Gritting her teeth, Jeannie marched toward them, feeling the strange urge to smash her fist through the nearest window—or his perfect, gleaming white grin. His constant presence was like an itch she couldn’t scratch and her hard-won, even-keeled temperament was starting to suffer.
“I could go with you,” Ella said hopefully. “My father promised to take me hunting next spring if I practiced with my bow.”
Jeannie’s heart caught, hearing the eagerness in her daughter’s voice. Ella missed Francis horribly and in Duncan she’d found not a replacement, but a man to soothe an ache.
“I can hit the target from twenty paces,” she added, chest puffed out and chin tilted high.
Duncan’s lips quirked and Jeannie knew he was fighting a smile. “Twenty paces? A wee thing like yourself? I know laddies twice your size that can only shoot from ten.”
Ella beamed. “Can I go then? Please…?”
She batted her long, dark lashes at him, a clichéd feminine gesture that surely Duncan would see through. Jeannie glanced in his direction.
Oh God. He’s falling for it.
Duncan looked up and saw her, no doubt reading the horror on her face. He sobered and turned back to Ella. “Perhaps another time, lass.”
“No!” Jeannie exclaimed, panic causing her pulse to race frantically. Delay would only encourage her. “You can’t go hunting, Ella. It’s too dangerous. You could get hurt.”
Ella’s dainty features turned mutinous. “You always say that. Dougall went hunting when he was nine.”
Jeannie bit back the response that Dougall was a boy and that hunting was part of his training, knowing it would only make it all the more tantalizing to her daughter. Besides, Jeannie had always detested that explanation when she was a girl and she’d vowed not to use it upon her daughter. Perhaps that was part of the problem. Ella wanted to do everything her brother did.
“Well, you are only seven. When you are nine we will discuss it.” Seeing the argumentative expression on her daughter’s face, Jeannie took a different tact. “Besides, Duncan will not be able to take you hunting as he will be leaving soon.” She turned to Duncan. “Isn’t that right?”
Duncan held her gaze for a moment then turned back to Ella. “Aye, it’s true, lass.”
“But why?” Ella asked. “Why can’t you stay here? I thought my uncle sent you to protect us from the bad men—”
“Beth,” Jeannie interrupted, startling the young nursemaid out of her besotted stupor. Hearing the edge in her voice, Jeannie tempered her tone and forced a smile on her face. The girl had done nothing wrong. “Why don’t you take Ella down to the kitchens? I believe the cook is going to make some biscuits.” She turned to Ella. “Didn’t you say you wanted to help…”
Her voice fell off as Ella jumped off the table and raced to the stairs, the promise of sweets proving a sufficient distraction. Rarely did one thing hold her daughter’s attention for long. Jeannie hoped she would soon add Duncan to that list.
When Ella and Beth were out of earshot she turned back to Duncan. “You have to leave.”
He eyed her intently, ignoring her admonition. “What ‘bad men’? You mentioned some kind of trouble that first day.”
“It’s nothing,” she dismissed. It was none of his concern.
His gaze hardened. “Humor me.”
She was going to refuse, but he would hear about it soon enough—she was surprised he hadn’t already. She sighed, giving him a much-put-upon glare. “Since Francis died there have been increased cattle raids.” She hesitated, wondering whether to say more.
He frowned, one hand absently playing with the handle of his tankard. But Jeannie knew it was all for show—he was anything but relaxed. He was fixed on her. Tension emanated from him like the tentacles of a sea monster ready to wrap around her. “Go on,” he demanded.
She pursed her lips distastefully. “About a month ago the Mackintoshes attempted to abduct me. I believe my newly widowed state and Dougall’s youth has proved something of a lure for unsavory clansmen intent on bettering their fortunes.”
His hand froze, then gripped the handle of the tankard until his knuckles turned white. “Why have you said nothing about this?”
His voice was deadly calm, but it sent shivers of trepidations whispering up her spine. To all outward appearances he was in complete control. But she knew better. She could read the signs of danger surging just under the surface—the slight flex of muscles, the thinning of his lips, the darkening of blue in his eyes. To her he looked like a man ready to kill.
“Because it’s none of your affair,” she said in her haughtiest tone. She didn’t need him to protect her.
His face darkened. He looked like he was going to challenge her assessment of the matter, but instead he said, “That is why you carried a pistol with you to the loch?”
She nodded. And why she was so quick to pull the trigger.
His eyes never left her face. “It’s why you’ve decided to marry again?”
