“Is that so?” She glanced at Archie once more. “A prison break? So ye two are rebels, aye?”
Toran didn’t answer. Let her come to her own conclusions.
“We have horses.” She kept her gaze on his, and he had the intense urge to draw closer. “Ye and your friend can have one when we return to my camp—for a price. Why not donate your coin to the cause and join us? We’ve a need for more rebels.”
Toran did not want to join her. Now, if she’d asked him to join her for some mutual warmth under a plaid, that would be another story. Then again, she had a point about the bullets. And he truly did not want to die.
“I’m guessing from your current circumstances ye are in need of a helping hand, sir.” Her voice was smooth, even melodic, but still filled with authority. And considering that she was the one speaking, she certainly gave the impression that she was the one in charge. Fascinating.
A group of men led by a woman? Not a common thing and intensely intriguing. Whoever she was, she had ballocks as full of steel as his own. And if he weren’t trapped in the woods with her, a hundred redcoats on his tail, he might have asked her to join him for a dram.
“Who are ye?” Toran asked.
A soft laugh escaped her, and her hand waved dismissively. “Not yet, sir. Ye’ll have to prove yourself first.”
Prove himself? He gritted his teeth. “All right, we’ll join ye.” There really was no other choice. He and Archie needed a quick escape, and her horse would provide that. Just because he was taking her up on the offer now didn’t mean he had to stick it out. In fact, as soon as he could, he’d steal the horse and somehow get Archie back to Fraser lands where he could make certain the rest of his family was safe from Boyd.
“Good.” She nodded to Dirk. “Search them for weapons, and then help the wounded man onto your horse.”
Toran stood still for the inspection, gritting his teeth as his weapons were removed. “I’ve said we’d join ye. Why then are ye treating me like a prisoner?”
The lass cocked her head to the side, a slight grin curling her upper lip. “We must first see that ye are trustworthy.” With an added challenge echoing in her words, she said, “Ye can ride with me. And dinna try any tricks, else ye find yourself verra dead.”
The lass didn’t beat around the bush, and there was no hint of humor in her tone at all. She meant what she said.
Toran climbed onto the back of her horse, his cold, wet body flush to her warmer, dry back. Beneath the icy exterior was a lass full of lush curves. Mo chreach… Good heavens, but she felt good. Hesitantly, he placed an arm around her waist.
She shuddered. “Blast, but ye’re soaked,” she hissed. “Ye should have warned me. And ye smell like the devil’s own chamber pot.”
Toran chuckled. “A hazard of escape, lass.”
Her back straightened, and she leaned forward, away from him. “Ye can call me Mistress J.”
Mistress J? Why did that sound familiar?
“And ye are?” she urged.
“I’m called Toran,” he said slowly as realization struck him. The night had taken a very interesting turn. For he was holding onto the woman he suspected might be responsible for his mother’s death.
The Rebel Wears Plaid
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Acknowledgments
As always, I must thank my incredible family. They are my rocks! During the writing of this book, we had to endure one of the hardest times of all of our lives, a pandemic that left all three of my children out of school and my amazing husband stuck overseas. But because of their positivity and support, I was able to pour love onto the pages of this book. I am extremely grateful to them for their unwavering support, their love of baking, and endless rounds of Monopoly and charades. Thank you to my agent, Kevan Lyon, for believing in me and being my pillar. Many thanks to the team at Sourcebooks, especially my editor Deb Werksman, for their excitement about the series and continued support. And last but never least, a shoutout to the most incredible writer friends a gal could have who helped me plot, read pages, offered advice, traveled with me for research, and handed me glasses of wine. Listed in no particular order: Andrea Snider, Brenna Ash, Madeline Martin, Lori Ann Bailey, Christi Barth, and my #MorningWriterChicks. Dreams happen when we believe in ourselves and persist no matter what. We are stronger than we think.
About the Author
Eliza Knight is an award-winning and USA Today bestselling author of over fifty sizzling historical romances. Under the name E. Knight, she’s known for riveting tales that cross landscapes around the world. Her love of history began as a young girl when she traipsed the halls of Versailles and ran through the fields in Southern France. While not reading, writing, or researching her latest book, she chases after her three children. In her spare time (if there is such a thing…) she likes daydreaming, wine tasting, traveling, hiking, staring at the stars, watching movies, shopping, and visiting with family and friends. She lives atop a small mountain with her own knight in shining armor, three princesses, and two very naughty Newfies.
Visit Eliza at elizaknight.com or her historical blog History Undressed: historyundressed.com.
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