“That was before we were hiding out together in the woods. Before I found ye being attacked at the prince’s headquarters.”
“Dinna make it sound like we’re comrades.” She swiped at the water dripping into her eyes, which didn’t hide the fact that she was rolling them.
“Och, lass, trust me, I know well what we are to each other.”
“And what is that?”
He frowned, unable to answer, for he wasn’t exactly sure what to say. They weren’t exactly enemies since they were both fighting for the same cause, and they weren’t friends because of it either. He didn’t trust her, thought her to be a spy. They’d already caught one Scots lass spying for Cumberland in their midst some months before.
“Two people who dinna trust each other, though we’re on the same side,” he replied.
She snorted. “That’s all ye could come up with?”
He shrugged.
“Listen, Grant, I need to be on my way and so do ye, so I say we just part ways here. I’ll tell ye how to find the prince, and ye can pretend I’m headed straight home to lock myself up in my bedchamber until a white knight comes to rescue me.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to argue with her, but why? She was giving him what he wanted, and though he did believe she should go home, he had to come to terms with the fact that it wasn’t really any of his business.
Brogan held out his hand to her, prepared to shake on the agreement.
She stared down at his palm and fingers smeared with blood, and he started to pull away, but she placed hers in his, equally dirty, and squeezed. “I hope ye take no offense when I say I hope never to see ye again.”
And then he changed his mind. “I take none, for the feeling is mutual, lass. But unfortunately, I canna agree to your proposal.”
She frowned. “Why no’?”
“I made ye a promise I’d help ye in exchange for the prince’s whereabouts, and I’m a man of my word.” Even as he cursed himself for being that way.
“I’m ever so grateful for your sacrifice, sir, but it is entirely unnecessary. And though I’m quite certain that until now I miraculously made it through life without your wise and sage advice, I must summon the courage to go on without ye.”
Brogan grunted, hardly able to keep himself from baring his teeth at her. What a stubborn and mocking wench.
“The prince is—”
Brogan reached for her, placing his hand over her mouth as she mumbled the rest. “Dinna say it. I refuse to hear it.”
She grumbled against his hand, and it was only when he felt her teeth sinking into his palm that he yanked it away.
“Good God, mate, ye’re more stubborn than I am.” She stared at him, incredulous. “Shall I tell your men, then?”
“Nay. We go as one,” one of the warriors, perhaps Sorley, said behind them.
The lass stared at him, challenge in her gaze. “Dinna make me regret agreeing to this madness.”
“Or what?”
“I’ll be forced to inflict bodily harm.”
There was no hint of humor in her voice, which made it difficult to distinguish if she were jesting or not. Certainly she must be. “I’d like to see ye try.” There was a teasing edge to his voice that was slightly foreign. Was he…flirting with her? Ballocks!
“I’m always up for a challenge.” She rolled her striking eyes and turned away from him as if he were of no more interest to her, and she steered her horse out onto the road.
He had to stop himself from reaching for her, pulling her back, and telling her to be careful. That she really should go home…that all of this was stupid and not worth it. But she had a message to deliver, men’s lives were on the line, and he wasn’t going to be the one that got them killed by waylaying her any longer.
A piece of her flame-red hair came loose from her cap. She shoved it back where it belonged, as if it were something she was quite used to doing. Given how he’d met her running around the woods as though she owned them, he wasn’t surprised.
Brogan watched her for a few moments heading down the road, his limbs itching unreasonably to chase after her.
“What do ye make of her?” Sorley asked, brows screwed up. The rest of the men grumbled their own curiosity as they followed her down the road.
“Of who?” Brogan cleared his throat.
“The woman,” James offered as if Brogan truly might not understand the question.
Brogan shrugged. “The prince trusts her. If we’re fighting for him, I suppose we ought to trust her too. She’s no’ lied to me yet.”
Sorley waggled his brows. “In what capacity did ye meet her afore?”
Brogan snorted. “No’ in an assignation, if that’s what ye’re referring to. She’s more likely to rob me than anything else.” Especially of information. The way she posed questions, the way she watched him, had him thinking that she was indeed very adept at her specific skill set.
“Are ye coming?” she asked from ahead, staring behind her as though trying to urge a bunch of bairns to follow.
What the bloody hell had he agreed to? If anything, maybe on this journey he could prove to her that he was right, that the place for her was not out here alone on the roads with dragoons but tucked safely behind a wall.
Four
Fiona slid her hand down the neck of the sleek horse she’d taken from the prince’s stable and contemplated Brogan Grant. How was she going to get rid of this giant lug and his entourage? Running through the forest, hiding in hollowed-out trees was a lot easier when it was just her, but this man was the size of a tree and those with him weren’t much smaller.
When the eight of them had shimmied up the hillside and watched the devils in red round the corner, stop short, and sift through the loosened debris of their horses’ hooves, she’d been certain there would be a battle right then and there.
The man who proclaimed them to be deer was certainly lying, and the other redcoats had to know it. Was it a trap? Or were they giving themselves permission not to kill any more Scots?
She frowned, not believing the latter to be true. Rare had it been for her to witness one kind redcoat, let alone half a dozen in one place. And yet they’d been let go when an issue for their outright murder had been ordered by the Butcher. Bastard.
Fiona bristled all over again. Loved ones, friends, companions, so many people that she cared about had been lost to this fight. There was not one person with Scots blood running through their veins that had not been touched by this tragedy.