“Please do not scold her,” she whispered, because even Duncan’s calm voice frightened her now.
Duncan’s gaze flicked to Matilda, and Charity saw him register her fear, saw him tighten his jaw as if irritated with himself rather than with her. “I am not scolding,” Duncan said, andthough it was still firm, his tone softened a fraction. “I am telling her the truth.”
Charity could not bear the way Matilda flinched at the sound of him, so she shifted forward, leaning slightly across Matilda as if her own body could block fear. “Enough,” Charity said, and though she kept it quiet, there was a decision in it. “Augusta, you will not step out again, and you will not speak as if Duncan harmed you, because he did not, and because if he had not been there, you would be on the back of a horse right now with your wrists tied.”
Augusta’s eyes flashed, but the color in her face faded again as the reality of that settled.
Charity turned to Duncan. “You will not frighten them more than they already are; they have seen enough…”
“Then do not let them put themselves in the path of danger,” Duncan said.
Charity’s jaw tightened.He was right.
The rest of the ride was stiff and quiet, broken only by the sound of the wheels, the occasional sniffling from Matilda, and the shallow breaths Augusta took as she tried to regain control of herself.
When the carriage finally stopped a little way down the road, not at an inn this time but at a small clearing where the treesbroke enough to give them space, Duncan’s hand went to the door latch, and he stepped out first, scanning the road as if he expected the mercenaries to return.
Charity followed, and Duncan turned, and before she could step down properly, his hand came up to her elbow, steadying her, firm but not rough. Augusta watched it with narrowed eyes, and Matilda stared at her lap as if she did not want to see anything that might upset her.
Charity stepped onto the road and drew her cloak tighter, then turned to Duncan.
“Are you hurt?” she asked, seeing the blood on his knuckles and it made her stomach twist.
“It is nothing,” Duncan said, and he sounded irritated by the question.
“It is not nothing if it is yours,” Charity replied.
Duncan’s gaze sharpened. “Come,” he said, and before she could ask what he meant, he took her by the forearm and guided her a few steps away from the carriage, far enough that the sisters could not hear clearly, though Charity knew they would still watch.
“What are you doing?” Charity asked, and she tried to keep her voice even. “If you mean to scold me, then you might as well doit where they can hear, because they already think you are going to eat them alive.”
Duncan stopped and turned to face her.
“Were you hurt?” Duncan asked, and the question came out blunt, as if he were asking about a broken wheel rather than a woman.
Charity blinked, caught off guard by that being the first thing he said. “No,” she replied. “I am not hurt, and neither is Augusta, and that is what matters.”
Duncan’s gaze moved over her face, lingering for a moment on the bruise still visible on her cheek, then dropping to her arms as if checking for hidden marks, and Charity found, to her own surprise, that the scrutiny felt less like judgment and more like concern.
“You stepped in front of her,” Duncan said. “You stepped straight into a man’s path.”
“She is my sister,” Charity replied, and the sentence came out simple because there was nothing else to say. “I was not going to stand there while she was struck.”
“And if he had struck you,” Duncan said, and for the first time, there was a hint of edge in his voice that sounded less like command and more like anger held tightly in check. “If he had broken your jaw, if he had knocked you down and trampled you,if he had dragged you by your hair before I could reach you, what would your sisters have done then?”
“I did not think,” she admitted, because she could not pretend otherwise. “I saw his arm, and I moved, and that was all.”
Duncan stared at her, and his jaw clenched. “That is the problem, you keep moving first and thinking later.”
Charity’s temper stirred, not hot, but tired.
“I am only trying to protect my sisters.”
“I am doing it now,” Duncan said.
Charity’s chest rose and fell quickly, and she hated that he could probably see it. “You are, and I do not ignore that, and I am grateful, but you cannot expect me to watch my sister be harmed while I stand behind you like an obedient shadow.”
“I do not expect you to be a shadow,” Duncan said. “But at least do not be reckless. You frightened me by stepping into danger as if you were disposable, and I am not interested in protecting a woman who insists on throwing herself into a blade.”
