“No,” she would deny, already envisioning Edmund as the secret infiltrator, here to distract her uncle and Bartholomew, whilst the warrior saved her from this awful place.
He would plunk her on his horse—plunk?—no, no, that wasn’t right. It sounded quite abrupt and perhaps a bit painful. No, he would gallantly swing her up onto his horse, and they would ride off together. She would be free at last. Gone from this place of foul deeds and wrongdoings.
Yet, no such thing happened, nor would it.
She wished she could hear what was being said, but they were too far off.
“Who are they?” came a whisper from her left. Her friend’s son, Duncan, had snuck out of the shadows and joined her. “I dinnae recognize them.”
“Shh.” She crouched and put a finger to his lips. “Lest you draw attention to yourself.” When his eyes rounded in alarm, she smiled in reassurance. “Everything will be just fine. They are not here for you and your sister.”
Or so she hoped.
The truth was, she had no idea.
She glanced back at the three travelers only to find the handsome warrior’s gaze locked on her. A strange but pleasurable warmth swept through her when their eyes met. As if they were connected in some indefinable way.
“But of course you are,” Margery would remind. “He just plunked, I mean ‘swung’ you onto his horse and rode off into the sunset with you.”
“He’s looking at ye,” Duncan whispered. “My countryman sees yer magic, aye?”
Countryman? He was Scottish? How did Duncan know that?
“Can you not see it?” Margery would say. “The wild hovering just beneath the surface?”
Where a chill might have swept through some, she felt another rush of warmth. Then again, she didn’t harbor the resentment her countrymen did toward the Scots. Rather, she commiserated with their misery. The feeling of forever being oppressed by someone who wanted to control and own you.
“Niece,” her uncle barked, jolting her to her feet.
When Uncle Randolph scowled at Duncan, she tucked him behind her skirts and nodded.
“Well, come here already, girl!” Randolph made an exasperated come-hither motion. His thin lips slanted down, and his sparsely lashed bug-eyes rounded all the more. “You have a visitor.”
“I’m not a girl anymore,” she envisioned calling back. “I’m a full-grown woman, you buffoon!”
“I am nae afraid of him,” Duncan said, even though his voice shook.
She wasn’t surprised he'd rallied his courage so quickly. He had been working on that. When he tried to step around her, she stopped him because, truthfully, he should be afraid. Very much so when it came to her uncle.
“Go.” She gestured to her uncle that she would be right there, then turned to Duncan, trying her best not to sound panicked. “You must go now. Right now, you hear?”
When his dirty little chin jutted out in defiance, she got as stern as she was willing to get. “Please. Now. For me.”
He narrowed his eyes and scowled before he finally sighed and relented. “Aye, then.”
He left as silently as he had come, used to sticking to the shadows and going unnoticed.
“Niece!” her uncle barked again, this time louder.
“Enough, Randolph,” the woman exclaimed. “Her name is Greer.”
She froze at the sound of the voice. One she hadn’t heard in far too long. Thought she never would again. Yet when the woman pulled off her hood and looked her way, the truth was clear as day.
“’Tis your dear mother,” Margery would have exclaimed, a smile in her voice. “She has arisen from the dead! How absolutely wonderful!”
No, not wonderful.
Impossible.
She shook her head, not sure she saw correctly. “It cannot be.”
Should not be.
For that meant but one thing.
What some had long whispered about Greer was actually true.
Chapter Three
Teagan knew the moment his gaze connected with the lass across the way that his life would never be the same. How could it be when he’d never felt the urge to protect another so strongly? So fiercely? And for no other reason than what he saw in her thickly lashed light blue eyes, past the kindness to the stark fear hidden beneath.
At some point, she’d witnessed sheer terror.
He had seen enough warriors post-battle to recognize it.
Felt it for so long himself that it was second nature.
It took everything to keep his hand off his weapon when her uncle barked at her to join them. Moreover, when the Englishman beside him looked at her with unabashed ownership. A look that clearly prompted Greer to finally head their way, even though she’d wanted to stay and protect the lad.
Truth told, he’d never seen a more bonnie lass. With flawless ivory skin and silky raven-colored hair peeking out beneath her wimple, she had delicate features, a full, heart-shaped mouth, and a vulnerable gentleness he’d never encountered before. A merciful spirit he feared, vipers like her uncle and the man standing beside him were quick to take advantage of.
“Greer.” Emotion thickened Cecille’s voice as she swung down and looked at her daughter. “’Tis so very good to see you, darling.”
Greer took a few more steps, then stopped obediently when the second man gave her a stern look. She blinked several times at Cecille, as if doubting her sight, then clasped her hands in front of her and nodded hello politely.
Meanwhile, Cecille’s brow furrowed. Her shoulders and features tightened.
“Surely you knew,” Cecille whispered hoarsely. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Surely, you knew I would come back, daughter. That I was not gone to you forever.”
Greer merely nodded graciously again, her gaze still not quite right. But then, if he wasn’t mistaken, seeing her mother again shocked her. Every bit as much as a man witnessing his first death during warfare. Or, better yet, how he might respond if the dead rose from the grave.
“She thought ye dead,” Teagan murmured before he could stop himself.
“Dead?” Cecille’s tortured gaze stayed on Greer. She shook her head and held her arms out. “No, no, darling, I’m not dead but very much alive.”
When Greer didn’t respond or move but waited for permission from the men, Cecille muttered something under her breath about bloody blackguards and rushed to her daughter. Though Greer remained unresponsive when Cecille wrapped her arms around her, Teagan didn’t miss the flash of emotion in her gaze.
He had expected all sorts of scenarios when he came on this venture but not this. Not a lass truly in need of saving. Not to this extent. But she did need saving, and it was never so obvious. Regrettably, it was also clear, though domineering and small-minded, how powerful her gatekeepers were.
He’d noted the number of seasoned warriors her uncle had. Too many for him and Edmund to fight alone. Even with the men they’d left at his friend's holding awaiting further word.
“Why did you think me dead?” Cecille asked Greer, tears in her eyes when she pulled back. “Who told you that?”
“I never said,” Greer whispered, struggling to find her voice. Her nervous gaze flickered from Teagan to the other men, then back to her mother. She cleared her throat. “I never said I thought that.”