She slapped him hard in the face. “Get out!”
She turned away before she struck him again. Tears spilled down her face as she moved to get his boots and his léine. She threw them at him and screamed for him to get out again when he didn’t move fast enough.
“Braya. I will not go,” he said. “I would speak with you.”
Well, if he wouldn’t leave, she would!
With a quick adjustment to her wrappings, she pushed past him and Mr. Adams and stormed out of the room.
She had no idea where she was going. She realized too late that she should have dressed herself properly first, but she had wanted to get away from Torin. And now he hurried after her, while Mr. Adams moved at a slower rate. She would not be stopped. She would leave Lismoor in her blanket, get on Archer, and ride home!
Another door opened and Aleysia, wife of the Highlander, stepped out of a room toting her sleepy son by the hand.
When she saw Braya garbed in bed coverings, Torin hurrying down the hall after her in just breeches, and Mr. Adams out of his sickbed, she drew back her son toddling before her.
“What in the blazes is going on here? Miss Hetherington, where are you off to?”
“I am going home,” Braya stopped to tell her.
“Dressed in a blanket?” Aleysia asked with a raised raven brow.
“My lady.” Torin stopped beside Braya. She moved a step farther away from him. “Forgive our indecency,” he said, pulling his léine over his head and shoving his arms into the sleeves. “We had words—”
Braya turned to him, gaping. “We had words? You are a Scot, asoldierfor the Bruce, and you kept it from me all this time!”
Aleysia looked at her in her blanket and Torin, trying to dress. She shook her head at him. “Go find Father Timothy. He is very good with things like this.”
“Like what?” Braya asked. “A man who vows you can trust him and turns out to be a lying—”
“Braya,” he tried, putting a hand to her shoulder.
She slapped his hand away and returned her attention to Aleysia, mostly so that Torin wouldn’t see the tears she shed for him. “Lady MacPherson, your husband should not believe this man’s claims that he is his brother. He cannot be trusted!” She had to turn away lest he see her fall apart.
The Highlander’s wife put her arms around Braya and ushered her toward the door to her chambers. “Come inside,” she offered gently. “Not either of you!” she scolded Torin and Mr. Adams while Braya wept into her hands. “You have upset her enough!”
She wasn’t about to stand around and listen to their defense, so she picked up her son and, turning on her heel, pulled Braya into the room and slammed the door shut in their faces.
When Braya entered the room, she stopped and almost walked out of it again when she saw the commander sitting in a chair and pulling on his boots.
He held up his hand. “Dinna bother, I am goin’.” He stood up and came toward them. “I heard.” He motioned toward the door. “He didna claim to be anyone, lass. He has proven who he is to me and Nicholas.”
“But the Scots killed his family.”
“No, the English killed our parents.”
Lies. All lies. All to bring war.
“Thank you for your kindness, Commander, my lady, but I will be leaving as soon as I can dress.”
The Highlander sighed and shook his head. “He has lost much. Now, he will lose ye as well.”
She turned away. He should have thought of that sooner. She fought her brother over him. She made a fool of her father by having Torin come to the town hall to apologize for—oh, dear God, her cousins. “He killed my cousins.”
“Pardon?”
She didn’t answer but yanked open the door and hurried into the hall. He was still there, waiting for her.
“My cousins! What happened that night, Torin? I will have the truth!”
