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Chapter 15

“You are a vile, wretched man, Lord Licheford.” It was not what Cait had imagined saying to Conrad after she’d slept in his arms all night. But she’d woken up alone, and it had soon become clear that he still intended to send her away.

After dressing, she’d made her way to the fire. Conrad smiled at her, and she could do naught but smile back. But before she even had an opportunity to say, “Good morn,” she noticed the three men already mounted, ready to leave. Her horse at the ready.

“No,” she had said simply.

“Cait Kennaugh,” Conrad said, too quietly. His men pretended to busy themselves with packing up the camp, but she caught their surreptitious glances. They were listening. “You are going back to Licheford with them. ’Tis too dangerous, where we are going.”

She opened her mouth to argue when he added, “Besides, ’tis not proper.”

That garnered more looks from some of the men. She ignored them.

“I will not go.”

There, it was a simple matter. He’d asked. She’d answered.

“You will go with them or find yourself hauled atop your mount.”

His calm tone made his remark all the more infuriating, but it was his next remark that elicited her appraisal of him as vile and wretched.

“And,” he added happily, “if you do not, I will tell your brother when we meet about the matter of Timmy . . .”

She gasped. “You would not?”

His grin said otherwise.

Timmy was a brown hare she’d captured after Terric had steadfastly refused to train her. Cait had begged both her brothers, not caring which weapon they chose. The sword. Dagger. Bow. She’d just wanted to learn how to protect herself. While Rory had somewhat relented, Terric had refused. Said the training yard was no place for her and that it was the men’s job to protect the women.

And so Cait had found her new pet, Timmy. If her brother had been terrified of rabbits since he was a wee babe, that was not Cait’s concern. She made sure everyone knew she was enraptured with the wee thing, and insisted the rabbit accompany her everywhere. Timmy had also found himself accidentally locked inside Terric’s bedchamber on more than one occasion.

She’d told him a servant must have done it.

Only she, and Conrad, knew differently.

Perhaps vile and wretched were a mite too strong, but he was certainly not above using her secrets against her. If Conrad did not play fair, well . . . neither would she.

Turning on her heels, Cait made her way back to the tent before she could think too long on it. Knowing he would be along any moment, she tossed off her mantle, pretending for just one moment that she were Roysa. That she was bold enough to make the man she loved desire her.

When he pulled back the flap, she waited for him to come close. Then, before she could think on what she was doing, Cait opened her mouth ever so slightly and stared at his lips. It was easy to remember how he’d made her feel last eve, when his mouth had slammed against hers. How his tongue had guided her lips to open.

When she bit her bottom lip, it was unplanned. As was the shiver that ran through her when Conrad stared at her that way.

“It will not work.”

Cait did not believe him.

She took a step forward.

“We’ve much to yet”—another step closer—“discuss.”

Cait did not relent, even for a moment. She would not retreat to Licheford. Not now.

Not ever.

She’d retreated for entirely too long.

“Mmm. To discuss.” He watched her, rightfully leery.