Adams finally nodded and sheathed his blade.
“Our clothes.” Torin turned back to the Highlander. He missed his plaid, his pride. He was a Highlander, too. He knew how savage they were. They didn’t need to be fighting this man.
MacPherson tossed them their clothes but kept their weapons. “Ye can have these back when ye leave, which ye will do now. Hurry, before I decide to take yer horse. I assume the glorious white and chestnut mare is yers?”
Torin nodded then quickly warned him that Avalon would take his fingers.
“Avalon?” the commander frowned at him. “Where have I heard that name before?” He didn’t wait for an answer but swished his hand in front of his face and waved them away. “Go.”
They needed to get inside. Adams was cranky from sleeping against a tree all night. Torin had seen Braya rubbing her back earlier.
“I need to speak to Rothbury, Commander,” Torin insisted. He would tell him the Scots were coming. “To him and him alone. ’Tis of the—”
MacPherson’s blade cut the air and came to a stop at Torin’s throat. “I said Lord Rothbury is not seein’ anyone today.”
“Commander.”
The Highlander slipped his sharp gaze to Braya, who had somehow managed to move behind him when they were not aware. He ignored the knife she held to his throat and smiled.
“Do not think I am afraid to kill you, Scot,” she warned. “Move your blade away from him or die.”
Hell, Torin thought, this was no time to grin.
“Gray, is she yer woman?” MacPherson demanded, looking irritated now.
Torin set his eyes on her. She was already looking at him, waiting to hear his reply with dreadful anticipation.
“Aye,” he said without taking his eyes from hers. “She is my woman. Do not harm her.”
Her expression softened on him, and her grip on the hilt of her knife loosened.
Torin wasn’t certain how Commander MacPherson could tell, but he moved before any of them took their next breaths. His arm shot up. His broad fingers clamped around Braya’s wrist, lowering it and her knife from his throat. Almost at the same time, and without letting her go, he stepped behind her, managing somehow not to break her arm, and captured her other wrist as well.
“Drop it,” he commanded.
She had no choice but to obey.
Torin had seen enough. He stepped forward, but Adams rushed in swinging his sword.
“No!” Torin stretched out his arm. Braya blocked the Highlander’s body. There was nothing Adams could do with his sword without hurting Braya!
MacPherson closed one arm around Braya and brought her down with him in a low crouch. He swung one leg out, catching Adams behind his ankles and sweeping him completely off his feet.
Adams landed on his back with a hard thud.
“I do not wish to hurt ye,” the deadly Highlander said to his felled opponent.
“Ah, well, ’tis too late for that,” Adams groaned when he tried to rise.
Torin helped him stand while the commander released Braya and dusted off his plaid.
“I can do this all day, lass,” MacPherson told her. “Believe me, I have had plenty of practice.”
Torin went to stand beside her, ensuring there would be no more surprises from anyone. He couldn’t be angry with the commander. He’d protected himself against her, and himself and Braya against Adams.
“You practice often,” Torin remarked.
“Every day. We must.” He looked as if he had something more to say, like, aye, do you agree? But he said nothing more and flicked his gaze to Braya when she spoke next.
