She lifted her gaze. “And what will you do if I give you the names? Seek out each man and force him to confess on pain of death?”
Possibly. He hadn’t actually formulated a plan.
“If I tell you who they were,” she said, “four innocent men might come to harm at your hands. I cannot live with that outcome.”
“You are protecting a murderous villain, a slayer of children. How can you live withthat?”
She returned his glare. “I’m not convinced any one of those men is a murderer.”
Which meant, of course, that she still harbored some belief thathewas the murderer. “If I were the murderer, why would I trouble myself with searching for the man in black?”
“Who knows? Perhaps he has some other bauble that you covet.”
He thrust her away. “Look around, Isabail. Where is the evidence that I covet pretty baubles? Tell me what a necklace like the queen’s would gain me.”
“Food for your clan, perhaps. I don’t know.”
“I had everything I needed to support my kin before the necklace was stolen. There was no gain for me, only loss.” He raked a hand through his hair. “And what thief who is willing to sacrifice the lives of his own kin then stays to protect and feed and clothe those very same people?”
A frown settled on her brow.
“Should I not have taken my spoils and made for the Continent? Surely I could have lived a fair life in France with the coin such a necklace would have gained me.”
“Perhaps you never anticipated being caught,” she said slowly. “Perhaps you still want the life you had before the theft.”
He studied her. Blond hair flowing loosely over her shoulders, her dress wrinkled and stained. Not the same woman he’d pulled from the carriage a few short days ago. “In your opinion, is a murderer a man of strength or a coward?”
“A coward,” she said easily.
“Cowards do not stay and fight for what they desire, especially when faced with overwhelming odds,” he offered quietly. Then he turned on his heel and left the hut.
* * *
Gorm whined from his blanket by the fire.
Isabail stopped staring at the spot where MacCurran had stood and favored the dog with a wry smile. “Aye, he’s a difficult man. You’ve got that right. Saving you from a horrible death one minute, shaking the life from you the next.”
She scooped some water from the bucket by the door and brought it to the deerhound.
“I’ve no meat for you, lad. Until you’re well enough to try your hand at bringing home a fat hare, you’ll have to eat what the rest of us eat—bread, cheese, and turnips.”
He drank the water, then downed a stale crust of bread in a few hearty crunches.
“There’s a lad,” she said encouragingly. “Since you appear to be faring well, I’ll bring you a bone after the evening meal.”
As she stood, she heard several loud shouts outside and then the pound of numerous boots in the snow. Isabail raced to the door. The inner close was a jumble of men snatching weapons and running for the walls. The women doused the cooking fires, gathered the children and their belongings, and scurried for the tunnels. With surprising speed and economy of movement, each person headed for their designated spot.
“What’s going on?” Isabail asked a boy who was darting for cover.
“Soldiers,” he tossed as he tore past. “Headed this way.”
Soldiers? MacPherson’s men? Isabail chewed her lip. She was supposed to follow the other women into the tunnels, but the promise of rescue was a sweet ache in her chest. What she wouldn’t give to sleep in her own bed, to visit the graves of her mother and brother, and to wear clean clothes. If only there were some way to reach Tormod MacPherson without revealing the existence of the hill fort. She wanted to be rescued, but not at the expense of the people in the camp.
MacCurran’s fierce form appeared out of the crowd of warriors in the close. “Get in the hut and stay there until I tell you it’s safe to come out.”
Isabail hesitated.
His hand cupped her chin with surprising gentleness. “Please.”
