Ewen gave her a pleading look before he bid them farewell and turned his horse northwest.
She hated that they all loved him so much. She hated her plans to kill someone who others would miss and mourn. She wished Logan Cameron were an unmerciful tyrant.
Jamie’s farewell smile to her was so full of calm serenity that told him nothing would go wrong, that it almost made Elspeth doubt herself.
When her three ‘almost’ victims rode off, she turned to have a look at the warrior who was left. Her gaze dipped to his left arm hanging at his side. No one would believe that he wasn’t helpless, that he couldn’t be taken down with only one arm, in any fight.
But she had seen him swing that deadly right arm of his. She doubted any enemy would have a chance against him.
Would he ever use his skill and strength against her? The thought of it frightened her. She’d been struck before, but never by the likes of Logan of Lochaber.
She raised her gaze to find his fastened on her. “I can defend myself just fine, lass.”
Och, she knew it. “Do ye think me foolish enough to raise a weapon against ye, Mr. Cameron? At least, while ye are awake.”
“Ye are verra sure of yerself, lass. But yer passion wanes and when the time comes, ye willna be able to put a blade in me. How many ways are there to kill a man?”
Her breath stalled and her body hiccupped to get her going again. She covered her mouth with her hand.
He smiled at her.
It made her blood boil. “Ways ye wouldna know, soldier.”
His smile widened until he broke out with laughter. “Ye surely are a menace, Miss Woodburn.”
More to ye than ye will ever know until ’tis too late.
She followed him back into the house, suddenly feeling as if the place had gotten smaller. Or was it that Mr. Cameron seemed so big?
He wasn’t. His shoulders were wide, but no wider than other men’s shoulders. His were straightened by youth and sleek muscle. He wasn’t burly like Steafan, but longer, leaner, gracefully lithe, and built for speed, like a cheetah in its prime.
She shifted her gaze away from him, ending her thoughts of him, and looked toward the Main Hall. “Did ye bake bread?”
“Aye, and there is hot porridge to eat with it. I am goin’ huntin’. I’ll be back when—”
What? She gave him a venomous glare and folded her arms across her chest. “So that is it? Ye are going to just leave me here with no defense?”
“All the cookin’ knives are at yer disposal.”
She dropped her hands to her sides and balled them into fists. “Use caution with yer words or I will use one on ye.”
“Did ye speak to yer other masters this way?” he asked her calmly.
“I didna wish to kill them the way I have wished fer too long to kill ye,” she retorted.
The warmth left his face and was replaced by dark sulking. “Then ye should enjoy yer time away from me even more.”
She watched him leave, torn between her rumbling belly and hurrying to catch up with him. He was correct, she should enjoy her time away from him, but she didn’t want to be alone. She hadn’t been alone since the night she wept over her parents’ dead bodies. There was nothing darker or more terrifying in those moments than the knowledge that she was suddenly alone in her life at the age of seventeen, that there was no one to help her, and no one had.
After she was taken, there were always other servants, cooks, chambermaids, laundresses and more wandering around her. But she had always been lonely.
Still, being alone was different.
Abandoning the bread and porridge, she ran after him. “I’m afraid of being alone,” she confessed, looking up at him when she caught up. So what if she told him the truth about things? He wouldn’t live long enough to use any of it against her.
He didn’t ridicule or refuse her when she kept her pace steady with his. He didn’t ask anything at all. Did he not even care what her life had been like because of him?
She had a dozen things to say to him, but she remained silent by his side or behind him when he spotted a hare in the bush and told her to stay back.
