Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Tearloch had just pulled Kenna’s horse onto the road when Jamie found them and led them to camp.
Thankfully, it wasn’t far. While trying to reach the king’s sister before she reached Gowry Keep, Tearloch and his company hadn’t slept for two days, and it took effort not to slump off his horse and crawl under the nearest bush to lose consciousness.
He was sure Duncan, sore from a fresh kicking, felt the same. Men were scattered around two campfires, cleaning weapons, cooking. Some were already asleep, preparing for a late watch, with nothing but a folded elbow to cushion their heads.
As the trio rode into their midst, the rest of them jumped to their feet.
He followed their gazes and was not pleased to find them studying Kenna’s bare calves and feet.
Her seat astride her horse kept her lower extremities from cover and he had an urge to snatch her to the ground.
Her boots were tied together and hung over Duncan’s saddle, where they would remain, otherwise she would not have been so exposed.
He hoped that without reins or boots, she would not get away again.
The woman petulantly kept her arms folded, refusing to hold onto anything for balance, and Tearloch accepted it for what it was—a last act of defiance. If he were not so weary, he would laugh.
The stiff way Duncan dismounted looked like he had taken the beating she deserved, but no one would dare suggest it. The men turned to Tearloch for an explanation, but everyone would be going to sleep unsatisfied. Better they remain wary and on their toes where Kenna Carlisle was concerned.
Of course, she wasn’t a Carlisle and had never been one. But she would have to learn that later.
“Jamie, make a tent for the lass. She’s fainted again and needs to recover. Monroe, get her some food. Leland,” he paused while lifting her down. He glared into her eyes, trying to ignore the pouting mouth just inches below, “I need…rope.”
Tossing the reins of his horse to another man, he grabbed a wool roll from behind the saddle as it was led away. He pulled another from her mount and threw it to her.
The adept catch surprised him, but he showed no signs of it. He expected her to catch it. He expected her to follow him, to obey him. More than likely she believed if she turned his world around, she would get her freedom. If that were true, she was in for a surprise herself.
He gestured for her to follow Jamie. The lass smiled and moved off in the correct direction, Saints be praised.
Duncan also saw the smile and rolled his eyes to the stars and back. “I’ll not put up with any more of yer shenanigans this night, milady!” When Tearloch glared at him, he shrugged carefully. “Well, I’ll not.”
The woman turned back. “It is dark, sir. What do you fear I will do?”
Her question was as innocent and sweet as her smile.
Tearloch sensed an unfair fight coming and Duncan was not well favored.
The image of a chamber pot came to mind.
Quickly, he closed the distance to her and tugged at her arm to pull her away, but she slipped out of his grasp and planted her feet. “Well?”
“I have never feared a day in my life until meeting ye, milady,” Duncan snarled. Tearloch’s warning scowl had no effect and the man did not hesitate to step forward, hell bent on a fight.
Duncan’s voice rose with every admission. “Now I fear we will never see our homes again, though they are but a day’s ride from here. I fear there is not a sound thought in yer head. I fear I shall strangle ye in yer sleep!”
“Duncan!” Tearloch shouted. And when his captain did not flinch, he wondered if the man were going deaf in his dottering, or if Tearloch had but shouted in his mind.
He’d been witness to Duncan’s unleashed temper on many occasions, had even felt pity for a few men who had deserved the man’s wrath, but he could not allow his friend to destroy the spirit of his bride-to-be.
She was the king’s sister, after all. Princess of Scotland by blood.
He was halfway to reminding his friend of that fact when she opened her mouth.
“What would you do in my position, sir? Oblige a horde of unknown men because they claim to be following the king’s orders? You would have me meek and foolish?”
“This horde has the king’s writ, with his seal,” Duncan parried.
“And how would I know the king’s seal?”
She had him there.
Tearloch’s mind scrambled for something to say, but he found only the frustration of the mute.
Duncan had no such difficulty. “Ye should trust us because of our actions. Ye have been saved from an awful fate at Gowry’s hands. That alone should prove us worthy.”
The combatants had adopted a reasonable tone, but the rest gawked like they were shouting. His men were a well-behaved audience. Attentive. Silent. Patient. As was Tearloch, without the patience, of course.
“You must think me a great fool, Duncan, if you believe I would place my trust so lightly. No doubt Gowry had many enemies that might wish to use me as some pawn.”
Her hair tossed back and forth with each gesture and toyed with the reflection of both fires, enflaming her head all around. Her eyes were black with small specks of light that flashed as she spoke. How could he ever hope to speak aught but gibberish in her fiery presence?
The lass calmed herself and folded her arms, but fought on. “For all I know, you were already set on killing Gowry and it had naught to do with me. Or, you may be leading me to my own execution. A woman of Macbeth’s blood raised me. Is King Malcolm set on spilling mine?”
Duncan again rolled his eyes. “Ye’re a ward of the king, milady. Ye’re to be protected—even if it needs be from yerself!”
“Only until I can be brought before him. Isn’t that right, Laird and Master?” She looked at Tearloch and his heart leapt. “I’m to be brought before the king and only then be told of my fate? Is that correct?”
He could only eek out an “Aye.” His temporary cure had well and truly worn off. If there was any hope of getting another word out, he would need to touch her. He moved forward to do just that, but she must have seen it as a threat because she sidled away.
He expelled a breath he had not intended to hold.
“So you see, Duncan. I verra well may be fighting for my life, and you would condemn me for it. I am sorry you were hurt when I set my horse on you, but I will never regret fighting for myself.”
The lass looked at the other faces around her, as if seeing them for the first time. His men looked as fatigued and resigned as he must. The fight had even left Duncan, since he’d squatted and turned his attention to the meat cooking over the fire nearest him.
“I vow I will not try to escape tonight, if that will allow you all to rest easier,” she offered.
“Ah, but milady,” said Kincaid. “What else would ye have us believe if ye intended to do just that?” asked Kincaid.
She laughed and shook her head. “There is nothing for it then. I tried.” She turned to follow Jamie once again, but Tearloch stood in her path. His retort should have come sooner, but he was just now capturing his thoughts. When she bumped into him, he once again found his tongue.
He let her find her own balance, and waited with arms crossed over his chest. With his glower he proved the conversation was not yet over. “Milady, you have insulted the King of Scotland.”
She merely blinked at him.
“As his champion and friend, I assure ye he is not one to spill the blood of innocents. I insist ye cease believing ye’re in danger.”
She laughed!
How dare she?
Had he completely lost his ability to intimidate? Finally, after tossing a quick wink in Kincaid’s direction, she answered. “Ah, but sir, what else would ye have me believe if the king intended to do just that?”
She had used Kincaid’s argument, but Tearloch was not to be teased where his liege was concerned. He grabbed her upper arms and pulled her to his chest. If touching her had such an effect on him, perhaps touching him would work some magic on her.
“Ye will not be harmed,” he promised, but his voice was harsh with fatigue.
He knew he handled her roughly while at the same time declaring she was safe, but he was too weary to be reasonable.
“I swear upon my honor that I will protect ye with my life. And so will my men. If the king were to declare yer life forfeit, I would defy him. For the first time in my life, I would defy King Malcolm of Scotland to see ye safe. I swear it on the blood of Christ.” And even as he said it, he knew it was true—he would protect her from her own brother if need be.
And she trusted him; he could read it in her eyes. Though she may not believe her king wished her no harm, she was at least convinced of her safety while at Tearloch’s side. Perhaps the conviction would keep her from running again.
As he held her near, her gaze fell to his mouth.
Ever so naturally, yet again, he judged the distance to her lips and began the descent.
The top of her head came only to his shoulder, so he had a fair way to go.
But with adequate time to avoid the embrace, those beautiful lips merely softened and opened with an anticipation that made his heart race.
After the fleetest kiss that turned his blood to fire, she turned her head away, and it took great effort not to wrap his arms around her and close his eyes.
“I trust nothing to Christ, sir,” she confessed, pulling him from his warm reverie. “And I do not believe you can give your word of honor if you cannot even give me your name.”
He leaned back but did not release her. She held no faith in Christ? He could not know how hard her life had been. How minor his own struggles. The loss of his father, of some comrades in arms—despite all of it, he had found no fault with God, only with himself.
So what might have happened to Kenna at the hands of Agatha Carlisle, among those odd women in even odder clothing, who feared Agatha more than the king?
Whatever it was, he had the rest of their lives to make it up to her.
How strange, after but a day, to feel so protective of one woman. Had they taken her from the Carlisles years ago, when they collected Malcolm, would he have ended up feeling the same for her? It was much to think on, this idea that somehow they may have been fated from the beginning.
So he thanked God enough for both of them.
A searing in his veins flowed from his hands, up his arms, and collected in his heart. He cautiously offered her a small sacrifice, a piece of the secret he had vowed to keep. “Ye will call me Tearloch. And ye will believe me.”
“Thank you, Tearloch. I promise to try.”
Finally, she would stop calling him Laird and Master. But it was not enough. One day soon, she would call him Tearloch, my love.