"We'll have our backs tae the oak," Iain said to one of his men. Isla's ears perked up as she listened. "Shouldnae have any problems from bandits or thieves, but in the event that we do, watch the lass while I take care o' whatever comes our way. The rest o' the men will be righ' behind me, but yer not tae take yer eyes off o' her."
The other man nodded gravely, signifying his understanding.
So, he still did not trust her. She knew that he did not deep down, but that did not stop the pinprick of disappointment that had slid into her heart like a dagger. Somewhere inside of her, she had hoped that their little talks had turned his mind towards her; perhaps he would not keep such a suspicious, watchful eye on her quite so much.
He will stop his inquiries when we arrive at the village. Once he sees that I was tellin' the truth about that, he will certainly not require any more information.
Or so she hoped. Isla repeated that thought again and again. She would not have to reveal her true name to him, surely. He had already seemed much less harsh than he originally did upon her arrival in his territory. Even if he believed her to be lying to him, he seemed much less likely to act on his threat.
But Isla did not want to take any chances. She would keep up her ruse as long as possible.
The night was growing colder by the minute. One of the men, a short and burly man, took up his longbow, informing Iain that he was going to hunt for rabbit. Isla's stomach rumbled; a meal would be welcome.
The sound alerted Iain, and Isla's face burned with embarrassment. She had not eaten since the night prior; the more she thought about that fact, the more fatigued and shaky she began to feel.
"Suppose yer hungry," Iain grumbled. "I dinnae suspect they brought you anythin' tae eat in the dungeons. Gamelin will return shortly; hopefully, with somethin' we can fill our stomachs with."
Isla was allowed to slide down from Iain's chestnut horse as the other two men set about making a fire. The earth was damp, but they were able to create a spark after struggling for only a few moments. Isla sat back on one of the low-hanging oak boughs, her weight barely shifting the tree, while Iain leaned against the massive thing's wide trunk, watching her. He crossed her wide arms, a frown tucking his lips downward slightly.
Isla pretended not to notice, to focus her attention on the tiny flickers of flame that were just beginning to spring to life. They took hold of the dead leaves and dry branches that the men had managed to scrape up for kindling, demanding more. The two men went to the horses then, allowing the fire to build up and removed their rucksacks. They were laughing and chuckling to themselves in low voices, fishing bottles out of the packs.
One man handed Iain a bottle that he accepted gratefully, clapping the man on the back as he passed. It was a tall bottle, wide and dark green in color, filled to the brim with something dark.
Wine.
She watched as Iain brought the bottle to his lips and took one deep swallow. He closed his eyes, a content expression on his face, and took another long sip. She felt his gaze land upon her and looked up as he approached. Iain had one of the rucksacks thrown over his shoulder and set it down on the grass between them.
"Here," he said, offering her the bottle. "If ye want, that is. I didnae think tae bring glasses; most days, the men just sip it straight from the bottle. I cannae think that a lass such as yerself would —"
He stopped short as Isla took the bottle from his hands and took a lengthy swallow herself, the cool glass chilling her lips. She felt him staring at her but kept going, her throat working against the liquid. It slid across her tongue, warming her taste buds and causing her to salivate slightly. When she took the bottle away and handed it back to him, he was looking at her with wide eyes.
"Well, then," he said. "Impressive. A healer who knows how to take her drink. Yer more interestin' than I first took ye for, I suppose, at the verra least."
"Is that a compliment?" she asked. "Out of you? I didnae think that ye had it in ye, m'Laird, but I'll take it all the same."
She had hoped he would take her words as the jest that she meant them as, and he did. The smile did not tug at his lips, but it showed in his eyes. She felt a little prick of satisfaction at his expression.
The wine did well to fill her stomach at first, but her lack of sustenance only allowed the drink to intoxicate her all the quicker. Iain had passed the bottle soundlessly back and forth between them every now and again, and she accepted it each time. She could only pray that the man was successful in finding something,anything, in this dark wood.
When Gamelin came back, it was with not one but two rabbits. The creatures were bound together on the end of a branch he used to transport them. Iain's men were quick about gutting and cleaning the things and skewered them through with the cleaned branch that Gamelin had brought them back on. The meat smelled fantastic over the fire, and it took everything Isla could do to quell another loud rumble from her stomach.
The rabbit meat was dark and delicious, and Isla tore into it with gusto. She had been absolutely starving and ate quickly and wordlessly. Iain had dug out a hunk of bread he'd brought with him, wrapped in cloth, and she'd taken care of that just as swiftly.
"Slow down, lass," he said. "I'm no' tryin' tae starve ye tae death if tha's what ye think."
"So ye say now," she said. "Ye could have brought me food in that horrible dungeon at any time!"
She thought she saw a hint of a smile in his eyes, but just as fast as it appeared, he made sure to sweep it away. He looked more handsome than she already thought him there in that tiny split-second when he'd let himself relax in her presence.
He let himself take another drink, but his eyes did not leave her own. They crinkled in the shadows; the smile was back. She wondered what he was thinking about that could loosen up his features in such a way.
Either way, he was a mystery, even if he did not know it, but one she was not sure she could solve.
Chapter Ten
The young woman was not like he thought she would be, that was for certain.
She was proficient on a horse, she was a healer, enjoyed the wild moors... and she could drink on top of it. He had taken her for the soft sort, someone weepy or cowardly, but she did not shy away from the bandits. She did not attempt to flee, and he had seen a fierce determination in her eye, even if she had cried out in fear.
