Page 12 of Beloved Enemy
“Christ, sounds like that other one, who went with Marcus,” said another.
Charlotte stepped away from the big man, now pleading with the others. “Please. I’m telling you, I’m not a witch. I’m just a kindergarten teacher from Florida who got dragged into this...mess. You’ve got to believe me. I don’t want to be here anymore than you want me here!”
One of the men, who’d said she sounded likethat other one, stood with his hands on his hips as he scalded her with the savagery of his gaze before turning it onto the hazel-eyed man.
“Nae, we dinna want her here, nae anywhere near us. So what are ye going to do with her?”
Chapter Three
Reid ignored Tavish’s query and asked for a more detailed report of the reivers, since what little had been said was unsatisfactory, the men being as befuddled as Reid himself was over the appearance of the woman.
“Six slain,” Tavish reported, his frown still heavy and focused on the woman. “Plenty of booty in their possession—our possession now.”
“So aye, reivers is my guess,” Seumas supposed, keeping to English as Tavish had done. “But whence they come, who last they terrorized, we dinna ken.”
“Eoin and Artur, mayhap a few others, were giving chase down the other side there,” Tavish added. “Might be, they dinna kill 'em all and will get some information.” He shrugged negligently, hinting at the unlikelihood of that. “And what of ye?” Tavish asked the woman. “What were ye doing with those rousers?”
Green eyes stared blankly at Tavish for a moment, until she lifted her bound hands and drilled him with an incredulous glare. “Doing with them? What does it look like I was doing with them? They took me hostage. I had never met them before yesterday.” She lifted her hands rather helplessly and shook her head. “Not that I met them. It wasn’t like they introduced themselves. I couldn’t tell you even one of their names.”
Even awash in distress, her eyes sparkled with a fire that was difficult to ignore.
“As to that, what is yours?” Seumas asked.
“Charlotte,” she answered. “Charlotte O’Rourke.”
“Char-lot,” Seumas tried it out.
“No, notchar, like to burn something,” she corrected. “Charlotte, beginning with a sh- sound.”
“Char-lot,” Seumas said it again, with the same pronunciation he’d used the first time.
“Okay, close enough,” she allowed with some resignation. “But the emphasis should be on the first syllable, not the second.”
Behind her, Fergus quietly tested out the unfamiliar name as well, saying it almost exactly as Seumas had.
“And what’ve they been doing since ye’ve been with them, Char-lot?” Seumas asked, lifting one brow, his gaze once more running up and down the woman, considering her strange garb.
“Nothing,” she answered promptly. “Nothing but riding—in circles it felt like. And then they camped out and tied me to a tree and left me to freeze my ass off overnight. Is anyone going to untie my hands?”
Reid studied her closely. Aye, she claimed she was no witch. But odd clothing, suspicious speech, and that questionable amulet aside, she wasn’t afraid to make her voice heard. She displayed a surprising lack of fear for someone who’d had such a harrowing day—kidnapped, ambushed, and having witnessed several murders. Though she had been quite upset earlier, she now seemed remarkably composed. Her imperious manner, demanding answers and speaking assertively with strangers, suggested a boldness he might associate with a witch.
“Well?” She asked when she found him staring at her. She shook her hands close to his face.
“Chief!”
Reid pivoted, turning his back to the witch, facing the narrow path he’d taken along the ridge. Lachlan, Ruairidh, and Fergus approached.
“Three dead below,” Lach said. “We’ve got their steeds and tracked down three more. Eoin says”—he paused, catching sight of the woman as she stepped out from behind Reid—“who’s this?”
“St. Columba,” Fergus breathed, wearing a fresh and bloody slice across his cheek. “What do we have here?”
Like the others, all three gazes filled with grimacing curiosity as they assessed her unusual garb.
Reid’s eyes lingered a moment longer on her face, taking in her delicate features and the determined grit in her expression.
“Why does everyone keep staring at me as if I’m dangerous?” She asked with no small amount of disgruntlement.
Fergus drew in a sharp breath at the sound of her English.
