Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Kenna believed she finally understood why her laird and master wanted her backside sore. Even sitting sideways across Jamie’s saddle, she hissed in a breath when Queenie took her first lunge.
Jamie said nothing until their lead grew enough that the others would not hear. “Forgive me, my lady,” he begged. “I did naught to stop him. The shame is mine.”
She had to push the blanket away to face him and chose her words carefully. “He was…determined. There was no dissuading him.” She shook her head. “I am grateful for your kindness. I will not forget it.”
Letting the fabric fall back into place put an end to their conversation.
And with the makeshift hood pulled forward, she wouldn’t need to worry about the others studying her.
She was also careful not to look behind them.
The last thing she wished to see was four men slapping Tearloch on the back in some twisted sign of congratulations.
With Jamie’s arms wrapped around her to hold the leads, Kenna relaxed against him and found brief stretches of sleep.
Once, she woke to find her face soaked with tears.
For a moment, she hoped it had all been a dream, but alas, she was still seated on the black warhorse, held in place by the wrong set of arms.
She let the tears fall…
The occasional glance or scowl from his captains grew tiresome, so Tearloch pushed his horse to take the lead, and the others welcomed him to it. They could glare daggers into his back all they liked, but he wouldn’t have done anything differently.
He’d lied to his future bride, of course. It wasn’t the men of Lochahearn he worried about, or even his company. It was her. If she believed no one would accept her offer now, then she would cease expecting someone to take up her cause. And hopefully, his vow will have put the matter to rest.
She would speak to her brother and learn the truth, that Leith MacPherson didn’t need killing. And now that he himself was the laird of the MacPhersons, if she still wanted his head when all was said and done, then so be it.
There was good reason why he was the king’s champion, and not because they’d been friends since their youth, when his father, The Kingmaker, had brought Malcolm home. No one could best him. So he’d given her the truth when he’d said that The MacPherson could not be killed unless he permitted it.
It was a pity his father couldn’t be asked, now, why he hadn’t allowed the sister to come along all those years ago. But he was confident there had been a reason. If his father had known the girl would be abused by that madwoman, he wouldn’t have left her in the woman’s care.
Surely.
And soon, very soon, he planned to make all of it up to her, to see her so happy she might forget her difficult past. Between Malcolm and himself, it shouldn’t be impossible.
Duncan brought up the rear, as always, and watched these silly boys wrap their hearts around the little finger of this unsuspecting girl. No, she was a woman now. He and Leland had seen her gown go flying. The deed was done.
It was lucky he hadn’t allowed Jamie to accompany them all the way to the meadow when they’d heard Tearloch’s whistle. Otherwise, the youngster might have attacked his commander and paid dearly for it.
Duncan’s own reaction had been far too emotional for a man of forty. When they had heard the lass’s first screams—genuinely fearful cries for help—he’d been easily convinced to backtrack. They were all such fools, flying to the aid of a woman they had all but hated the night before.
When he’d reconsidered, remembering that Tearloch was perfectly capable of keeping her safe, no matter what his plans for her, Duncan had tried to slow the men and give their heads time to cool.
He’d finally stopped them altogether when they’d heard the whistle, but it was no reason to panic.
After all, there had been but one call, and for all they knew, the man had been summoning his horse.
To regain the loyalty of his men, their commander would need to do something quite drastic. That loyalty had been tried, tested, and proven unshakeable…until a woman came between them.
Would wonders never cease?
They had all indulged in the spoils of war at one time or another. They knew she belonged to him if only by right of conquest, even if they did not know the full of it. Tearloch was within his rights to claim her if she had been anyone but the king’s sister.
There was no telling what Malcolm’s reaction might be…
For Tearloch, the last straw fell but a few leagues from home. Kenna had been silent for a long while but suddenly cried out. He turned in his saddle as his horse slowed.
“She was sleeping,” Jamie shouted. “The lady is fine.” Indeed, she was sitting up straight now and moved the blanket from her face to prove Jamie’s words.
All eyes turned back to Tearloch as if he were to blame for any nightmare.
Grumbling, he prodded his horse back to Jamie’s side. “Give her to me,” he demanded and reached for Kenna.
Jamie had the impudence to look at the woman for permission! Luckily for him, she gave it with a nod, and the lad lifted her down to Tearloch’s lap.
“Thank you, Jamie.”
The lad’s kind smile was all for her, then he looked ahead, to the road, waiting for orders he might or might not follow.
Aye, damage had been done. None of them could have foreseen the price this errand might cost. But so be it. It was difficult to regret anything when he now had her warm form across his lap, in his arms, and all his for a wee while longer.
He tightened his grip on her and she hid her face but leaned against him. He hid his smile against her trappings as he turned back toward home, no longer so anxious to get there.
Duncan eyed him warily as he fell back to the rear.
Tearloch ignored the man and reveled in the fact that he once again held the prize.
He absently kissed Kenna’s head and gave her a gentle squeeze to let her know she’d done well to hold her tongue.
It was an unconscious reaction, a natural gesture that had felt quite normal until he saw the open wonder on Duncan’s face.
Had he grown another head out of his ear?