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“Oh, ye’re worried about my faither, I see.”
“Aye,” he said, for lack of knowing what else to say.
“All right, we’ll keep it a secret until I can talk to my da and explain to him what a wonderful man ye are.”
“You do that,” he said, escorting her to her horse, wondering how he was going to get out of this mess. After helping her mount, he got atop his horse and, from the corner of his eye, he thought he saw someone in the garden. His head jerked upward. “Who’s that?” he asked, his hand reaching for his sword.
“Did ye see someone, Bedivere?” Morag looked over to the cottage and then back to him. “I dinna see anyone.”
Bedivere scanned the area, realizing he must have imagined it. If anyone had been out there, he’d see them since it was in the middle of a dead garden with nowhere for them to hide.
“Nay, my mistake,” he said, turning and heading out of the garden, still thinking about the betrothal. Now, he wished that he had never followed Morag here at all.
