and tucked himself behind the largest intact wall.
“Abby, if it’s dangerous, shouldn’t you—”
“I didn’t say it was dangerous. Be quiet .”
He could see her but not the path. If the person on the horse threatened her, Duncan didn’t care what his “orders” were. His sword might be wooden, but it still packed a wallop. And his fists worked just fine.
The hoofbeats grew louder and louder till they stopped just outside the chapel. Abby maintained her hold on the bow but didn’t raise it. Duncan tightened his grip on his hilt.
“’Tis an odd place to find the head of Clan Kerr,” a male voice said.
“I find a long walk clears the head.”
“I’ll never understand the risks ye take,” said the voice, considerably softer and, as such, at once familiar. “I should hate for something to happen to ye.”
Duncan gritted his teeth. He’d been exiled to the ruins not to keep from unnerving a potential threat. He’d been exiled to the ruins to keep from unnerving Rosston. Bloody hell.
“Nothing will happen to me in these hills, Rossie. I’ve been walking them since I was a lass. Besides, I have my bow.”
“And a pistol, I see. Good for you. Would you like a companion for the rest of your journey?”
Oh, great.
“I would,” she said. “But I can tell from your packs you’re on your way somewhere. I have no wish to detain you. I know you have business you need to address.”
“I wish it were otherwise. My men are here, at your command. I shall return tonight or tomorrow morn at the latest. Perhaps then we can sit down as we have talked about and decide what is best for us…and for the clans.”
Duncan waited for the ax to fall. She would decide, not him. Tell him, Abby, tell him.
“Aye,” she said, weariness in her voice. “Perhaps it is time at that. By tomorrow, I shall know my mind.”
Duncan nearly lost his footing. Abby gave him a tiny sideways glare.
“Tomorrow, then,” Rosston said.
“Wait,” she said and moved out of Duncan’s sight. Closer to Rosston. Next to him, no doubt. Duncan tortured himself for an instant, imagining the scene.
“Will ye give me a proper good-bye?” Rosston asked.
His voice had grown husky. Duncan wished to be any other place on earth.
A muffled “ mm ” from Rosston that would be branded in Duncan’s memory forever, then, from Abby: “Godspeed.”
“Go back to the castle,” Rosston said. “For me.” A plea, not a command. Perhaps he was trainable, after all.
The horse trotted off. Abby appeared again in Duncan’s view, offering him a nodded “all clear.”
He bounded out, stung by the double lashes of incompetence and jealousy.
“I don’t want to hide again,” he said, not caring if he sounded like a sullen child. “I want my pistol back.”
Abby readjusted the strap of her quiver, tactfully choosing not to point out the situation that just passed was not one that had required a weapon. “Is that really what ye want?”
“ Yes . I don’t want to be hearing hooves and wondering whether I’ll be massacred in the next minute. I need to be able to protect myself.” And you hung in the air, though he knew her amusement would kill him if he said it.
To her credit, Abby didn’t even smile. “I know what it is to long for the power to protect oneself, MacHarg. And I will give ye your pistol. But if you are to be my strong arm, you will need more than that.” She handed him her bow, and reached for the buckle on her belt.
“I don’t think I would make much of an archer,” he said uncomfortably.
“Good. Since I don’t have a year to teach you the skills.” She tossed the belt and quiver on the ground and retrieved the bow. “Did I not hear ye say ye knew how to wield a sword?”
“Yes.” Duncan had aced two years of fencing classes and considered himself if not quite an expert then certainly the most skilled of his reenactor friends. He had a beautiful lunge.
“Show me.”
He squirmed a bit. It was one thing
“Abby, if it’s dangerous, shouldn’t you—”
“I didn’t say it was dangerous. Be quiet .”
He could see her but not the path. If the person on the horse threatened her, Duncan didn’t care what his “orders” were. His sword might be wooden, but it still packed a wallop. And his fists worked just fine.
The hoofbeats grew louder and louder till they stopped just outside the chapel. Abby maintained her hold on the bow but didn’t raise it. Duncan tightened his grip on his hilt.
“’Tis an odd place to find the head of Clan Kerr,” a male voice said.
“I find a long walk clears the head.”
“I’ll never understand the risks ye take,” said the voice, considerably softer and, as such, at once familiar. “I should hate for something to happen to ye.”
Duncan gritted his teeth. He’d been exiled to the ruins not to keep from unnerving a potential threat. He’d been exiled to the ruins to keep from unnerving Rosston. Bloody hell.
“Nothing will happen to me in these hills, Rossie. I’ve been walking them since I was a lass. Besides, I have my bow.”
“And a pistol, I see. Good for you. Would you like a companion for the rest of your journey?”
Oh, great.
“I would,” she said. “But I can tell from your packs you’re on your way somewhere. I have no wish to detain you. I know you have business you need to address.”
“I wish it were otherwise. My men are here, at your command. I shall return tonight or tomorrow morn at the latest. Perhaps then we can sit down as we have talked about and decide what is best for us…and for the clans.”
Duncan waited for the ax to fall. She would decide, not him. Tell him, Abby, tell him.
“Aye,” she said, weariness in her voice. “Perhaps it is time at that. By tomorrow, I shall know my mind.”
Duncan nearly lost his footing. Abby gave him a tiny sideways glare.
“Tomorrow, then,” Rosston said.
“Wait,” she said and moved out of Duncan’s sight. Closer to Rosston. Next to him, no doubt. Duncan tortured himself for an instant, imagining the scene.
“Will ye give me a proper good-bye?” Rosston asked.
His voice had grown husky. Duncan wished to be any other place on earth.
A muffled “ mm ” from Rosston that would be branded in Duncan’s memory forever, then, from Abby: “Godspeed.”
“Go back to the castle,” Rosston said. “For me.” A plea, not a command. Perhaps he was trainable, after all.
The horse trotted off. Abby appeared again in Duncan’s view, offering him a nodded “all clear.”
He bounded out, stung by the double lashes of incompetence and jealousy.
“I don’t want to hide again,” he said, not caring if he sounded like a sullen child. “I want my pistol back.”
Abby readjusted the strap of her quiver, tactfully choosing not to point out the situation that just passed was not one that had required a weapon. “Is that really what ye want?”
“ Yes . I don’t want to be hearing hooves and wondering whether I’ll be massacred in the next minute. I need to be able to protect myself.” And you hung in the air, though he knew her amusement would kill him if he said it.
To her credit, Abby didn’t even smile. “I know what it is to long for the power to protect oneself, MacHarg. And I will give ye your pistol. But if you are to be my strong arm, you will need more than that.” She handed him her bow, and reached for the buckle on her belt.
“I don’t think I would make much of an archer,” he said uncomfortably.
“Good. Since I don’t have a year to teach you the skills.” She tossed the belt and quiver on the ground and retrieved the bow. “Did I not hear ye say ye knew how to wield a sword?”
“Yes.” Duncan had aced two years of fencing classes and considered himself if not quite an expert then certainly the most skilled of his reenactor friends. He had a beautiful lunge.
“Show me.”
He squirmed a bit. It was one thing
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