His hands still covered hers, as if he were hesitant to release her.
A muscle worked in his jaw dark with whiskers, as if he had not shaved in several days, and made her crave the rasp of the bristled hair against her palm. Or the contrast of the smoothness of his lips over hers with the roughness of his chin.
He glanced around, then edged closer, speaking low. “I’m sorry.” He paused as though collecting his thoughts. “I…” Whatever he intended to say tapered off.
It was for the best. Hearing it would do her no good.
Nothing he could say would change matters.
She glared at him and jerked her hands from beneath his, allowing rage to blanket her hurt. “I understand the hold on the sword now.”
He stepped back with a nod and strode away.
Though she’d wanted him gone, she hated every step that took him farther from her. She craved his warmth, his scent, his touch, even as she wished she’d never known any of them.
What was more, he’d spoke of needing a woman who could offer something to his people. His da was a laird, but Kinsey’s grandda was a chieftain.
The Ross Chieftain was a cruel bastard who had stolen her eldest sister from their home and forced her to marry. The union worked out well for Faye, aye, but it didn’t excuse what he had done. Kinsey loathed the old man and would rather die than ask him for anything. Even a dowry.
Nor did she want a husband who would only wed her for what she brought him. She would not buy marriage.
Not even for Sir William MacLeod.
15
It had been a mistake for William to go to Kinsey. Aye, he’d wanted to ensure she was performing the move correctly. But that wasn’t the only reason.
She’d been so damn indifferent. Every time they passed, she looked through him as if he didn’t exist. He’d tried speaking to her, but she’d just answered as a warrior, the coolness in her blue eyes giving away nothing.
He missed her.
The admission had almost slipped out of his mouth, but he’d just managed to stop himself. He’d caused her enough pain.
For she hadn’t been able to hide it all from him. In a flash of a moment, he’d seen it—the hurt swimming in her eyes. Except it hadn’t made him feel better, damn it. Knowing her suffering only made him feel worse.
He had done that to her.
It wasn’t fair for him to go to her. It had been selfish, and he vowed never to do such again. His communication with her would go through Reid going forward so that William could maintain his distance.
A shout rose somewhere on the field, back near the tree line, followed by the clang of metal. William didn’t bother to turn in the direction of the scuffle.
Fights between the men happened more often now as the siege wore on. The soldiers were bored, and disputes among them were common. An arrow sank into the grass near William’s feet.
Kinsey?
He spun around, fully expecting to face her wrath, but instead discovered an army rushing from the forest and King David’s men locked in combat at the perimeter.
William’s gaze cut through the battle waging around them, seeking out the brilliance of Kinsey’s red hair. He spotted her between two men who raced toward her with blades drawn. She held her sword as William had shown her while she backed up, her stare flitting between her attackers.
Though she wasn’t terribly far away, a cluster of Englishmen was racing toward William with intent.
He didn’t even think as he charged toward them while trying to keep part of his focus locked on Kinsey. His blade sliced through the first man who met him.
Several feet away, Kinsey blocked a blow, then barely managed to evade the next. William roared with indignation and whipped his blade with fury, connecting to an Englishman’s tender neck and then into the eye slit of another man’s helm.
All around him, Scotsmen were being slain. Most were not armed for combat. Some had their gambesons on. Precious few actually wore full chainmail or their helms. Winning would be impossible.
He thrust his blade into a final opponent and was able to rush the short distance to Kinsey.
William ran through the man attacking her with a savage growl and jerked his weapon free. “Were ye injured?”
She threw down the dulled practice sword she’d been using and snatched up her bow and quiver. “Nay.”
“This is an ambush we were no’ ready for.” Even as he spoke, three more men ran toward them.
She sent her arrows streaking through the field toward the men charging at them. One was struck in the shoulder, which did little to slow him down, while another fell with an arrow jutting from his helm.
William lifted his sword, preparing to strike the third, who was thus far uninjured. “Ye need to flee, Kinsey.”
“I’ll not leave ye or the other men here.” Another arrow flew at the third man, taking him down as well. “Not when I can help.”
“Then fire yer arrows from the trees, but no’ here.” He ran toward the man with the shoulder wound to keep him from Kinsey. They met in a harsh ring of metal on metal as their blades caught.
William shoved the bastard back to ensure he remained away from Kinsey.
She could fight, aye, but he didn’t want her to. Not when she might be injured. Or worse.
Energy exploded in William, swelling with the need to protect. He struck at the man, again and again, raining down blows faster than the man could defend. While William couldn’t cut him through the chainmail, the hits would still cause injury.
Any discomfort William could cause would be a benefit. For his part, he was
