the spring?’
Instead of answering, she fell to a crouch and tried to turn the boy to face her. ‘Alec, please go up to the camp.’
The boy wrenched his head to keep his wary eyes on him. ‘Doona want to.’
‘Alec, you be listening to me on this. You know I forbade you from coming to the valley. You disobeyed me. But I’ll be letting any punishment go if you leave now.’
The boy didn’t move.
Her tone softened. ‘Alec, if you go right now I’ll give you my last honeycomb.’
The boy looked at her, his face scrunched up. She nodded vigorously at him. With barely a glance back, he ran out of the hut.
As the boy’s footsteps faded, the woman slowly straightened.
‘My life for a sweet. Ah, to be five again,’ she said wistfully. She smiled and grasped her hands in front of her. ‘I fear we had a misunderstanding. I’m Gaira of Clan Colquhoun.’
He wondered where her anger and defiance had gone. Her stance, the very air around her, had changed. He was suddenly suspicious. ‘Your manner has changed.’
‘Aye, you may be English, but you are different than the men who burned Doonhill.’
This woman made no sense. ‘Aye, I am, but how do you suddenly know?’
‘Gardening?’ she said, looking at him in exasperation.
He was thoroughly confused. Did she want to speak of plants?
‘You did not ask if it was I burying the dead. You asked whether I had been gardening. Any man not wishing to hurt the feelings of a child cannot be the same as the monsters who destroyed this village.’ As she turned her back to him and bent down, the large tunic fell forward and exposed her stretched backside under the tight leggings.
All thoughts left his head. He knew the moonlight played tricks on him; knew his thoughts were filling in what his eyes couldn’t possibly be seeing. But still his mouth turned dry. The fine strong curve of her legs seemed to stretch to heaven and her derrière was round, full, lush and entirely too...there.
All these years without a woman and he had never been tempted. They had pressed against him, flashed their breasts, licked their lips and he hadn’t felt a flicker of emotion except annoyance. But this woman’s backside, wrapped tight in a man’s leggings, struck him across the loins with heat. He felt the rush, the quickening, and forcibly focused at the object in her hands.
It was a sword and pointed towards him.
‘I thank you,’ she said, her tone still polite. ‘I have been trying to protect him from what really happened to the people here.’
She cleared her throat. Paused. She was waiting for his response.
It wasn’t just any sword. It was his sword. Embarrassment doused his lust. What would Edward think of his soldier now? The sword flexed slightly as she wiggled the hilt.
It would be so easy to take the blade from her. Her balance was off and the sword was too heavy for her. She was no threat.
But he was a threat to her. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m pointing a weapon at you, that’s what I’m doing.’
‘I thought you said I wasn’t a monster.’
‘Aye, I said you weren’t the same as the monsters who burnt this village. But you’re still English. I can’t trust you.’ She nodded her head. ‘Kick that rope and dagger to me. I’ll be using them again.’
Concentrating on his movements, rather than his thoughts on what she looked like, Robert slowly kicked the dagger and rope to her.
‘I’m awake this time and you’re all alone,’ he said. ‘Why would I hold still so I can’t protect myself?’
She didn’t take her eyes off him. ‘To prove you aren’t one of the monsters.’
He paused. He knew there was a woman and a boy. He didn’t know if there were any other survivors.
‘It didn’t hold me before,’ he pointed out.
‘I’ll not be making that same mistake twice.’
‘And my sword?’
‘I’ll be keeping it, as well as your dagger.’
He fought the instinct to fight back. She was Scottish, but a woman and she had Alec to protect. She was vulnerable enough without him adding to her fears. Still, too, he needed more answers and she wouldn’t be talking if he was a threat. But if she tied him more tightly, he would be defenceless.
He held his clasped hands in front.
She shook her head. ‘Behind you and turn around.’
‘I’ll need to relieve myself.’
He could feel her weighing his words before she nodded and placed the sword down.
‘For an Englishman, you’re right, you know.’ She slowly walked to him.
He didn’t feel right as he held still for her to bind him again. ‘About what?’
With more twists around his hands, she wrapped the rope around his wrists. She tied more securely this time, but he didn’t clasp his hands tightly and would still be able to loosen the rope. It was dark and she didn’t notice.
‘I’ve been burying the dead,’ she said, stepping away from him. ‘But only at night and my ankle slows me too much.’
He turned around and saw her picking up his sword and dagger. The angle wasn’t the same as before, but his memory was still too fresh and her legs were still too long...and shapely.
‘Why at night?’ He cleared his hoarse voice.
‘I’m trying to hide what I do,’ she answered.
He thought of the boy running past the gravesite. Even at such a tender age, he had to have known what she was doing. ‘You have more to bury.’
‘Aye. I’m afraid the smell is getting so bad I can hardly do it any more.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘But I won’t leave Doonhill till it’s done.’
He ignored the conviction in her voice. He had come only to get some answers and report to Edward. Not help her bury her kin.
She pointed towards the door and he turned to leave the hut. Keeping her distance and his sword, she followed afterwards. She held it over her shoulder to support the weight. Robert honed his blade so it could slice full-grown trees. Her neck was no barrier and her ankle made her clumsy.
‘Take my scabbard,’ he offered.
‘It won’t fit around my waist.’
He stopped. ‘Hold the sword like you are, just put it in my scabbard.’
