“You prefer men whofollowrules,” he clarified, “like those soldiers at the loch?”
Amelia shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. He waschallengingher basic beliefs again, which troubled her, because she was lost and alone here in this wild, foreign land. Her father was dead. If she did not have a civilized home to return to, how could she ever survive this ordeal?
“Must we come back to that?”
“Aye, if you’lladmit that being English and having good table manners does not make a man decent or give him honor.”
Wondering if it was even possible to win an argument with this man, she pursed her lips. “Al right, Iwillconcede that point. How could I not? You are right. Those men were savages. How many times must I admit that to you?”
“The officer, too. He was the worst. Say it, lass.”
“I already did,” she replied irritably, “but I’llsay it again, if itwillmake you drop the subject. They were savages. The officer especial y.”
Duncan leaned back.«Welldone, lassie. You’re making progress. Remember what I said to you that first day, when we stopped in the glade?”
Of course she remembered:Before I’m done with you, I’llmake you see that your English officers in their fancy redcoats can be just as savage as any Scot …
After a moment, he added, “But you should know that we have rules in Scotland, too. The clans are not without them.
Wefollowthe word of the chief.”
“Andyoushould know that notallEnglishmen are like those soldiers.”
As they rode on, she reflected upon the lesson Duncan was trying to teach her and knew he was right in many respects. One had to look deeper, beneath the layers of clothing and appearances—even beyond behaviorsometimes—to truly understand a man’s heart. She had always been aware of the principleintellectually, of course, but she had never been sochallenged by the actual feat of understanding a man who was not from her world.
She pondered also what she had been through over the past few days—how she had been stripped bare in front of this Highland warrior, bound and gagged, abducted by force.
She’d slept in a cave and eaten freshlykilledrabbit. To top italloff, she’d almost bludgeoned him to death with a rock the night before. She had not known she was capable of any of that.
How then could she believe that she knew any man’s heart when she did not even truly understand her own?
She thought of Beth and her children and their warm, comfortable home. It was a simple, peaceful life they led, yet Beth’s elderly father had fought in many battles and lost loved ones in a brutal massacre initiated by her own countrymen.
Then final y, there was the image of Duncan—her fierce and violent captor—rising up out of a bath, dripping with glistening droplets of water. He was strong and rough and virile. A savage? Perhaps. But an impossibly handsome one, and heroic, in his own way. Intel igent, aswell.
She thought again ofallthe evidence of his warrior life.…
“Are those scars painful?” she asked.
He paused. Turner tossed his head and shook his long black mane. “Aye. Sometimes one in particularwillache for no reason, and itwillbring me back to the moment I was cut.
I know every wound by heart—where I was when I received it, what army I was fighting for, and against. I can evenrecallthe eyes of the man who slashed me, and whether or not Ikilledhim in defense of my own life.”
“What about the one that’s shaped like a crescent moon?”
she asked. “It looks like it must have been very deep. Where did that come from?”
He paused. “Ifelldown the side of a mountain when I was a lad. Tumbled and bounced like a stone.”
She turned quickly in the saddle. “My word. How terrible.”
“Aye, straight down the rocky side of a gorge. I broke my wrist, too, and had to set the bone in place myself.”
She winced painful y, just listening to the story. “How old were you?”
“Ten.”
“Good heavens. But why were you alone on a mountain?
