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“Do you have many women in your clan who own cattle outright, then?”

“We do. Since many of our men were brutally murdered some ten and five years ago.”

If she thought to get a rise out of him, Avelina was to be disappointed.

“I would not use the word ‘murder,’ my lady. Lina,” he corrected himself.

It was much too intimate. She should have never given him leave to use that name. But, as she suspected, there was a sort of pleasure that came from hearing the sound that made her want to ask him to say it again.

She didn’t, of course.

“What word would you use, Niall?”

His tongue flicked out so quickly she almost missed it, first touching his upper lip, then the lower. She wished to see that tongue again.

Lina, in the name of your Lord in heaven. What is wrong with you?

“Killed. The battle was sanctioned and attended by the king and agreed to on both sides. Murder implies otherwise.”

While she thought of how to respond, Niall continued, “I am sorry for your loss, my. . . Lina. I’d not wish what you endured on my worst enemy.”

“Your worst enemy. Meaning me?”

“Your clan, aye. Not you.”

“I am my clan.”

He had no response to that. They fell silent.

“I was at the keep,” she said finally, “when the spectators, including my mother, returned. I remember little but the weeping. And later, the fresh graves, so many of them. Oddly, though, I cannot remember aught else about that day or the ones that followed. Of course, I felt the absence of my father, my uncle, my clansmen—but of that day? Very little.”

“A horror none should have to endure. Your mind protects you from it by not remembering.”

Again, they fell into silence. And though she wished to continue speaking to him, Avelina said nothing more. They were not two people from opposing clans attempting to conduct a conversation. They were the son and daughter of a decades-long feud, one that had resulted in bloodshed of the sort that nearly wiped out the entirety of her clan.

Nay, Niall was not just an enemy. He was the enemy. Mary had been right, of course. There could be naught between them, and this curiosity of hers, this draw to him that made Avelina wish to speak to him? ’Twas useless. Indeed, dangerous, if the look her brother gave her now was any indication.

When Niall sped up and rejoined his brother, Avelina said nothing. ’Twas for the best the two of them avoided each other. There was naught to say that wasn’t tinged with hate and sadness and grief.

But just then, they stopped as riders approached. And what her enemy did next was something Avelina could not easily forget.

Chapter Seven

Niall didn’t even realize what he’d done until MacKinlay pulled his horse next to him. He’d seen the Clan MacBrannigan men and rode to her, positioning himself between Lady Avelina—Lina—and the warriors.

By now, all four of them, including his brother, had moved in front of her, but he’d made it too obvious at the start. Earning a glare from MacKinlay, one he deserved, Niall said nothing as the enemy clan approached.

Words were not needed.

Clan MacBrannigan neighbored Clan Mackenzie to the north, and though the two could not be considered allies, neither had they met in open battle. Unlike his clan and MacKinlay’s, MacBrannigan’s chief was unapologetically ruthless, though the fact still did not account for Niall’s instinct to shield a woman who was also his enemy.

“You hide the lady as if we mean harm,” one of the men—there were four—said as they approached. Though Niall and the others had ventured off the old Roman road into the grassy field beside it, they were still too close for his comfort.

“Be on your way,” he said, not caring that MacKinlay continued to show his annoyance.

“We mean to do so,” said the man in the lead. “But I find it curious to see you”—he nodded to MacKinlay—“riding beside the men who slaughtered your clan.”

“I am the chief of Clan MacKinlay and will thank you not to speak of my ancestors.”