Page 39 of The Scottish Bride

As the soldiers ate, they kept looking toward the other table. Liam angled to shield the girl from sight and leaned toward her to speak low.

“Draw up your hood against the cold. There.” He tugged the hood over her tousled golden hair, making the gesture intimate and familiar. He disliked the way the soldiers’ gazes roamed over her. He needed to show them his firm role.

“I am too warm.” She started to push the hood down.

“You do not want to be seen, lass.” He pulled it back in place. “Look carefully, now, and tell me if you know them.”

She glanced there. “I have not seen them. But they could be Comyn’s men.”

“They asked the dame about us, so they may be searching for a young lady.” Setting a hand on her shoulder, he murmured in her ear. “Pardon, my lady, but for now, they must see that we are not strangers.”

“But we are.”

“Honesty seems to be one of your virtues,” he said with a soft laugh, “but just now, call me friend enough, aye?”

“Friend enough,” she whispered.

“We know each other well, you see. We—love each other,” he said low.

“But—”

“Love, aye, because I do not like the look of that lot.” From the corner of his eye, Liam saw them cram bannocks into their mouths, swallow ale, wipe their chins—harmless enough. But one or two pointed toward Tamsin, muttering to their companions.

His skin prickled in alarm. “Gilchrist, Finley. We should leave.”

“Take the lady to Holyoak,” Gilchrist suggested, “while we take the hound by another route to the abbey.”

“Wait a bit on the sleet. My lady,” he added, “the dame gave me a thought. We will pretend to be husband and wife, aye?”

“But we are not.” A flush crept over her pale cheeks.

“If those are Comyn’s men, they are looking for one woman, not a married woman with an escort.”

“That may be, but I do not like to lie.”

“Then say naught and I will lie for both of us.”

“The harper is good at that.”

“I owe you more than one apology, I see. But for now, let us have a ruse of marriage. Think of it as your shield and protection.” Seeing her pink cheeks and her frown, he realized the pretense troubled her. Regret tugged at him.

“Well, if they misunderstand who we are, we can do nothing about that.”

“Now you have the knack of it.” He smiled, then brushed back a tendril of her hair.

She sighed. “Very well. Pray do not say my name, in case they know it.”

“I shall call you… Margaret. It suits you.”

“My sister’s name, but she prefers Meg. Oh! Did you hear that?” Liam frowned, listening.

“Castle Kincraig,” one of the men was saying. “The chit has kin there and may head that way.”

“The lass could be anywhere.” The guard poked the man beside him and indicated Liam and the others. “She looks like the one we seek.”

“Could be, but the dame said she’s that one’s wife.”

Tamsin gasped, lowered her head.