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“I thank you for not cutting me in two, Anthony.” Davina leaned against the doorframe, panting. “Please go get Liamand a wheelbarrow.”

Anthony took one look at MacLeod’s prone figure, nodded, and ran off.

“Are ye all right?” Rosselyn’s gaze swept over Davina’s bloodied shift, then her scraped hands. Her voice trembled. “Och, Davina…”

“I’ll live,” Davina muttered, brushing her off with a shaky breath. “Apparently, we didn’t get MacLeod drunk enough. I should’ve stayed at the table longer.”

Rosselyn knelt beside the unconscious brute, frowning. “Idon’t think you had a choice, milady. He couldn’t keep his hands off you.” She straightened, fists clenched. “Now what?”

Davina stepped over the shattered pottery, her jaw set like granite. “Now? Mr. MacLeod is no longer welcome under this roof.”

She yanked open the wardrobe. “Help me dress. We’re taking him to the inn—where he should’ve gone the moment he arrived.”

Chapter Three

“I dinnae think this is a wise idea, lass,” Fife muttered as he helped his son Liam and the guard heave MacLeod’s limp body into the wagon.

The entire household had been roused by the commotion. Some huddled in cloaks and housecoats, whispering behind sleeves. Others worked in tense silence, loading MacLeod’s belongings into the wagon beside the bundled wool—part of a shipment bound for Aberdeen.

Davina tugged her bandaged hand into a glove and cinched it tight, jaw clenched.

“What would you have me do, then?” she snapped. “The man forced his way into my chamber and tried to force himself on me. This is precisely why I never wanted him under this roof.”

Fife stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Beggin’ yer pardon, milady…but ye’ve put yerself in this position by—”

“By doing what I believed was right?”

He glanced around and leaned in further. “What yer doin’ isillegal, Davina.”

“I amnotgoing to subject my daughter and this household to another heavy-handed brute! Is that understood?”

Her voice carried, slicing through the murmurs. The courtyard went still.

Dozens of eyes turned to her—some wide with worry, others narrowed in judgment.

“If anyone disapproves of my actions, you’re free to leave. I won’t keep anyone who questions my resolve.”

She swept her gaze across the gathering, defiant. No one moved.

But their silence stung.

“You all ken I’m doing what I must to protect this house.”

Still, unease rippled through the group. Folded arms. Averted gazes. A few men looked away entirely.

Davina pressed her lips into a hard line and mounted her horse without another word.

Fife tethered a second mount to the rear of the wagon for Liam, who climbed up onto the bench. He adjusted the reins, then secured the iron bracket to the frame, hanging a lantern that bathed the road in a golden glow.

Davina turned her horse toward the village and urged it into motion.

Liam followed in silence, the wagon creaking as it rolled through the open gates into the waiting dark.

After several minutes, Davina tugged Heather’s reins and eased the mare back to ride beside Liam. The swaying lantern on the wagon cast orange beams across the boy’s face, making the scowl he wore all the more vivid.

“You think I’m wrong, don’t you?” she asked.

“Doesna matter what I think, milady.” And yet his scowlstayed firmly in place.