“Nae, tis already late. We have room here an’ I can bring in extra covers-”
“’Tis kind of ye, but we have men waitin’ close by.”
Grace made to stand but the little boy grabbed her waist. “Please, please, dinnae go,” he cried, terror filling his big eyes
Duncan went to him, and took his hands. He seemed terrified of the big man. He was malleable to his request. Still Duncan squatted, his kilt sweeping the newly cleaned floor.
“Ye’re a brave lad. Look at ye family, ye did great today an’ ye will tomorrow. Be afraid, but let yer fear make ye stronger. Grow up, big an’ strong, let nae one ever bully yer family.”
The boy’s face was round with heroic worship. Grace wasn’t even sure he understood half of Duncan’s words. However, Duncanspoke with a deep, confident cadence. The kind that brooked no fear and inspired strength. That was translated to the boy and when Duncan stood, he wiped his tears. He ran back to his grandmother.
A bit of color had returned to the old man’s face. He thanked the troop and waved them off. Grace gave the boy a lasting hug, before walking out behind Duncan. They rode toward the temporary camp, situated in a large grassy clearing. Fires had already gone up. Meals were shared. Bryce took the meat to the cooks, and they joined the feast.
Grace trudged to the tent she would share with Duncan. Easy to pick out with a green and black flag, hoisted at the top. She couldn’t face him. She was deeply disturbed by what she’d witnessed. She’d been knocked down from her elegant, pious pedestal. It was bearable to think about a war, where you were the good guys.
It was hard to accept that the people she was hunting were just like these. That this man, who was obviously from a good family, judging by the quality of his attire and the luxury his troop enjoyed, would stoop to the level of those villagers. That he would treat their wound, clean their home and comfort their child.
Where was the black-hearted monster? The big, bad brute? Where was the culture that was the height of crudeness? They murdered her father. She must remember. She would not let these minor acts of kindness deter her. However, theold woman’s grateful relief and Archie’s firmed chin in the aftermath of Duncan’s encouragement, stayed in her head.
She was sourly displeased.
“Who dae I tae thank fer yer silence, finally?” Duncan teased. He was at the entrance, gazing at her with amusement. She’d not realized he was inside.
Grace dragged a scoff out. She did not want to show him that his actions had moved her in anyway. “Maybe I’m just stunned by yer incredible ability tae cheat.”
He grunted a cuss, shuffling inside. “Ye havenae forgotten about that. I dinnae cheat.”
“Well, there’s definitely somethin’ wrong with yer fightin’.” She said with derision. “’Tis nae proper.”
He came to her side, his eyes locked on hers, and Grace fought off the blush crawling up her neck. “Ye’re certain proper Scottish blood flows in yer veins?”
Grace was lost for words. She scrambled in her brain, searching for the right words. Had he found her out? She looked everywhere but at him. “Crazy,” she managed, the word coming out hoarse.
He hooked a large finger under her jaw, Grace was forced to meet his eyes. “Or that ye’re a proper lass?” he muttered, hiseyes flitting toward her lips before lifting to meet her gaze. Grace swallowed.
“What are ye accusin’ me of?” she murmured. This close, she could not control the racing of her heart, no matter how slow she breathed. Whether because of the man or his words was yet to be confirmed.
“Dae ye have reason tae be guilty?”
“Nay,” Grace croaked. “I’m jus’ sayin’. I could have won.”
“If ye faither was a real Scot or a fighter, he would have taught ye that there are no rules, when it is life an’ death.”
Grace’s gaze sharpened, “what did ye say about me faither?!”
“He dinnae teach ye-”
“Me faither was the best swordsman ever!” Grace exclaimed, nearly screaming at his stupid face. “I willnae have ye disrespect his memory!”
He flinched at her tone, then released her jaw. “I apologize. I misspoke,” he cajoled in a softer tone. He went to sit beside her, taking her hand in his big ones. “Tell me what happened.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Something wet plopped down onto their joined hands. Alarm flickered through Duncan. He was great at giving orders. He was the king at teasing his younger sister, Sheena. But when it came to comforting a woman in tears, he was utterly incapable.
He’d grown used to her ability to retort to any crack he made, but this was new ground. Duncan understood what he had done wrong and he wanted to clobber himself for being a jerk about her father. He wished he could swallow his tongue. She drew a long, shaky breath.
“Tell me,” he said. “Let me share it with ye.”
