Eoin didn’t like the sound of that at all. Douglas wasn’t the only one clenching his fists. “From what?” he demanded.
Margaret bit her lip and a soft blush rose to her cheeks. A different kind of swelling rose inside him. “These men mistook me for someone else. MacGowan corrected them, and the captain took offense. When MacGowan wouldn’t defend himself,” she turned to Edward, “I assume because he was following protocol not to fight with a commander, I tried to stop it and got in the way. It wasn’t until after I was struck that he fought back. I hope he will not be punished for my mistake.”
They all understood for whom she’d been mistaken. Eoin would have been furious, if he wasn’t too busy being proud. After the way Edward had verbally attacked her minutes before—not to mention having to admit to being mistaken for a camp follower—Eoin couldn’t help but admire how confidently and matter-of-factly she faced her detractor. It was a glimpse of the girl he’d fallen in love with. The devil-may-care girl who knew her own worth and didn’t care whether those around her agreed.
Even Edward appeared taken aback. He wasn’t wholly unlike his brother, and he, too, had been steeped in chivalry for most of his life. It reappeared now. “I would not punish a man for defending a woman’s honor—any woman’s,” he added.
Margaret didn’t seem to mind, even if Eoin did. She brightened. “Then I think it’s best if we forget all about this.”
She must have sensed Eoin’s gaze on her. She turned and their eyes met. When she bit her lip again, he knew she’d gotten the message: there was no way in hell he was going to forget about this.
Margaret tried to tell herself it didn’t mean anything. But how could she ignore what Eoin had done? He’d come to her defense. Not only had he practically killed that vile captain for striking her (she decided it prudent not to mention how the captain had groped her—the brute had paid enough in broken bones and bruises), Eoin had also told Edward Bruce that it wasn’t her fault.
Had he meant it?
Unfortunately, she knew there was going to be hell to pay before she could find out. She did not mistake the calmness with which he led her to his tent. A storm was brewing inside him, and she was right in the center of it. Why that gave her a thrill, she didn’t know.
By all rights she should be terrified. But big and scary, or brooding and serious, it didn’t matter. She knew he would never hurt her.
Barely had the flap fallen behind them when he turned on her. “What the hell did you think you were doing coming here alone?”
“I assumed you had changed your mind.”
“You assumedwhat?”
She winced at the sound of his raised voice. “You didn’t used to bellow so much.”
From the white lines forming around his mouth she sensed he was quickly running out of patience. “I’d say you didn’t used to be so much trouble, but that wouldn’t be true, would it?”
She couldn’t help smiling. “Probably not. Although I will state—just to be clear—that I am not usually trouble anymore.”
He made a sharp sound of disbelief. “What in Hades made you think I changed my mind?”
She pushed back the edges of the cloak to hold out the dress and beamed. “Why this beautiful dress, of course. I assumed it was your way of apologizing for being such an ars—” She stopped, as if the word had been a slip, which they both knew it wasn’t. She smiled. “Such a bully.”
He didn’t seem to appreciate the amended word any better than the first. “You know very well it wasn’t an apology.”
“It wasn’t?” She quirked a brow in mock surprise. “Well, it should have been.” She gave him a long look. “Is everything all right? You seem to be a little tense.”
His eyes flared, and she almost regretted baiting him. But she hadn’t had this much fun in...
Her heart squeezed. Almost seven and a half years. Since those first days of their marriage.
“I should have let you stay dressed as a nun. Maybe you wouldn’t have every man within a hundred yards panting after you.”
She shrugged indifferently. “Maybe.” There was only one man she’d ever wanted that kind of attention from. But he no longer wanted her.
Or did he?
Glancing over his hard-wrought control and tautly held body, she wondered.
“I’m taking you back to the convent.”
She shook her head. “I’ll just keep coming back. You’ll have to have them lock me in.”
“Don’t tempt me,” he snapped.
Margaret had taken a quick glance around the wood-framed canvas tent, scared of what she might see. She drew a deep breath and forced herself to take closer inspection and was more relieved than she wanted to admit to see no signs of a female presence.
