“Well, that’s not something ye see every day, eh, lads?” He chuckled, looking behind him.
Another man came out from behind a tree. He wasn’t as jovial as the rest. There was a hard, mean look about him, and his gaze settled on hers was all business—or rather, all danger. “Cut the lies, lass. Where is he?”
“The cat?” She cocked her head and pointed toward Goosie, glad to see her hands only trembled slightly in her fear.
“No’ the cat. Ye know who I mean. Ye didna travel all the way up here alone. No woman in her right mind would.”
“Why not?” She hoped that stalling would at least give Ian a chance to figure out what to do. Though he was probably cursing her about now and wishing she’d given up Goosie.
“MacGregor.” Ian’s voice carried, and then he was there, brushing off his hands as if he’d finished working on something.
“Sinclair.” The man’s hard demeanor did not change. His eyes narrowed to threatening slits. “What the hell are ye doing on my land?”
“Just a wee stop on the way to Buanaiche. Dinna fash, man, we’ll head out now, and ye willna even know we were here.” Ian’s casual inflection belied the tautness of his muscles. Instinctively, she could tell he was ready for a fight.
“What for? And with an English woman?” MacGregor gestured at her with a flick of his hand in her direction.
“My wife.” Ian grinned. “I’ve just collected her from the land of the bloody Sassenachs.” He passed her an endearing glance. “Apologies, wife,” and then his gaze returned to MacGregor. “Headed to my brother’s for him to meet her.”
“I hate family reunions,” MacGregor grumbled, his face pinching into disgust.
“They can be awkward,” Ian said with a shrug. He was acting so casually and calmly that it was truly impressive because she could feel the intensity rippling off him despite his demeanor.
MacGregor grunted as he studied Ian.
Ian clapped his hands, breaking the awkward silence. “If ye wouldna mind, we’ll get packed up and be on our way. We want no trouble. I’d no’ want the lass’s first experience with my fellow countrymen to be negative.”
“First experience?” MacGregor glanced at her, his expression saying he wasn’t buying a thing that Ian said.
“Well, first run in on the road,” Ian explained before she could answer. “She’s met Gavin.”
MacGregor nodded. Apparently, Gavin, the innkeeper at the border was well known in Scotland. Fascinating.
MacGregor crossed his arms over his chest and stared hard at Ian for several assessing moments. “Ye’ll have to pay the tax. No one crosses our land without paying the tax.”
Tax? Rhiannon frowned. The man sounded like the troll under a bridge from the stories her uncle used to tell them when they were little.
“How about I fight ye for it?” Ian asked.
“What?” she said, unable to help herself from shouting.
MacGregor was grinning in a terrifying way, scarier than even his frown. It was a hungry, leering look. “Och, that’ll do.” He crushed a fist into his other palm, the smacking sound making Rhiannon feel nauseous.
“Nay, you cannot fight,” Rhiannon said.
But Ian and MacGregor were ignoring her, the two of them having shed their weapons, and rolled up their sleeves, were now circling one another as if they were about to start brawling.
“This is madness.”
MacGregor swung first, and Ian ducked. Then Ian swung, and MacGregor ducked. That went on for several ridiculous moments until MacGregor dodged and lunged, his shoulder landing in Ian’s gut, and Ian grunted as all the air was forced out.
The men tussled to the ground, but this appeared to be exactly what Ian wanted, for he quickly gained the upper hand, rolling onto his back and wrapping his legs around MacGregor’s thighs and his arm around the large man’s neck. Pinned by Ian and scrabbling to grab the offending arm, MacGregor’s face turned from red to purple.
“Say ‘no tax,’” Ian said, “And I’ll let go.”
But MacGregor said nothing, still fighting the iron hold, until his face went from red to purple, and he lost consciousness.
Ian let him go, stood, and brushed debris from his clothes. The other men looked from one to the other, trying to decipher if they should fight in their leader’s stead or let Ian go.
