The Highwayman by Doreen Owens Malek

she had forced herself on him.
    “Go along inside,” he told her when they reached his tent. It was the first thing he’d said to her since they’d left the glade.
    “Aren’t you going to tie me up again?” she said, unable to resist taunting him. “If left unbound, I might throw myself at Rory or some other poor fellow unable to defend himself.”
    Burke had the good grace to flush at that, and his eyes met hers briefly. Then he stalked off, leaving her quite alone.
    Rory saw his opportunity and followed Burke to the edge of the camp. The other men glanced at them curiously but gave them privacy.
    “Well?” Burke said, turning to face him, resigned to completing their aborted conversation.
    “You have to ask?”
    “Stay well out of it, Rory.”
    “Kevin, I mean to have my say. You know what we have at stake here. What in the name of old King Conchubor are you doing?”
    Their conversation, conducted in the ancient language, proceeded in staccato bursts.
    “This is an English girl!” Rory said. “A rich, privileged English girl whose uncle is a counselor to the queen, and her kinsman! Kevin, are you mad? This is no lay-up in the long grass with Deirdre or her like; you risk more than a by-blow if you bed this one.”
    “I know all that!” Burke said impatiently. “You tell me nothing I’ve not told myself a hundred times. But I have a care for her.”
    Rory sighed. “Cousin, listen to me,” he said. “I know I was wrong about her. I don’t want her treated badly either, she’s a good girl.” He used the encompassing phrase, pastheen finn, to indicate a young woman held in affectionate regard.
    Burke nodded slowly.
    “Then what’s amiss?”
    “Tha miannaich mi, ” Burke said simply. I want her.
    Rory was flabbergasted. “You want her! What do you mean, you want her?”
    Burke merely looked at him. He thought his meaning was clear enough.
    “Then perhaps for once in your life you should not get what you want.”
    Burke shook his head impatiently. “You mistake me. I want to keep her with me.”
    “Keep her longer than we had planned?” Rory asked him, puzzled. “Why?”
    “Keep her,” Burke repeated. There was no misunderstanding the note of finality in his voice.
    Rory stared at him, comprehending at last. “You are mad,” he said. “And what about your brother?”
    “We’ve had no response at all from the uncle. He doesn’t want a trade.”
    “So we just let Aidan rot in the Inverary dungeon while you go bathing with the niece?” Rory demanded, incredulous.
    “I did not say that.”
    “Then what’s your plan?”
    “I have no plan,” Burke admitted. “I know nothing for to do,” he added in English, reverting to the Gaelic construction as he sometimes did when troubled.
    Rory surveyed his cousin, more worried than he would have admitted. He had never seen Burke indecisive; until now, that trait had not seemed part of his nature. “Will you really go to war over this woman?” he finally asked, straining for a calm tone.
    “We’re at war now,” Burke replied. “This respite cannot last.” He rubbed his sore shoulder absently, his expression distant. “I’ve had a summons from Tyrone. I go north tonight to the border, to settle up with Scanlon and discuss future plans. Word is that the Essex campaign goes badly, and Tyrone thinks the time to strike will be soon.”
    Rory listened intently, his heart beating faster.
    “How long have you known this?”
    “The rider came last night, while you slept.”
    Rory waited.
    “Will you have a care for her while I am gone?”
    “As you wish.”
    “I mean only, handle her gently. Nothing more should be required. She’s in no danger now from the men, and she won’t run....”
    “Because she wants to be with you,” Rory finished for him. “She’ll wait for your return.”
    Burke looked past him at the line of trees. “At times I wish to all the Druids who once ruled this isle I’d never seen her face,” he said quietly,