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“Twas unnecessary. Have you no sense, woman?”
“I was in no danger,” she snapped, tired of Iain’s attitude.
“Never throw yourself at an attacker. Do you understand? Tis my job to protect you.”
“But I was perfectly fine to—”
“No, you were not! Good lord, woman, you were naked.”
“So, what?”
“I am the only man who gets to see you naked, do you hear me?” he growled.
“That’s why you’re angry?”
Iain huffed and ignored her, and turned his attention to the assailant. The man was losing too much blood and began spluttering.
“Who sent you?” Iain asked.
“Manus Dei,”he said before he died.
“What does that mean?” Iain asked.
“Hand of God,” Yesenda replied as she made the sign of the cross.
Iain’s entire body stiffened, and he could barely see through the panic and haze. He knew it had to do with Yesenda. His protective instinct towards her increased one hundred-fold.
Yesenda rushed to dress and Iain followed suit. He was quiet and contemplative. When he was ready, he clasped her hand and pulled her behind him. Yesenda followed, sensing Iain’s need for quiet.
“Where is your horse?” he asked.
“I walked.”
He stopped. “You walked! By yourself, all the way out here?” he hissed.
“Aye.”
Iain shook his head, took a deep breath, then placed his hands around her waist and hoisted her onto his horse. Then he jumped up behind her, wrapped his plaid around her and pulled her tight to his chest.
“From now on, you go nowhere without me. Do you hear me?” Iain said.
Yesenda just sighed heavily.
Iain repeated louder, “Do you hear me, Yesenda?”
“Aye. I’m sure even the pope in Rome heard you!” she snapped.
“Dinnae try my patience,” he snapped back.
She rolled her eyes, wondering how a blissful moment of intimacy could turn into this.
***
The Blackhouse
The pilgrim remained calm, but he was seething inside. “Why are you here, Liosa?”
“Your men have failed again. She lives and there are more guardsmen teeming about.”
