Malcolm stared at her as though she had asked something impossible.
“England’s far,” he said finally, and his gaze flicked toward the woods. He said something under his breath in Gaelic, then lifted his head and shouted.
“Who are you calling?” Charity tensed immediately.
“The man I answer to,” he said. “He’ll ken what to do.”
“Oh…” Charity said, feeling a shudder go down her spine. So, there was someone else in charge.
With great difficulty, Charity propped herself up and stepped back to put a little more distance between herself and Malcolm, but the step made her dizzy again. Her vision blurred slightly at the edges.
You must not faint,she told herself, clutching at the rosary of her necklace again. In a strange environment, it did a lot to bring her some comfort. All she could think of was how to return to York and to her family. Somehow, her problems regarding a forced marriage to her cousin seemed small in comparison to whatever quagmire she had found herself in now.
But before any more words could be exchanged, a man appeared between the trees. When Charity looked at him, her heart seemed to stop for a moment.
The man was tall and broad. He had a threatening aura to him, which confirmed that this was the man in charge, even though no words had been exchanged yet. He had on a dark coat, whichseemed to resemble his expression, and there was a roughness to him that she had not seen before, at least not in the gentleman she came across in England.
And then, of course, he was covered in scars. The sight of them made her flinch and then become curious all at once. It was so strange that she was having such a visceral reaction to this man.
Malcolm straightened immediately, making it clear that he was to be respected.
“Yer Grace.”
The larger man spoke to Malcolm first, in Gaelic, which Charity did not quite understand. Malcolm answered quickly, gesturing toward the arrow, then toward Charity. She shuddered visibly in response when his eyes landed on her.
Is he going to hurt me?Something in her heart said that he was safe, even though there was no indication that she was correct about such a thing.
When he spoke to her, it was proper English but with a Highland burr.
“You’re awake,” he said.
“Who are you? Where am I?” she stuttered out her questions.
The man didn’t answer and instead looked at her clothes and the state that she was in.
“Who are you?” he asked as though she had not asked him anything first.
“No, you answer first. If I’ve been kidnapped and brought here, then you tell me where I am and why,” Charity felt herself growing stubborn. Usually, she held more patience than this, but it was hard to do so under the current circumstances in which she had found herself in.
Besides, there was just something about this man that seemed to set off something inside of her. An immediate emotional reaction, even though she did not even know his name.
Strange.
“You’re on my land,” he said, narrowing his eyes at her.
“Then are you the one who brought me here?”
“No,” he said after a pause, offering no further explanation.
“Then who did?” Charity pressed, feeling her mind spin again.
The man watched her for a long moment, and Charity felt the distrust thicken, and Malcolm shifted behind him, uneasy.
“Tell me your name,” he said again, and it did not sound like a request in the slightest.
“I want to know if you had anything to do with bringing me here. Tell me who you are,” she sighed. He did not look like someone who took instruction, and it felt futile to even ask.
“Duncan,” he replied after a moment. It surprised Charity that he even bothered to reply, as she was certain that he would ignore her. But it was enough to give her encouragement to ask him the next question.
