Eoin’s patience was running out fast. This wasn’t about them getting killed, it was about Edward getting credit for bringing down MacDowell. He’d barely been able to hide his glee when Eoin had returned from England without him.
But there was more to this than getting MacDowell now. “My son is in there,” Eoin said.
Edward’s gaze sharpened, hearing the warning—or threat—in Eoin’s voice. “That is unfortunate. But I’m sure the boy will not be harmed. He’s MacDowell’s grandson, after all.”
The sneer was unmistakable. Edward would never let Eoin forget that it was his wife and her family who’d been responsible for the death of two of his brothers. Eoin had never blamed him for the sentiment, but something pricked now. He was saved from what would probably have been an ugly exchange of words with his kinsman by the return of the squire. “It’s a fight, my lord,” the lad said. “Between the captain and one of your men-at-arms over a lass.”
“A lass?” Edward asked.
The boy nodded. “Aye, a beautiful one with red hair.”
Eoin’s blood went cold. It couldn’t be. There were a lot of beautiful lasses with red hair. But he couldn’t convince himself that it wasn’t her. He’d half-expected Margaret to defy him. Hell, he was more surprised it had taken her three days to do so.
Trouble.
He left the tent without a word. As soon as he stopped outside he could hear them. But it was what he saw that made his heart drop like a rock at his feet. It was Margaret all right, smack dab in the middle of a brawl. Fury rose inside him. What the hell was she doing? She was going to get herself killed!
Eoin saw the man’s fist fly back, but he was too far away to stop it. All he could do was roar as a primal rage tore through him. He watched in agonizing helplessness as Margaret’s head snapped back, and she flew to the ground with the force of the fist that pummeled into her jaw.
She didn’t move.
Eoin crossed the distance of fifty or so yards in seconds flat. He couldn’t think. A red cloud swarmed in front of his eyes. Like his Viking ancestors before him, he went berserk. He slammed his fist into the captain again and again. He would have killed him had Boyd, Lamont, and Douglas not pulled him off.
It took all three of them.
“What the hell is going on here, MacGowan?” Douglas addressed the tall, dark-haired warrior a few moments later. From his biting tone, it was clear Douglas didn’t like the man.
Slowly the red haze started to dissipate; Eoin’s head cleared. Vaguely he realized that MacGowan had been fighting the captain until Eoin had intervened. Now, however, Eoin was patently aware that this MacGowan had gone over to help Margaret and was carefully easing her up. Suddenly, he could sympathize with Douglas’s animosity.
But Margaret wasn’t looking at the young warrior. She was looking at Eoin. Their eyes met and he could see her fear, her worry, and her concern. For him. “I’m fine,” she whispered.
Eoin’s mouth clamped shut. She wasn’t fine, damn it. She was hurt. Even now he could see the bruise forming on her jaw. God, she could have been killed.
His fists clenched. He must have looked like he was going to finish the job because she added insistently, “It was a misunderstanding, Eoin.”
“Someone better tell me what is going on here,” Edward Bruce demanded. “Who is this woman?”
“My wife,” Eoin said without hesitation, although he knew what the response would provoke.
Edward Bruce’s face turned livid. His gaze slid over Margaret with unrepressed hatred before turning back to Eoin. “What is she doing here? How the hell could you bring a spy into camp?”
Margaret wobbled as she stood, and Eoin would have lurched for her, but MacGowan steadied her. “I’m not a spy,” she said. “I’m here to help free my son.”
Edward ignored her. He turned on Eoin with fury raging in his eyes. “Get the bitch out of here. She is responsible for the deaths of my brothers. She’s a fuckingMacDowell.”
Edward Bruce wasn’t saying anything that Eoin hadn’t thought a hundred times in the past six years. But hearing the words from someone else—especially from Edward—grated on every nerve ending in his body. It was wrong, and Eoin couldn’t let it stand.
He took a threatening step toward Bruce’s second-in-command. “She is also my wife,cousin, and as long as she remains so, you will give her the respect that position deserves. What happened was not Margaret’s fault. She made a mistake but didn’t intend to betray us. If you want someone to blame, blame me.”
It was clear from the look on his face that Edward did. But he’d seen Eoin fight and was wise enough to hold his tongue—or Douglas held it for him by steering the conversation away from Margaret.
“So what happened?” Douglas was looking at MacGowan again with barely contained animosity. “You do know that you can be punished for hitting a superior? Perhaps Carrick should send you home?”
“Stay out of it, Jamie,” MacGowan clipped back at him. Eoin had never heard anyone call Douglas Jamie before. “Besides, I thought you were happy to see me gone from Douglas.”
Douglas clenched his fists and looked like he might strike the other man when Edward intervened. “I’ve told you before to stop interfering, Douglas. MacGowan is my man, and a good soldier. I don’t care about your past—leave it there.” He turned to MacGowan. “But in this case, I’m going to have to agree with him. You better have a damned good excuse.”
“He does,” Margaret said. “He was protecting me.”
