He felt her become even more tense than before. “Why is that important?” she asked.
“Because it might help me discover who killed him.”
“You still claim that it was not your clan?”
“Just answer me, lass,” Alistair said.
Jane sighed. “He was stabbed in the back.”
Alistair pulled away from her slightly, and she was forced to look up at him. “I didnae kill him. And it is not likely that any man from me clan did.”
Jane scoffed. “Of course you would deny it.”
“I have never denied a kill in my life. Everyone that has died by me sword deserved it, and I would proudly declare it before anyone. I dinnae lie. I didnae kill yer uncle.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“The men of Clan Fletcher dinnae stab people in the back. It is a dishonorable thing fer a soldier tae dae. One of the most dishonorable, in fact.”
“In England, I heard a lot about honor in war. But it is a ruse, is it not? Men have no need for honor when they are desperate to win, to vanquish, to plunder. They would do whatever needs to be done to attain victory. I am staring at a perfect example. You. You captured me, an unassuming female with no fault in your war, simply to use me. Is that honorable?”
“Aye,” he said simply. “In the period in which ye have been in me charge, has any harm come tae ye, save that which ye inflicted upon yourself by ye stubbornness?” His voice was raised at the end.
“Come now,” she hissed, “did you expect me not to try to escape a bloodthirsty, murderous bunch of marauders who were carrying me off to the middle of nowhere?”
“There are a lot of words on that small tongue of yours. Be careful that they dinnae land ye in trouble that ye cannae claw yer way out of.” His eyes flashed with warning, and her fascinating green eyes blinked. He’d succeeded in scaring her a little.
Good.
“I still maintain,” she said, surprising him, “that a man who kills scores of men cannot be bound by honor.”
“I have told ye,” He said slowly. “I didnae dae it.” He paused. “Years ago, me faither was killed in a battle against an enemy clan. Clan Fletcher was winning the battle. Me faither was the most valorous man that I have ever met. He was in his prime, still. His swordsmanship was legendary. He had never been defeated. But then, in that battle, an enemy soldier maneuvered his way behind him and struck him in the back with a knife.”
Jane’s eyes, those limpid green pools, were on him. She was listening with rapt attention.
“I saw everything,” he continued. “But it was too late tae help him. From that day, as I bent over me faither’s body and watched his life seep from him, I promised meself that I would never kill a man in that way, nor let any of me men dae so.”
Jane was still, except for her breathing and her blinking. There was no way of telling what she felt about what he had relayed to her, for her emotions were locked behind those eyes. He stared into them now. “Yer eyes are really green,” he said. “Like the forest on a sunny day.”
He saw surprise, then disbelief, flash across her face. “Ye dinnae believe me, Jane Marsh?”
“My father hates the color of my eyes.”
Alistair scoffed. “Daeshehave eyes?”
“Yes,” Jane replied. “Black ones. My sister, as well.”
“Yer sister hates the color of your eyes, too?”
“Oh, no,” Jane said. “She is a perfect angel. No, I meant, her eyes are black as well.”
“It was yer maither that gifted ye such beautiful eyes, then,” Alistair said.
“No,” Jane said. “I am told she had brown eyes.”
Alistair was about to comment on the fact that Jane had said ‘I am told,’ and ‘had,’ but she asked suddenly, “Did you say my eyes are beautiful?”
“Yes,” Alistair. “It would be a sorrow tae humanity fer ye nae tae ken.”
