget it. Who else would they send after him but their best?
As if to prove him a fool to believe such a tale, her smiled widened, along with her eyes and pure joy filled her radiant expression. “Do you believe it, my lord?”
It was difficult not to be affected by her. What he’d been told of her was true. What he saw with his eyes made him doubt it. She looked more like an angel than a warrior.
He nodded. He believed it. She piqued his curiosity. Not many things did anymore. “It must be true if some men are afraid of you.”
“Some?” The teasing quirk of her lips beckoned him to test her.
“Aye, some,” he said, letting her know he wasn’t one of them, though he wouldn’t underestimate her.
They stared at each other across the ringing silence. The longer he looked, the harder it was to look away.
“Tell me,” she finally said, “what else were you told by your friends?”
“My friends?” He took a swig of wine from his pouch and realized whom she meant, then offered the pouch to her. “I do not trouble myself with friends.” He watched her while she took a drink. “But Sir John is afraid of you.”
She nodded, handing him back the pouch. “Aye, he should be. Once, he made the error of thinking I was weak, and tried to force himself upon me.”
Torin wasn’t surprised to hear of the vile nature of the English, even ones dressed as knights. “And what happened?” he asked, biting into an apple.
Her eyes danced like cornflowers in the summer breeze. “I’m certain he bears the mark of my blade, but I have no interest in seeing for myself.”
Torin smiled. “You gained his respect through fear.”
“He left me no other choice,” she told him and continued picking at her bread.
“I did not know. Now I do.” He tried to sound impassive, but his voice was low and rough. He’d grown up an orphan, and then a servant, then, a soldier. He was quite used to seeing men forcing their wills on women. It was one of his strongest memories he had of his mother.
John Linnington would be one of the first Torin killed when the time came.
He looked down at the food he’d packed, spread out between them. He hadn’t seen her eat any of it, yet most was gone. Four apples? More than half the bread and the cheese? Had he eaten so much? He would admit she distracted him, but would he forget eating?
He quickly noted the bulges beneath her mantle. She must have slits in the fabric so she could reach the pouches tied to her belt along with her sword. She was stealing his food. He had the urge to laugh. He bit the inside of his lip instead. Perhaps her kin needed it.
“When did Sir John do this?”
“He has not been the only one,” she told him. “Most of the men in the garrison have learned a hard lesson at the tip of my blade, if you must know the truth. There are but a few who have not.”
“Their names?” Torin asked her quietly, sounding only slightly interested. “The ones who have not.”
She gave them, including Rob Adams. “I’m acquainted with all the men. I have spent much time in the castle with my father over the years he and Lord Bennett have been friends.”
Aye, they were friends, Torin remembered. Mayhap he could find out more. “What is their friendship based on?”
“We have a mutual enemy.”
“Oh? Who?”
“The Scots,” she told him. “We helped keep them away when they attacked Carlisle five years ago and, in exchange, the defender offers us his protection against the other reivers.”
So, the Scot’s defeat against Carlisle was due to help from the reivers. Torin was going to have to make certain Bennett didn’t receive their help again. “Your father must have found great insult by being thrown out of Carlisle.”
“He did.” She looked away. There was more she wasn’t telling him.
“He is planning something.” It was an obvious assessment, though she appeared uneasy when she heard him speak it. “Were you sent to kill me, Miss Hetherington?”
He decided she was just as alluring frowning as she was smiling.
