“Then what are you afraid of?”
He pointed a finger at her. “Stop it. Right now. Before Stephen and Fergus come back. They’re good men, but not as tolerant as I am about such nonsense.”
She smiled lightly. “You consider yourself tolerant?”
His uneasieness began to fade as he realized what she was doing. How very clever. She turned his threats right back on him, showing him she wasn’t powerless. She had told him nothing she hadn’tdeducedalready by other means.
He advanced on her again, but this time she tilted her head up to him challengingly, a slight smile on her lips.
“This game you play at is dangerous.”
“It’s not a game.”
“You wish people to believe you’re a witch?”
She shook her head. “No…but if I can help someone, why shouldn’t I? My mother always helped others and told me I should do the same.”
“Find another means to help people—one that doesn’t make folks wonder, aye?”
She gave him a considering look. Her insouciance was back as she strolled away from him. “You have spoken, Sir Philip, and I have heard.”
He ground his teeth in frustration. It was like talking to a rock—except she had a poison retort for everything.
“Another bit of advice,” he called after her. “I may not know the earl of Kincreag well, but I know enough to say he will not tolerate this type of behavior.”
She whirled around. “What does that mean?”
“It means, you’d be wise to learn your place before we reach Glen Laire.”
Her eyes flashed with anger, but there was a touch of unease there, too. “My father would never marry me to a cruel man.”
“Alan sees the best in his friends—and ignores all that is unpleasant.”
Her gaze raked him from head to toe. “Obviously.”
He was tempted to tell the little green-eyed minx everything he did know about Nicholas Lyon, but reined in his temper. He had a suspicion that she was trying to goad him into talking, and talking about the earl of Kincreag benefited no one.
He just shook his head. “I tried to warn you.” And he left her, before he said something he knew he’d regret.
She’d really done it now.Not only had Philip stopped speaking to her, but if he chanced to meet her eyes he glared at her. Isobel didn’t understand what had come over her. She’d given the Attmores a bit of trouble, it was true, but she’d never been rude to them. And yet she couldn’t seem to help herself with Sir Philip—he infuriated her. That, coupled with her body’s melting response to the mere thought of his heated mouth and hands on her, seemed to put her in a rare mood.
And worse—she had tried to frighten him! Isobel’s face burned with shame. It went against everything her mother had taught her. And she couldn’t even apologize, for that would be tantamount to admitting she was a witch.Never again. Only for good.
But could she even use it for good anymore? Was Nicholas Lyon really such a hard man, or had Philip tossed her own game back in her face, frightening her with half-truths? If only she could see into her own future—unfortunately, touching her own things gave her no visions. How she missed Ceri. Ceri would know what todo. But Isobel was on her own now. She had only her own wits to rely on. She slanted Stephen a considering look. He was deep in a tale of how he and a cousin saved their uncle’s kine from a pack of heathen reivers, his hand waving about as he spoke.
“Stephen,” Isobel said, cutting him off midstory. “Will you tell me about my betrothed, Lord Kincreag?”
Stephen’s eyes, blue and clear as the sky, widened. He was not an innocent, but he was decent. And he liked her. With a little persuasion, she could get him to talk about her betrothed.
“What would ye like to know?” he asked cautiously.
Isobel twisted around in the saddle. Philip and Fergus were yards behind them, well out of earshot.
“What kind of man is he?”
“Well, he’s an earl—but you already knew that. He’s…a bit reserved. Many people fear him, but my uncle thinks well of him. He doesn’t believe the stories.”
“What stories?”
