Page 38 of In the Highlander's Bed

Before he could be pinned down further, Gordon moved on.

When he’d conceived the kidnapping plan, itseemed simple. Now he knew kidnapping was a dirty game. And for a moment he was thankful that Constance wasn’t some shy, fearful debutante. She would recover from this—and Colsterwouldgive him the sword. There was no alternative.

Darkness had fallen. Cooking fires dotted the camp as each family, each group, prepared their own meals.

A footfall sounded behind him. He turned, and was surprised when Fiona fell into step beside him.

“You aren’t going to hurt the English girl, are you?”

Gordon stopped. His voice low so they wouldn’t be overheard, he said, “Fiona, I’m tired and more than slightly irritated that you would ask such a question.”

“Are you?” she repeated.

“What do you think the answer is?” he asked, looking straight into her eyes. Her gaze slid away from his, and it bloody well hurt. She was all the family he had left.

And, yes, Grace was right. He did have an idea about what happened to her at Fort William. He believed she’d been raped. After all, the soldiers had committed the crime against other women. Why should his sister be spared?

Perhaps the time had come to talk about it.

“Please, Fiona, I know what the English did. I know it wasn’t good. But the rest of us are not likethem. You must be strong.”

Her face grew set in a frown. She stared at a point beyond his shoulder. “Strong?” She pulled her tartan closer around her. “Iamstrong. I’m still alive.” Tension radiated from her body.

“I hate that they hurt you,” he whispered. “I despise myself that I wasn’t there to protect you. It’s me they wanted, Fee, not you.”

“I know,” she agreed as if speaking to a simpleton. “I had nothing to do with this.” She made a short sweep of her hand, indicating the camp, the followers, the rebellion. “You ruined my life, Gordon. They thought to draw you out, just asyouwish to use the English lass to receive what you want.” There was a beat of silence, and then she looked at him. “Let her go, Gordon.Now, before any harm comes to her.”

“No harm will come to her.I’mnot like them,” he repeated, clipping each word.

“Youare,” she countered. “You are a man. You can’t help yourself.”

“Fiona,” he protested, but she whirled away from him, hurrying back in the direction she’dcome. The expression on her face had been as distrustful as Grace’s.

If he ever discovered the name of the man who’d done this to her, Gordon vowed, he’d kill him.

As it was, his sister would have nothing to do with him now.

Continuing to his tent, Gordon discovered that someone had left his tack, the moccasin Constance had lost during her battle with the Bitch, and a pot of stew outside the front flap. That was usually how he ate. He knew that the women of the camp had done this for him.

He pushed aside the leather flap and carried the pot inside, expecting to step over Tad guarding the door.

The dog wasn’t there.

Instead, over by the chair, Tad, his loyal and most trusted companion, lay on his back at Constance’s feet, his tongue lolling in ecstasy as she rubbed his belly.

Nine

“Tad,” Gordon snapped.

The dog flipped over as if stunned to be caught and scrambled to his feet. He cowered, certain he was in trouble.

And he was.

Gordon snapped his fingers, pointing to his side. Tad slinked over to him, but actually had the audacity to give Constance a look of regret.

“A minute more and I would have been gone,” Constance said confidently. Her braid was over one shoulder and, dressed as she was in the dancing gown of the night before and her bare feet, she looked for all the world like a renegade debutante.

“He’s a bloody traitor,” Gordon grumbled. He put the stew on the table before bringing in his saddle and her moccasin. He tossed the shoe into her lap, realizing his lamp had been lit. “Was someone here?”