She caught his arm before he could walk away. “Why did you stop like that? Did I do something wrong?”
His jaw clenched, his steel-blue gaze meeting hers. “Not now, Janet. We need to move higher into the hills. They will not have given up the hunt.”
“Perhaps not, but unless you think they are right behind us, surely you can spare me a few minutes? Do I not deserve some kind of explanation?”
His expression turned pained. “You did nothing wrong. It was my fault. It never should have happened.”
“Why not?”
His eyes flared hot. “Because it’s not right. Your innocence belongs to your husband, damn it.”
Janet stiffened, trying not to overreact or be disappointed. His reaction was understandable—that was how most men thought. But she didn’t want him to think like most men. She wanted him to see her for herself and not as a possession or accessory. Was that too much to ask?
At times she could almost be convinced he was different. That his unreasonableness was just a result of inexperience. That he didn’t know any better, but that once he got to know her, he would see her as…what? Capable. Certainly not a virgin to be bartered and sold like a prized cow.
“My innocence belongs to me,” she said firmly. “It is mine to lose or not.”
“I wish that were true. But it isn’t that simple, Janet. You are the daughter of an earl and the sister-in-law of the king. Your husband will expect—”
“What husband? I am not married, nor do I ever intend to be.”
Her vehemence took him aback. “You sound so certain.”
She lifted her chin. “I am.”
“You can’t seriously be considering becoming a nun?”
After what had just happened, it sounded just as implausible to her. But she would do what she must. “If that is my only alternative to marriage.”
“You make marriage sound like a death sentence. Would it really be so horrible?”
She thought of her family. Yes, it would be. How could she explain? How could she make him understand what to him—to most men—must seem unnatural? “I would lose myself.”
His brow wrinkled. “How?”
“I would no longer have the ability to control my own actions. Everything—even the smallest decision—would be controlled by my husband. My will would no longer be my own. I have no wish to be treated like chattel.”
He frowned. “It’s not always like that.”
She lifted a brow. “So you know of many men who treat their wives as equals?”
His frown deepened. “A few.”
Her heart skipped forward. Did that include him? “And would you allow your wife the power to make her own decisions even if they did not agree with yours?”
“We aren’t talking about me.”
“No, we aren’t,” she said quietly, her heart squeezing with unexpected disappointment. She couldn’t have been thinking of him as a husband, could she? “But you wished to know my reasons, and you are a perfect example. You’ve made your feelings about what I’m doing quite clear. By what right could I expect another man to feel differently? Can you imagine a husband permitting me to continue my work?”
His mouth tightened mulishly. “Your work is dangerous.”
“So I need to be protected from myself, is that it?” Not surprisingly, he didn’t answer. She decided to turn the question back on him. “Why are you so sure I shouldn’t be doing this? Why do you have such little regard for women—or is it just me?”
He appeared shocked. “Jesus, Janet, just because I don’t think it’s safe for you to wander all over Scotland by yourself in the middle of a war, doing something that could get you killed if you are discovered, doesn’t mean I think less of you. Bloody hell, you’ve proved yourself to anyone after today. You’ve done as well as any man.” Her chest lifted at his words. He had no idea how much they meant to her. “But being a woman makes you vulnerable in different ways. When I think of what could happen to you…” His face darkened, and his eyes took on a haunted glaze. “Damn it, do you have any idea what the English would do to you if they found out what you were doing?”
There was something more at work here than simply his view on traditional roles for men and women. Obviously, he was speaking from personal experience. “Tell me what happened.”
His jaw clenched so tightly she could see the muscle below it start to tic. “It was a few years ago—not long after we landed in Scotland after being forced to take refuge in the Isles for a few months.” She swallowed. It was when her brother Duncan had been killed. “We were being hunted, the tide had not yet turned, and a handful of villagers—mostly women and children—helped to hide us in the hills. The English found out, and when we returned to thank them,” his eyes met hers, “there wasn’t anyone left to thank. The women had been raped and beaten before they’d had their throats slit. Only one lass survived.”
