Chapter Seven #2
He had expected disdain. She was supposed to turn her nose up at the crude garments, not delight in them as though they were made of the finest silk.
She smiled, smelling the clean fabric. He leaned in, drawn by her pleasure, but his movement caught her eye.
To his surprise, she held up the tunic and dipped her head. “Thank you for this.”
Not knowing how to respond, he gave her a curt nod. “I will leave you to dress, Princess. When ye’re finished, come join my family by the fire.” This time, it had been a struggle to lace his words with contempt.
“Wait,” she said.
He turned around and gave her an expectant look.
“Will your brother be there?” she asked, wringing her hands.
Jack tensed at her question. Did she admire one of his brothers? “I have several brothers. Ye’ll have to be more specific.”
“The one who wanted to stick me in the hole.”
Jack’s shoulders eased. “Ye needn’t fear Alec. Anyway, he usually keeps to himself.”
He started to turn away, but then he stopped and looked back. “To put yer mind at ease, once and for all, ye’re safe here. I will protect ye.”
Refusing the sudden desire to graze the backs of his fingers down her silken cheek, he stepped out into the evening air and was grateful for the slight chill, although it was hardly enough to quell his burgeoning desire.
As he sat down by the fire, joining his family, and picked up his bowl of stew, he tried to shake off the unsettling feeling that had taken hold of him.
He could still smell her sweet scent, and it made him feel restless and uneasy.
He tried to focus on the surrounding conversation, but his mind kept wandering back to her.
Fixing his gaze on his hut, he waited for her to step out.
ISABELLA RAN HER FINGERS through her hair, working out most of the snarls.
With nothing to tie it up, she swept her hair from her shoulders, letting it fall free down her back.
She had not intended to sleep when she had laid down on Jack’s pallet, only to cease the spinning in her head.
But her body took for itself what it needed, and now she felt all the better having rested.
She smoothed her hands over the soft, worn fabric of her borrowed tunic.
It had caressed her curves like a whisper when she pulled it on.
Smiling, she closed her eyes and savored the unusual feeling of being unbound.
Her own clothing was designed to contain and restrict, but now she could move and breathe and feel.
She longed to step outside, to invite the night air on her neck and shoulders, but she hesitated when she stood in front of the door.
Jack had promised that she was safe—but could she trust a thief?
Her fingertips touched her lips, still swollen from his rough kiss.
He was nothing like the men at court, nothing like Hugh.
Hugh’s slim build and soft hands seemed childlike now that she had felt Jack’s hard strength.
She had sense enough to fear him, but fear alone had not set her heart to race when he drew near. His smell, his calloused hands, and deep voice excited her, and the quietness she had glimpsed in him kept her wondering about the real man beneath the mask.
She shook her head at herself, feeling betrayed by her own thoughts. Taken as a whole, his behavior toward her had been hostile. Confused, she clenched and unclenched her fists as she continued to stare at the door.
He was a thief. They were all thieves, and she was their captive.
“Enough,” she said out loud.
All she truly knew for certain was that she was tired and hungrier than she could ever remember being.
With a deep breath, she pushed the door open and stepped out into the cool night.
Closing her eyes, she deeply inhaled the scents of cooked meat and herbs.
Her stomach growled. She looked toward the fire.
Four sets of male eyes stared at her. She self-consciously ran her hand over her free-flowing hair.
Ian dashed toward her. “Lady Redesdale, I’m so glad ye’ve joined us.”
“Good evening,” she replied awkwardly. Meeting Ian’s kind gaze, she once again wondered whether they were her abductors or saviors?
Rory stood. “My lady,” he said. She blushed when he kissed her hand. Damn his eyes. He was more beautiful than any man should ever be.
She was relieved when Quinn stepped forward. “Come,” he said, offering her his arm. “Ye must sample the stew our sister, Rose, has made.”
Isabella’s heart skipped with relief when she noticed the woman sitting on a log by the fire. She was trim, with a beautiful smile and thick, curly red hair that fell to her waist. She must have been near thirty and was as lovely as the flower for which she’d been named.
Isabella dipped in a low curtsy in front of Rose. “Forgive me. I did not mean to disturb your meal.”
“Och, sweetling, ye’ve done nothing wrong. I’m delighted ye’re here.” Rose patted the log next to her. Isabella sat and looked across the flames. Jack’s eyes bore into hers.
“Jack MacVie, turn yer gaze elsewhere. Can’t ye tell yer making her nervous? Nay, in fact, eat yer supper, all of ye.” Rose stood and took Isabella’s hand. “The lady and I are going to sit over there.”
Brows drawn in a deep frown, Jack started to stand, but whether to voice his protest or follow after, Isabella knew naught. Either way, Rose gave him no quarter.
“Ye just sit back down, Jack,” she snapped.
Isabella’s eyes widened. She stood and hastened after Rose. It would seem she had misjudged Jack as the leader. Clearly, Rose was in charge.
“I cannot imagine anyone talking to Jack that way,” Isabella whispered when she drew alongside Rose.
“I am three years Jack’s senior. The eldest MacVie, and I make sure that none of my wee brothers forget it.”
Isabella could not suppress her smile. “I would not call any one of them wee.”
Rose sat beneath a large oak. Isabella joined her, leaning her back against the cool trunk. “This is better. Thank you, Rose.”
Rose smiled and handed her a bowl. “Hush now, my lady, and have some stew. Ye must be famished.”
Isabella gladly accepted the wooden bowl. The stew was thick with chunks of rabbit and tasted of Rosemary and garlic. “This is delicious.”
“As hungry as ye must be, my lady, I’d wager even the poorest fare would be pleasing to yer palate.”
Isabella smiled. “Believe me or not, Rose, but this is very fine.”
Rose surprised Isabella by blushing. “Thank ye, my lady.”
They sat in comfortable silence while Isabella finished her stew.
She soaked up the last of it with a thick bannock.
It had been a simple but truly satisfying meal.
She almost felt like herself again. But then she glanced across the camp at the fire.
Jack’s gaze was still on her, his face impossible to read.
She looked away, unable to withstand the intensity of his gaze. She turned to Rose for distraction.
“Are ye married?” Isabella asked.
Rose cast her gaze downward and shook her head. “My husband and three daughters were killed during the massacre.”
Isabella’s hand flew to her lips. “Oh, Rose, I am so sorry.” Her heart ached for Rose. She placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.
Rose raised her eyes, which glistened with unshed tears.
“’Tis done. Naught can bring them back. Some days are harder than others.
” Her voice cracked. “There are mornings when I wake, and I must force myself to breathe and command my feet to walk. Those are my hollow days. And then, there are days when I taste joy.” Her lips lifted in a sideways smile, not unlike Jack’s.
“Just a taste, mind, but those are good days.”
Isabella swallowed the knot that had formed in her throat. “By the grace of God,” she whispered.
Rose nodded and patted Isabella’s leg. “Ye’re right about that. Anyway, most days leave little time for remembering. I’ve got my brothers to care for, and they are good to me.”
Isabella lifted a skeptical brow. How good could a pack of thieves be?