“That…and conversation in general—until he knows ye real well, that is. He’s an honorable man, Mistress MacDonell, and will guard you with his life, I vow it. But he doesna often see why he needs to explain himself to others.”
“My thanks for not being as obtuse as your leader.”
Stephen chuckled.
“Now that that’s out of the way, tell me, how was my father when last you saw him?”
The humor fled from Stephen’s face and a blush crept slowly up his neck. “He was…uh…” He seemed to struggle for a word, then his eyes lit up. “He was verra talkative. He had lots to say. Instructions, warnings—the like.”
“Warnings?”
“Oh, you know. ‘Take care of my daughter,’ that type of thing.”
Isobel opened her mouth to ask another question, but Stephen blurted out, “Did I tell you my da knew the Scots Queen Mary? The one your queen beheaded?”
Isobel’s brow furrowed. “My queen? I’m Scots, too!”
“Oh, sorry. I canna stop thinking you’re English. Anyway, the one the English queen beheaded?”
Isobel sighed. “No, you did not tell me.”
Stephen excitedly launched into the tale of his plotting father and uncles, and Isobel resigned herself to learning no more about her father. Sir Philip set a grueling pace that Isobel was unaccustomed to, and soon they left the forest behind. Though her bum and thighs ached, and her face was gritty with road dust, she refused to complain. She would not give Sir Philip any more ammunition to judge her with.
Stephen was an entertaining companion and made the hours go by more quickly, but soon the pressure in her bladder and the gnawing in her belly caused her to speak up.
“Stephen?” she interrupted.
“Aye?”
Isobel watched Sir Philip’s broad shoulders ahead of her. He didn’t look the slightest bit weary. Did he not function like a normal person? “Will we be stopping soon?”
“Not likely.”
Isobel tried not to slump dejectedly. “I’m so hungry—don’t you eat?”
“Och, aye,” he said, digging around in a sack tied to his saddle. He came up with an egg and some bread. “Here.”
Isobel smiled weakly, accepting the gifts. “Thank you.” She hesitated, then added, “That’s not all. I have other…pressing needs.”
“Ohh…” Stephen said, looking very wise. Then before she could say another word he yelled, “Philip—we need to stop.” When Philip reined in and fixed a thunderous frown on Stephen, the lad jerked his head at her meaningfully. “ ’Tis a woman thing.”
Isobel nailed her smile to her face and merely raised her brows in question. Philip sighed and scanned the sky briefly. “Verra well.”
They left the rutted road and dismounted. Isobel trudged through the tall grasses heading for a particularly large, flowered shrub a dozen yards away. It took her a moment to realize she was being followed. She turned to find Sir Philip a few steps behind.
“Could I have a moment?”
He nodded at the bush. “I’ll wait on the other side.”
Isobel gaped at him. “What is this? I cannot relieve myself without you or one of your henchman hovering over me?”
His brow lowered threateningly. “Lord Attmore might have let you run wild, but I won’t.”
Isobel flung her arm toward her bush. “I’m merely want to squat behind the bush, not burn it.”
“Nevertheless, I am responsible for your safety.”
Isobel gave the bush a considering perusal. “I suspect the bush has no designs on me—but you can never be too sure.” She snatched up a tree branch and batted at the leaves experimentally. White flowers showered to the ground. “See, it’s perfectly harmless. No heathens hiding within.”
