and craggy peaks above.
“Where are we?” she ventured. According to the tale she’d spun, she was lost, after all. Therefore she’d asked a perfectly reasonable question.
“ Strath na saighead ,” he rumbled.
Well, that wasn’t at all helpful. “Beg pardon?”
“Valley of the Arrows,” he said after a moment. “A great battle was fought here. A course, great battles were fought nearly everywhere in the Highlands.” They rounded a stand of tumbled boulders, and a small stone house came into view tucked beneath the cliff. No, not a house. Not even a cottage. A tiny cotter’s shack that hardly looked bigger than her bedchamber back at Sebree House in Wessex.
“That sounds exciting,” Julia returned absently. So now she knew what the valley was called. That didn’t answer the more pressing question. Was she still on Fersen land? Was he loyal to Fersen? She took a breath, trying to ignore the stiffness setting into her backside. “I hear that Clan Fersen has its seat nearby. Are you a part of Lord Bellamy’s clan?”
“Is that where ye rode from?” the Highlander asked, stopping to turn around and look at her.
Escaping this afternoon had taken every bit of courage she possessed. If she had to do it again … “Please, just tell me if you’re allied with the Fersens,” she insisted, abruptly realizing that in a very isolated place she’d just taken herself even further from help in this hidden valley. She’d though—hoped—this might be her chance. But if she was wrong, she’d just delivered herself back into Bellamy’s hands, and he would make certain she never escaped again.
“Nae,” he answered after a moment. “I answer to Clan MacLawry.” He tilted his head, that stray strand of damp, raven black hair falling across one green eye again. “More or less.”
She didn’t know Clan MacLawry, but then most of the odd … antiquity of the Highlands had been a complete surprise. And where before it had seemed quaint, now it seemed distinctly dangerous. Rather like walking into a pit of vipers and not knowing which one was the most—or least—poisonous. “Oh,” she ventured, deciding he expected some kind of reply.
“Oh,” he repeated, a touch of humor brushing his gaze before he turned back to the cottage and continued forward.
“Is that MacLawry House, then? Who’s the … clan leader? Might I speak with him?”
“Ye think that pile of rubble is the house of a clan chief? Ye’re nae one of those Bedlamites escaped from the asylum, are ye?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then, nae, that’s an old cotter’s shack I use from time to time when I go hunting. The chief of Clan MacLawry is Lord Glengask, who resides at Glengask Castle. And nae, ye cannae speak with him, as he’s in London. His youngest brother Bear MacLawry is there, but it’s near seven miles from here, and it’s aboot to rain.”
Seven miles? It might as well have been a hundred miles, since she had no horse and no idea which direction to travel. Thunder rumbled again, closer this time. “Is … is there anyone else here?”
“In the shack? Nae. Lenox House—where I live—is three or so miles from here. I can take ye there tomorrow when I’ve finished up here, or when the storm passes; whichever comes first.” He pulled a rope latch and pushed open the heavy door. It opened with a squeak she couldn’t describe as anything other than ominous.
“I … Perhaps you could tell me the direction to Lenox House? I’m certain I would be welcome there.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “Aye? Do ye know Duncan Lenox and his kin, then?”
That would be quite a bluff, if she meant to attempt it. Those keen green eyes glinted at her, though, and she had the distinct feeling that he knew more than he was saying. About what, she had no idea. Julia forced a smile. “No, I don’t.”
Unfolding his muscular arms, he stuck out his right hand. “Well, now ye do. I’m Duncan Lenox. Come in, lass.
“Where are we?” she ventured. According to the tale she’d spun, she was lost, after all. Therefore she’d asked a perfectly reasonable question.
“ Strath na saighead ,” he rumbled.
Well, that wasn’t at all helpful. “Beg pardon?”
“Valley of the Arrows,” he said after a moment. “A great battle was fought here. A course, great battles were fought nearly everywhere in the Highlands.” They rounded a stand of tumbled boulders, and a small stone house came into view tucked beneath the cliff. No, not a house. Not even a cottage. A tiny cotter’s shack that hardly looked bigger than her bedchamber back at Sebree House in Wessex.
“That sounds exciting,” Julia returned absently. So now she knew what the valley was called. That didn’t answer the more pressing question. Was she still on Fersen land? Was he loyal to Fersen? She took a breath, trying to ignore the stiffness setting into her backside. “I hear that Clan Fersen has its seat nearby. Are you a part of Lord Bellamy’s clan?”
“Is that where ye rode from?” the Highlander asked, stopping to turn around and look at her.
Escaping this afternoon had taken every bit of courage she possessed. If she had to do it again … “Please, just tell me if you’re allied with the Fersens,” she insisted, abruptly realizing that in a very isolated place she’d just taken herself even further from help in this hidden valley. She’d though—hoped—this might be her chance. But if she was wrong, she’d just delivered herself back into Bellamy’s hands, and he would make certain she never escaped again.
“Nae,” he answered after a moment. “I answer to Clan MacLawry.” He tilted his head, that stray strand of damp, raven black hair falling across one green eye again. “More or less.”
She didn’t know Clan MacLawry, but then most of the odd … antiquity of the Highlands had been a complete surprise. And where before it had seemed quaint, now it seemed distinctly dangerous. Rather like walking into a pit of vipers and not knowing which one was the most—or least—poisonous. “Oh,” she ventured, deciding he expected some kind of reply.
“Oh,” he repeated, a touch of humor brushing his gaze before he turned back to the cottage and continued forward.
“Is that MacLawry House, then? Who’s the … clan leader? Might I speak with him?”
“Ye think that pile of rubble is the house of a clan chief? Ye’re nae one of those Bedlamites escaped from the asylum, are ye?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then, nae, that’s an old cotter’s shack I use from time to time when I go hunting. The chief of Clan MacLawry is Lord Glengask, who resides at Glengask Castle. And nae, ye cannae speak with him, as he’s in London. His youngest brother Bear MacLawry is there, but it’s near seven miles from here, and it’s aboot to rain.”
Seven miles? It might as well have been a hundred miles, since she had no horse and no idea which direction to travel. Thunder rumbled again, closer this time. “Is … is there anyone else here?”
“In the shack? Nae. Lenox House—where I live—is three or so miles from here. I can take ye there tomorrow when I’ve finished up here, or when the storm passes; whichever comes first.” He pulled a rope latch and pushed open the heavy door. It opened with a squeak she couldn’t describe as anything other than ominous.
“I … Perhaps you could tell me the direction to Lenox House? I’m certain I would be welcome there.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “Aye? Do ye know Duncan Lenox and his kin, then?”
That would be quite a bluff, if she meant to attempt it. Those keen green eyes glinted at her, though, and she had the distinct feeling that he knew more than he was saying. About what, she had no idea. Julia forced a smile. “No, I don’t.”
Unfolding his muscular arms, he stuck out his right hand. “Well, now ye do. I’m Duncan Lenox. Come in, lass.
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