Page 20 of The Iron Earl

“Aye—I wouldn’t have ‘cept for the lass grabbing the wrong berries from the path.” He shook his head. “Red berries, I said, not pink.” His hands flew up, his grumble reaching a higher pitch. “And now we have one less rabbit fer the stew.”

Evalyn’s chest deflated.

She’d saved Rupe’s life with that rabbit, but that wasn’t what the cook would see. What the men in Lachlan’s camp would see. One less rabbit for them to eat. A stew lean on meat because of her actions.

And it was her fault. She was the one that had mistaken the pink berries for red in the waning light of the day.

Another failure to add to the tally.

Her head bowed.

The rest of the walk to the camp was in silence.

~~~

He could feel it around him.

The shift in the air. The air around Evalyn.

It hadn’t taken but minutes back in the camp for word of Rupe’s altercation with the jaguar and what Evalyn had done to reach every ear of his men.

With the story spreading, curious glances were rampant to the back of the wagon where Rupe had Evalyn gutting the other three rabbits.

Lachlan didn’t care for it.

His men had done what they could in the last three days to break her—save for another hand across her cheek. Did what they could to send her running back to Wolfbridge. They despised her, just the same as they despised her stepfather.

Or at least, they had.

She hadn’t broken, the chit. The sneers and jeers. The laughter at her expense. The constant demands for her to serve them. Gutting rabbits. Crawling through the brush for berries. None of it sent her feet to halting. None of it sent her running.

If anything, the tilt of her chin, the raw determination in her gold-green eyes had intensified.

He didn’t care for that, either.

He’d ignored her the best he could for days, but that was waning.

Lachlan took a sip of ale from the tankard slung along his hand as his look dipped to the main fire in front of him. This journey would be immensely easier if his men continued to hold dismissive contempt for her. With that, he didn’t have to worry about one of them drowning too far into their whisky that they thought it was a good idea to approach her.

To proposition her.

She was a beautiful woman.

He’d seen that the first night in the gardens when she’d cornered him. Even through her facade of angry demands, he could see how her gold-green eyes sparkled under the torches of the gardens. How her smooth skin and fine features lent an ancient world elegance to her body. How her carefully styled hair swept low along her right temple, highlighting the silky smoothness of the auburn locks.

The last thing he needed on this journey north was the headache of keeping his men’s hands off her person.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

Even with her silly gown on, now stained and wrinkled to hell, and her hands deep in the blood of the rabbits, she held herself with an odd modicum of grace. Maybe it was how she held her bare arms up and out, attempting to distance her dress from the blood of the rabbits.

Why would she bother? The gold and white concoction was now so dirty, there would be no saving it.

Her elbow lifted and she tried to force back a thick lock of her auburn hair that had fallen in front of her right eye. Unsuccessful.

He stifled a sigh.

No. He didn’t need his men shifting their focus to her. Didn’t need their curiosity. She was no longer extra baggage they had to haul across the land. She was now interesting and brave—not a despised silent tail to their traveling party. He’d hoped that’s what she would remain when he ordered Rupe to take her on as his helper.

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