Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
When Kenna reached the clearing, she tried her best not to favor her injured foot and headed for the fire on the right.
Tearloch reclined near the other. His scowl was directed behind her, likely at Frazier, who begrudgingly took a seat on the opposite side of the fire from her.
He held up both his hands and shook his head, silently claiming innocence for anyone looking his way.
Monroe moved from a large log to offer Kenna a seat. Her chills had nothing to do with the temperature, and she fought to keep from looking out into the darkness. Every once in a while, however, she couldn’t help it. Between the fear of wolves and the stares from Tearloch, she could hardly relax.
Of course, he didn’t miss a thing. Every time she would shift to obstruct his view of her, he would shift so he could see her clearly.
With nothing much they could discuss in front of a lady, the others near her fire began to drift away to find their beds, allowing fewer and fewer obstacles between Tearloch and herself.
Kincaid sat closest, and Kenna was grateful this man had no aversion to her.
After Tearloch and Duncan, the others seemed to respect this one the most, but it was a different kind of respect.
She had the feeling Kincaid was the most dangerous of them all.
But if that were so, wouldn’t he be the king’s champion?
Perhaps Tearloch was more dangerous than she had imagined.
“Kincaid, is that right?”
“Sir Kincaid, my lady.” His correction of her was not a haughty statement, just an informative one.
“My apologies, Sir Kincaid. May I ask you something? I warn you, you may be offended, but I do not intend you to be.”
She had his full attention.
“I am not easily offended.”
“Excellent. Here it is, then. How much is a maidenhead worth?” She willed herself not to blush.
He cleared his throat, the first nervous act the man had made all day. “Men and women do not discuss such things.”
“Oh, I see,” she said, feigning disappointment. “I have insulted you after all. Forgive me, I only wanted an honest answer and thought you would be the one who could provide it. But if you would rather not discuss it, I’m sure someone else could—”
“I do not recommend asking the others. Every man will have a different value for such a thing, milady.” The two of them looked up to find Jaimie and Leland staring, wide eyed, from ten feet away.
Jamie managed to speak first. “Did she just ask Kincaid—”
“Aye, she did, boy.” Leland’s face was as orange as his hair, and not from the firelight as the pair joined them.
Kenna had no choice. She would have three opinions. “I only want to know if a…a…”
“A maidenhead…” Leland prompted.
“Yes, well. I wanted to know how much a maidenhead is worth. Is it worth the same as a horse, let’s say?” She paused only slightly before going in for the kill. “Or a man’s life?”
Kincaid nodded, ready with an answer. “If ye consider how many men have been killed over the taking of a maidenhead, I would say that at times, it is worth a man’s life.”
Jamie shook his curls. “Of course, a horse is another matter entirely.” And of course Jamie would think so, considering the magnificent beast he owned. She was going to have to be more specific.
“But as to it’s worth, how much could a woman, say, sell it for?”
“Well, now.” Leland cleared his throat. “Some women sell themselves for a piece of siller. Others sell themselves much cheaper. Or so I’ve heard.” He shuffled his feet in the dirt, dislodged a stone and tossed it into the embers. The flames grew taller, adding yellow to his orange cheeks.
“But I’m not talking about a leman.” How much more plain need she be?
“Well, then. If she were a lady, ye ken,” drawled Duncan’s voice from the darkness behind her, “she could sell it for naught, as it would not be hers to sell, my lady. It belongs to her father, or guardian, and is his to barter away, not hers. But dinna let me interrupt.” He stood on the edge of their intimate circle, arms crossed, clearly intending to remain for the duration of the discussion.
“Perhaps ye should tell us why you ask,” urged Kincaid. “We’ll tell you the straight of it.”
Fine. Duncan be damned. She needed questions answered while these men were still at hand. Who knew what tomorrow would bring?
“Would I be able to pay someone with my…maidenhead…for doing a service for me?” The brutes said nothing, but waited for more. “Would a man help me kill another man if I paid him…in that way? Would it be worth a man’s life?”
Duncan’s eyes were narrow. His face alight with more than the meager flames at their feet. She prepared herself for his mockery, but he surprised her.
“Milady, who is this condemned man? Perhaps I would agree to such an offer.”
Kenna gasped, imagining Duncan coming to her bed, demanding payment. But her harsh breathing was but a portion of the chorus around her. They all suffered from the same malady!
She remembered that Englishman who had tried to rape her when she was 16.
He had been affected just as these men were now.
His eyes had glazed in just such a manner, his breathing harsh.
Beyond the reach of the dying fire, she sensed others listening, reacting, and she imagined being surrounded by a pack of real wolves would feel much the same.
“Give me the man’s name, milady, and why ye wish him dead.” Duncan cleared his throat violently. “I was but teasing ye, but I will have his name. Did he try to kiss ye? Did he kill yer puppy?”
Here was the mockery she’d expected, but it was strained, somehow. The man stood with his feet braced, never looking away from her. His smile sinister.
“What did he do?” he asked again.
“My brother died at his hands, if you must know. My only brother. I was only eight years at the time. Sander was but twelve. I begged the man not to take him away. Then I vowed that if he didn’t bring him back to me, I would see him dead for it.”
If it were possible, Duncan looked even more dangerous. Did he have no compassion? Was the vow of a female so trivial?
“His name, milady. If ye please.”
Tearloch had had enough of watching his men panting after his bride-to-be.
He had no idea what they discussed around the other fire, but it drew an audience—a decidedly aroused crowd, from the looks of it.
How she could hold the attention of such weary men was a mystery.
But then again, she had his attention as well.
He would have marched over and taken things in hand, but he was far too weary. And each time he imagined plucking her from the crowd, he could see those big dark eyes questioning him, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to form an answer.
Moments ago, Duncan had appeared at the other fire. Surely they would all disperse now and he could take her to the tent without the need for conversation.
“Commander?” Duncan’s tone had him on his feet instantly. “Best join us.”
Tearloch stomped to the other fire, hopefully looking much angrier than he felt. Every man came to his feet, and all were now glaring at the woman who had enthralled them only moments before. He would have laughed at their fecklessness had he not also vacillated so many times that day.
Duncan nodded. “Tell him Jamie, so he doesnae suspect me of exaggeratin’.”
“Yes, Jamie. Tell me.”
Tearloch twitched nary a hair while Jamie recited the fireside conversation. Duncan interrupted at the end. “Ask her the name of the dead man, Tearloch. Go on with ye. Ask her.”
When Kenna refused to offer it again, the crowd around her announced in unison, “The MacPherson!”
“That’s right, lad. She’s willing to pay any man daft enough to try to kill the MacPherson.”
“Not just any man,” the lass said in her own defense, her attention on her hands. When her comment met with silence, she dared look up. “I suppose there are MacPhersons among you?”
“No,” Tearloch answered, effectively silencing them all as he looked around the ring of men poised to defend him from a woman. His woman.
He was pleased he could speak at all, and if he didn’t look directly at her, he could keep on. “But we know of them. They are not easy men to kill,” he told the fire.
Still the petulant child, she argued, “But I only want to kill the one.”
“But he’d be the hardest—”
“The meanest—”
“The most dangerous—"
“Enough!” Tearloch could only take so much praise. “We will speak no more of this tonight. Come, lass. It’s back to the tent with ye.” He hauled her to her feet. As soon as their bare hands met, he relaxed and looked into her eyes. “Why can ye not stay where ye’re put?”
“There were no wolves near the fire,” she answered. “And if you’ll stop puttin’ me, I’ll cease disappointing you.”
Tearloch closed his eyes. “Monroe, where is the rope?”
“Here,” Monroe said, dashing forward, handing over a large coil.
“You wouldn’t,” she hissed.
The men looked at Tearloch to make sure he kept his resolve, he supposed.
Duncan took a nervous step toward them.
“It’ll be fine,” Tearloch assured him, knowing that the older man felt his life was in danger. “Come,” he said again, tugging at her hand.
When she shook her head, Tearloch merely let go and nodded at Big Rabbie who was standing off in the shadows. When the giant nodded in answer, Tearloch turned toward the tent.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he heard her say to the big man.
“After today, milady” came Duncan’s voice, “he may want to hurt ye.”
Tearloch feigned a deaf ear to Duncan, but heard every step of the lass’s bare feet as she scurried in his direction. He should tell her not to worry about his old friend’s bark—that he was a wolf with no teeth, except in battle, of course. But mayhap she would behave better if she didn’t know.
“Where do ye want me, my laird?” she asked in a weak voice when she arrived behind the tent.
He secured rope to the tree at one end. “Just Tearloch.”
“Tearloch,” she amended, her voice shaking.
“On your bed then. But take off the tunic first.”
When she complied without argument, he wondered if she were indeed afraid of Big Rabbie. He hadn’t said to take off her clothes, just her tunic, but he could sense her trepidation. There was a shaking to her breath, as if her teeth would chatter if she allowed them near each other.
“Where will you sleep?”
“With you.” Let her worry now. He had worried more than his share all day.
He finished his knots and then pulled back the plaid, revealing his own makeshift pallet Jamie had laid beside hers.
“Good,” she said with a nod. “Hopefully, the wolves will have their fill with you.”
He threw his head back and laughed. She was afraid of no man, only the silly wolves. Her bravery pleased him to no end.
She scrambled past him, under the wool, and onto her bed.
When she was settled in, he took her left arm firmly in his grip and had her wrist tied to the tree above her head in a heartbeat.
He moved to the other end of the tent, to her feet.
While he grabbed her right foot and secured it, she was fumbling about, likely trying to loosen her hand.
When he took up the slack, she was stretched to her limit, but not uncomfortably so, and as planned, she could no longer reach the knot securing her stretched arm.
“And if the wolves think ye have trussed up their meal for them?” she snapped.
“Perhaps I was preparing a meal of sorts for myself,” he suggested, then chuckled low.
While she tried to grasp his meaning, he laid out next to her. In the shadows, he could tell when her fear of the wolves was once more forgotten.
“If so, I hope you choke.” Her voice was barely a whisper.
He took pity on her. “Relax, my brave lass. The only one to choke will be ye if ye keep me from my sleep this night. Yer rescuers have not slept for days.” And with that he spread her tunic over her, turned his back and began to snore.
The camp woke up to a scream, but it was not from a woman.