Page 57 of Rebellion's Fire

“Yes!”

“A defect from birth or an accident?”

She shrugged, grabbing every opportunity to repel that she could. “I don’t remember life without disfigurement.”

His lips curved as if he guessed what she was doing, “You wear the mask with a certain style,” he allowed. “At least in the dark. Take it off.”

Instinctively, she leapt to her feet and out of his reach, delighted the movement no longer fuzzed her head. “Why? You’ll see nothing in the da—”

Before she could finish the word, there was a thud. Something dropped to the grass beside Fergus. Fergus stared at it, frozen, and then crumpled to the ground.

Three large shadows bounded silently out of the darkness. Large men, daggers drawn.

“Oh, in the name of—” Christian had had enough of men forcing her to this place or that by threat or violence. No one even gave her time to argue. The truly strange thing was that, despite that, she didn’t seem to be afraid yet.

Instead of trying to run, she dived at Fergus’s prone figure and snatched the glinting dagger from his belt. Armed with the wickedly sharp blade, she faced the newcomers. “Not one step nearer,” she snapped.

A half laugh that wasn’t unfamiliar spilled from one of them. Under her scowl, he dropped beside Fergus’s head, feeling for the pulse at his throat. One of the others caught the reins of Fergus’s restive horse and soothed the animal with caresses and murmured words in Gaelic. Though not quite the response Christian expected to her command—she’d been prepared for lunges, derision, or even, if her luck had finally changed, their obedience—her anger deflated into a rush of something she couldn’t name.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” she said to the kneeling man.

“Anyone would have to answer that in the affirmative.” He rose to his feet as the third man joined him beside the prone Fergus. It looked like Cailean mac Gilleon. “You sound unharmed.”

Paying no attention to the dagger she still held out in front of her, he walked the few steps to her and took her chin in his fingers, turning her face up to the moonlight. Oh yes, definitely Adam MacHeth’s large person, his intense countenance with its hollowed cheeks almost cadaverous, his unblinking eyes darker than the surrounding night. Something twisted deep inside her, churning over and over. She didn’t move. She couldn’t.

His breath caught.

“I told you he hit her,” the man soothing Fergus’s horse pointed out. He reminded her of someone, though in the darkness, she couldn’t tell who. She was sure she’d heard his voice in Tirebeck. “You should have used a bigger stone.”

Adam nodded once. His fingers glided over her bruised chin. “Is there blood in your mouth?”

Baffled, she shook her head, and his hand fell away, though only to take hers and tug her forward. “We have to leave now.”

“You’re leavinghimhere?” she demanded, resisting his pressure, waving her free hand at the still figure on the ground.

“Cailean will take him back to his followers in the Glen.”

Cailean, still kneeling by Fergus, glanced up at her. “I will.”

“You’ve recovered,” Christian blurted. “You both recovered.”

Cailean said, “Thanks to you.”

She had no idea how to answer that, not when the still figure of Adam MacHeth loomed beside her, his rough hand gripping hers as once it had held her face as he kissed her.Oh no, I will not remember that now. They’re all going to pretendthisnever happened.

“Is that it?” she demanded. “Is there no punishment for violence and abduction in Ross?”

“Not when the perpetrator’s Fergus of Galloway and you need his friendship,” muttered the Tirebeck man. Sigurd. His name was Sigurd.

Remembering Fergus’s words, Christian gazed at Adam MacHeth with foreboding. “Please tell me you haven’t killed my husband for that friendship?”

There was a pause. “I’m sure it was expected of us, though not from friendship.” And this time, there was no resisting the tug of his hand. “Come,” Adam said impatiently. “I’m taking you home.”

Christian gave in. After another step, however, Adam stopped again, extracted Fergus’s dagger from her now careless fingers, and handed it to Cailean, who wordlessly bent to restore it to Fergus’s belt.

Adam pulled her on. And there in the trees, another horse snuffled. Not the big grey she remembered, but another animal, just as big. This time, he more or less threw her into the saddle and leapt up behind her. Before she could draw breath, they were plunging through the night at full gallop.

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