Page 35

Chapter

W hen she finished with MacBrannigan, she would murder Alice next.

She’d been told to stay away from the man, but instead, the girl sashayed right past him.

Not bothering to even elicit Sir Reynard’s aid, Maisie practically ran to the table where her girl was currently being fondled, an act MacBrannigan certainly knew would bring Maisie running.

“Unhand her at once,” she said.

The chieftain laughed. “And if I refuse?”

The hall had become quiet as everyone watched.

Maisie removed her trusted knife from her belt. “You will lose an eye before you or your men can stop me.”

“Ahh, but we will stop you,” he snarled. “And I willnae lose an eye.”

Maisie had built a reputation since her husband’s passing for two things: her cooking, and her ability and willingness to wield the weapon in her hand.

Of course, these men could overpower her.

The chieftain alone could overpower her.

But if she did not protect those who worked for her, did not protect herself, she might as well close the doors to the inn and return home to the parents who put her in this situation.

“Unhand her and step outside, MacBrannigan.”

Maisie spun on her heels. The voice did not sound like Sir Reynard’s, who she’d assumed would come to her aid. Indeed, Sir Reynard was even now making his way toward them. So who said that?

MacBrannigan looked confused as well.

Until the man stepped forward.

Maisie’s arm dropped to her side as she watched him move toward MacBrannigan.

Everything about him was dark. His hair, his eyes.

She could see them clearly as the man moved past her.

Locked onto hers, they offered both sympathy and something else.

Admiration, perhaps? Maisie stared at him, unable to take her eyes from the man’s face.

It was perfectly formed, as was the rest of him, which she could discern easily enough even though he wore a belted plaid.

“Who are you?” she asked, unsurprised when he did not answer.

Instead, rather than waiting for MacBrannigan to respond, the newcomer grabbed Alice by the wrist so quickly that she stood and stumbled into him. Pushing her toward Maisie, he then towered over MacBrannigan, who had no room to stand.

But his clansmen did. They surrounded the man, though he seemed unconcerned.

“You would start a war,” the man said calmly, “by attacking me when I’ve already challenged your chieftain?”

So he knew MacBrannigan, then?

“Move aside,” MacBrannigan said roughly. The man did and both of them, to a roar of cheers, made their way toward the door.

Maisie glanced briefly at Sir Reynard, who appeared as surprised as she, and then hurried to follow. By the time she reached the sunlight, a cool, almost winter’s breeze greeting her, there was a circle around the men. Did this stranger really mean to fight MacBrannigan on her behalf? It seemed so.

But why?

Swords drawn, the men circled each other.

MacBrannigan raised his sword, a massive claymore, high above his head, ready to strike.

The stranger, quick and nimble, moved swiftly, circling around his opponent, assessing the best angle of attack.

MacBrannigan lunged forward with a powerful overhead strike, aiming to bring his sword crashing down on the stranger, who expertly parried the blow with his own blade, redirecting the force to the side.

He countered with a swift thrust aimed at MacBrannigan’s chest, forcing him to step back and defend.

The clash of steel filled the air as the two warriors engaged in a flurry of strikes, blocks, and counters.

The stranger’s strength was evident as he delivered heavy blows, seeking to overpower his opponent.

With each exchange, the crowd gasped and cheered, fully engrossed in the intense duel unfolding before them.

Suddenly, with a burst of energy, the stranger maneuvered behind MacBrannigan’s back and delivered a decisive blow. MacBrannigan’s sword fell from his grasp as he collapsed to his knees, signaling his defeat.

The crowd erupted into applause.

“I would aid you in standing,” the stranger said. “But you do not deserve such respect.”

The crowd began to disperse.

“Right bastard, like your father,” MacBrannigan muttered.

Maisie watched as the stranger’s jaw clenched. But he said nothing. MacBrannigan stood, he and his men glaring at the stranger. He then turned his gaze to her.

“They will not always be by your side.” MacBrannigan nodded to the stranger and Sir Reynard, who stood next to him.

“You are wrong,” she spat, grateful for the stranger’s defense but angry at the truth of his words. “Most respect the Red Stag as a haven for weary travelers and would hasten to defend it from those who wish to see the peace here shattered. Go. And do not return.”

MacBrannigan’s laugh echoed behind him, the blatant disregard for her words evident. She began to follow him, to tell him her thoughts on his laughter, but a hand stayed her.

Maisie looked down at the hand. Large. Strong. Fingers wrapped gently around her forearm. When she glanced up, he was watching her.

“Let him go.”

His voice was so different than when he’d spoken to MacBrannigan. Still deep, but the hard edge was gone.

He was right, of course.

When his hand dropped, the loss of its heat immediate, Maisie had the odd notion of wanting him to grasp her arm again.

“Many thanks,” she said as most of the crowd left, with the exception of Sir Reynard and his companions.

She smiled at the English knight now, knowing he would have defended her. Sir Reynard bowed as the stranger watched their exchange. And then the Englishmen moved off, back into the inn.

“For coming to my aid,” she finished to the stranger.

“You’d do well to avoid such a man. He wreaks havoc everywhere he goes.”

“I wish that I could. He comes here for such a purpose.” Maisie swallowed, cold but not wanting to go inside if it meant an end to their conversation. He was such a pleasing man to look at, much more than most. Or any, truth be told.

“I am surprised,” he said. “MacBrannigan land is close enough to here that he should not need to frequent your inn.”

Your inn. “How did you know I was the innkeeper?”

“Because I asked one of the serving girls about you.”

“Did you?” Maisie’s heart raced. “What did you learn, precisely?”

“Naught but that you are the owner of the Red Stag. I know not even your name.”

“Maisie,” she said. “And yours?”

“Kieran of Clan Duncraig,” he said, his voice changing as he said “Clan Duncraig.”

“I’ve heard of your clan but know not from where you hail.”

“Northeast of here,” he said. “Two, mayhap three days ride.”

“You’ve not been to the Red Stag before?”

“Nay. I’ve not.”

“Welcome,” she said with a shiver. Perhaps it was time to move indoors. “Can I offer you a meal and a room for your service to me?”

“I will accept both,” he said.

Yet Maisie did not move. Kieran of Clan Duncraig did not move either.

“You are cold.” Removing his cloak, he placed it around her arms. She accepted it, her hands grasping the top portion around her neck.

“First your sword arm. And then your cloak. What would you give me next?” she teased, realizing only after the words left her mouth that they very well could hold a double meaning.

“Likely whatever you asked for, my lady.” His answer was quickly offered.

Maisie did not flirt. She could not afford such a thing, in her position. Any indication of her interest in a man meant she could not expect protection from him, and it was all Maisie wanted of men since her husband’s passing.

Protection.

For herself. For her staff.

And yet, rather than move inside or ignore his statement, Maisie thought to respond.

“I would know not what to ask for except your protection. ‘Tis all that matters to me,” she said, her honesty easily given. The man’s eyes, warm now, unlike when he had challenged MacBrannigan, made her wish to continue speaking with him.

“That I can offer as long as I am here. Would that I never see a woman mistreated the way Duncan MacBrannigan has done again, but sadly, I witness such a thing too often.”

“You would very much like Sir Reynard,” she said, the English knight having said much the same to her. It was when she realized she could trust him, despite his gender.

“The English knight?”

Surprised he’d noticed him, Maisie nodded and said, “Aye.”

“He cares for you.”

That was the last thing Maisie would have expected him to say. “I . . .” She was prepared to deny it, but could not. “Aye,” she said instead. “I believe he does.”

“How do you come to own the Red Stag—” He stopped, as if wanting to say more.

“Alone?” She’d heard the question often enough. Expected it.

“Aye.”

“My husband passed last summer. ‘Twas his when we married.”

“I am sorry, my lady, to hear of it.”

“Do not be,” she said. “He was a terrible man.”

That surprised him. “If I may be so bold as to ask why you married a terrible man?”

Maisie would have put her hands on her hips if she could, but her frozen fingers still gripped the cloak at her neck. “Can you not think of one reason a woman of my status would do such a thing?”

Kieran cocked his head to the side, seemingly puzzled. “You do not seem the sort of woman to marry for coin.”

“Indeed? What sort of woman does such a thing? One in desperate need of it, perhaps?” she asked, answering her own question.

“I dinnae mean offense, my lady.”

“Then I will choose not to take offense.” Realizing she had assumed the worst of him, as Maisie often did with men since her husband, she softened her tone. “Another reason could be that said woman had no choice but to do so. The desire for coin was not my own.”

“Apologies, my lady. It seems I’ve defended your honor only to besmirch it myself. Truly, I meant no offense.”

She believed him.

“Shall I fetch you that meal?” Maisie asked, part of her wanting to step away.

She liked little the feeling in her gut while in his presence.

It was as if her chest no longer easily filled with air, but instead, she was forced to find it with each breath.

Her tongue was too easily loosened by him; it would do well for them to part.

“Indeed,” he said, stepping aside to allow Maisie to pass. When she did, removing the cloak, she handed it up to him, not meaning to look so directly into his eyes. Surely the brush of his fingers on hers as he accepted his cloak was not accidental, a fact solidified as he allowed them to linger.

Aye, she was right to step away. It was the smart thing to do.

Then why, Maisie wondered as he opened the door for her a moment later, did she wish she’d not done so and instead was still in the courtyard with Kieran of Duncraig?