Leaning forward in his saddle, Duncan peered at her, glad for the shadows cast by the rim of his helm, thankful she couldn’t see his face clearly. She’d no doubt think he’d found fault with her rather than guess it was her sire’s blatant disregard that stirred his ire.
Aye, her raised chin and defiant glare pleased him. The lass wasn’t meek. Most gentleborn females would hang their heads in self-pity and embarrassment ’twere they caught dressed in rags. Yet she’d met his perusal with a show of courage and spirit.
Slowly, Duncan’s frown softened and, to his amazement, the corners of his mouth rose in the beginnings of a rare smile. He caught it, though, clamping his lips together before the smile could spread. He’d not taken the lass to wed so he could find favor with her.
He only wanted her to put an end to his doubts about Robbie, to care for the lad, and keep him from his sight should his suspicions prove true. Her character scarce mattered beyond her suitability as a new mother for Robbie. But it pleased him to see steel in her blood.
She’d need it to be his wife.
Ignoring the glares of her escort, Duncan urged his steed forward. He reined in mere inches from her scrawny pony.
Linnet squared her shoulders at his approach, refusing to show the awe she felt for his magnificent warhorse. Ne’er had she seen such an animal. The beast fair towered over her shaggy Highland pony.
She hoped her awe of the man was well hidden, too.
“Can you ride farther?” The dark knight’s deep voice came from beneath his steel helm.
“Should you not be a-kissing her hand and asking if she isna weary from riding afore you ask if she can go on?” Jamie, Linnet’s favorite brother, challenged the MacKenzie. Her other brothers echoed Jamie’s sentiments, but Linnet’s own bravura faltered when instead of answering Jamie, her betrothed swept them all with a dark glare of his own.
Did he not think enough of her to give her a proper greeting? Was she so low in his esteem he’d forgotten the rules of chivalry?
Still, she kept her shoulders back and her chin up, angry at his lack of courtesy.
“’Tis Linnet of Dundonnell I be.” She lifted her chin a notch higher. “And who be you, milord?”
“Now is not the time for pleasantries. I would that we make haste from here if you are not too weary.”
She was bone weary, but she would rather perish afore she’d admit weakness.
Linnet glanced at her pony. His coat was slick with sweat, and heavy breathing bespoke the toll the long day’s exertion had cost the animal. “I am not weary, Sir Duncan, but my mount canna continue. Can we not make camp here and journey onward on the morrow?”
“Marmaduke!” The MacKenzie shouted rather than answered her. “Hie yourself over here!”
All the proud resolve she’d mustered fled when the object of his bellowing rode forward. The knight with the harmless-sounding name was the ugliest and most formidable man she’d ever seen. Marmaduke wore the MacKenzie plaid over his hauberk, and, like the other guardsmen, his only headpiece was a mail coif. But in his case, Linnet wished he’d donned a concealing helm like her betrothed.
His disfigured face presented a visage so terrifying, her toes curled within her brogans. An ugly scar made a wide slash across his face, beginning at his left temple and ending at the right corner of his mouth, pulling his lips into a permanent downward sneer. Worse, where his left eye should have been, ’twas a frightful mound of puckered pink flesh!
Linnet knew she should feel naught but pity for the brawny warrior, but the fierce expression in his good eye, which was disconcertingly focused on her, only filled her with terror.
Fear sent her blood rushing so loudly through her ears that she did not hear what Sir Duncan told the man, but she knew it concerned her, for the one-eyed Marmaduke kept his feral gaze trained on her, nodding once, before he turned his horse and galloped off into the woods.
Her relief at his abrupt departure escaped in one quick breath. If the saints were with her, he wouldn’t return.
Unfortunately, her relief was short-lived for Duncan MacKenzie shot out one arm, scooped her off her pony, and plunked her down in front of him on his great charger. With his free hand, he snatched her mount’s reins. She could barely breathe, so firmly did his arm hold her in place.
A great roar of protest rose up from her brothers, Ranald’s voice a shade louder than the rest, “Handle our sister so roughly again, MacKenzie, and you’ll be dead before you can draw your blade!”
In a heartbeat, her betrothed wheeled his mount toward her eldest brother. “Cool your temper, MacDonnell, lest I forget this was meant to be a friendly assignation.”