And she could be part of that army.
How long had she wished to exact vengeance on the English for their betrayal of her and her family after their English father was slain in combat? How often had she lain awake in the manor, craving something more out of their quiet life?
This would be the ideal opportunity. The decision ought to be easy.
She glanced to where Clara sifted through several bolts of fabric with a careful hand.
Could Kinsey leave her family? Especially with their brother, Drake, already working for an earl on the wrong side of the border, and Faye being so far away?
Indecision raged within her.
For how could she not fight for Scotland after so many injustices?
* * *
William MacLeod had spied the fiery lass from across the market. What man had not?
Hair like fire, ice-blue eyes that sparkled with a challenge, high firm breasts…aye, he’d have noticed her anywhere. But then she’d brought out that bow, quick as a snake’s strike, and expertly pinned the arrows into the ground right before the Englishman’s feet.
That was the kind of archer William needed under his command.
A bonny lass to warm his bed would be an added benefit.
And yet she appeared hesitant.
“If ye join my men and me in our efforts to regain Scottish land from England, I’ll, of course, pay ye.” He winked at her.
She frowned slightly, almost appearing as though she found his charm off-putting. Strange.
Her pretty lips pursed with shrewdness. “If ye pay me to do the job of a man, I’ll take the wage of one.”
There was something in the way she spoke that made her sound English. The Scottish burr was there, aye, but her words were less lyrical, crisper. He’d bet his life that she had mixed blood running through her veins, which meant neither country had likely been kind to her. He could use that to his advantage.
He considered what she’d said. While most men might balk at such a brazen demand, William found the logic of her request sound. “Consider it done. The pay of a man for the work of a man.”
“And I want armor.” She glanced behind him, where his men stood in their chainmail.
“Of course.”
Her eyes narrowed with a look of cautious intensity. “How do I know I can trust ye?”
He studied her, taking in the blue linen kirtle hugging her well-curved frame. The garment was quality enough, but not grand. Certainly, it was absent fraying hems or worn spots. Which meant she was not poor, but nor was she rich.
Her bow and arrow were of better quality, mayhap the best he’d seen on the borderlands.
She wasn’t unfounded in her lack of trust, especially on the border between England and Scotland, where treachery was prevalent, and reivers left everyone on edge.
She flicked her attention to where her attractive dark-haired companion pulled a bolt of fabric from a stack and handed it to the merchant with a generous smile.
William was running out of time.
“My father is Laird of Dunscaith Castle on the Isle of Skye.” He indicated his family crest on the hilt of his blade, the bull’s head expertly carved into the gold.
“And ye’re his heir?” The weight of her assessment settled over him.
William squared his shoulders. “Why would I no’ be?”
In his father’s eyes, there was one primary reason—disappointment. It had started early on when William was a lad. The knowledge that nothing he ever did was good enough to satisfy his father.
After a time, William gave up trying.
He’d also stopped caring. Or so he told himself. But with his father now threatening to name someone else as his heir for the lairdship, William had no choice. He had to fight for his birthright.
This was his one opportunity to prove his worth by assisting King David in reclaiming Scottish land. And William would stop at nothing to ensure he succeeded.
“I must go.” The lass said abruptly.
“Can I no’ get an answer from ye?” he pressed. “What’s yer name?”
She smirked. “If I decide to join ye, I’ll give it then.”
“We leave at the first light of dawn tomorrow.” A sense of urgency always helped spur prompt decisions. “Meet us by the inn.”
Except she didn’t take the bait. She lifted a shoulder with a maddening air of indifference. “I may be there. I may not.”
She began to turn away, and he knew she would be lost if he didn’t press his cause.
“Have ye or yer loved ones no’ ever suffered at the hands of the English?” he asked.
She slowly looked back at him, and he knew his gut had been right.
“Ye’ve no idea,” she ground out.
“Then why let them win?” He stepped toward her. Her eyes sparked in a way that told him he’d struck a chord, one he could readily play.
There was a sweet, powdery scent about her. Markedly feminine. He could envision himself gliding his lips over the hollow of her naked collarbone, breathing her in.
“The English have had their way with Scotland for too long,” he said. “Starvation. Raids. Homes burned. Lives stolen.” He shook his head. “No more.” His hand balled into a fist. “King David will reclaim Scotland, and I’ll be there. My men will be there. Will ye?”
Her breath quickened, evident by the swell of those alluring breasts against the neckline of her simple gown. “Dawn?”
He nodded, and she said nothing more, leaving to rejoin the dark-haired woman. Though she hadn’t committed to accompanying them, she would be there.
Or at least he hoped.
Hiding a smile, he put his back to her despite the temptation to watch her depart and returned to the inn.
All his men had gone inside the sagging structure, except the largest warrior who merely lifted his brows at William’s arrival. “Will she join us?” Reid asked.
William shrugged and tried to pass it off as though
