The ride back to the village inn seemed longer than it should have. Much longer than the ride to the farm had seemed. Because Broc had more on his mind.

Bees floated here and there over the flowers to either side of the road, great bursts of white and blue and yellow which sent a heady sort of scent into the air. Now that the sun had fully risen in the sky and the air had warmed as a result, the heady sweetness was nearly intoxicating.

Twittering birds sang musically, their wings beating against the late spring breeze as they sailed from tree to tree. Larger animals cavorted in the woods, too. The horse’s ears twitched this way and that as it registered the sounds, picking them up on both sides.

Broc wasn’t concerned about the animals or the bees which occasionally buzzed around his head. It didn’t matter that the day was turning into a sparkling, beautiful one, with a cloudless sky of the deepest blue. The sort of day he loved spending on the sea, when the horizon stretched out before him and the water in all directions.

None of that mattered when it appeared as though he was helplessly stuck in Thrushwood. Stuck there with no way out until the stubborn, stupid lass saw fit to leave with them.

There’d be no living with Margery if they left Beatrice behind. That much he knew. Derek would never allow it, either, knowing how much it meant to his wife to have Beatrice at her side. Especially with the child on its way.

Broc didn’t particularly enjoy the idea of leaving her behind, either. He wouldn’t wish the sort of lonely, frightened existence she’d fallen into on anyone. Not on his worst enemy. The lass had nothing to do but perform chores every day and confess her troubles to a horse and a cow. What sort of life was that?

Even so, what sort of life awaited him if those who would see him in a cell found him in Thrushwood?

He remembered that cell, the one he’d broken free of. The rank stench, the dankness. The constant cold and damp. The darkness. Prisoners weren’t allowed access to the light, as it might give them hope. And hope was terribly dangerous.

The night he’d broken free, even the light of the moon had been a shock to his eyes.

It was a mistake, coming here. And you knew it. Why did you do it? He’d been a fool, yes, but what reason could he have given? Derek didn’t know and never would, so long as Broc had anything to do with it. He’d lied at first because he’d needed the position, and no one would accept into service a man who’d been charged with a crime.

Lucky for him, the owner of McInnis Shipping hadn’t done any inquiring into the story Broc had dreamed up. A past with no mistakes, no sour memories, no running.

There was no way Broc could’ve refused Derek’s final request before turning over the running of the business. Traveling with him to Thrushwood hadn’t been a question. It hadn’t even really been a request, though he preferred to think of it that way. There hadn’t been a question as to whether he was expected to accompany the others.

In any other situation, if the destination had been any other, there wouldn’t have been a moment’s hesitation. They could’ve lingered at the inn for days, as they had while in Kirkcaldy, and he wouldn’t have cared, aside from a sense of impatience. He would’ve wanted to get on with it, so he might get back to work, back to visiting new harbors.

Would that were the case.

Would the deacon Beatrice relied on were any other man. He’d known Eddard instantly, on first sight, and it had taken all of his sense of self-control to keep from racing the horse back down the road, through Thrushwood and on to Silloth.

And Eddard had known him. The man had a long memory, it seemed. There had been no words or knowing looks between them, but he’d sensed the recognition just the same.

He’d warn Beatrice, wouldn’t he? Once he placed Broc’s face and connected it to that terrible night and all the terrible nights which followed?

Broc tied off the horse beside the low-slung, long building they’d spent the night in. The only night they were supposed to stay. He had battled irritation on their arrival, silently angry that Derek would even consider the possibility of their needing more than one night in the village. His friend had insisted on expressing this to the innkeeper nonetheless.

It looked as though he’d made the right decision, as there was little chance of them leaving yet with Beatrice in tow.

They were waiting for him in the great room which served as a dining area for lodgers, though the food offered by the cook was hardly worth the extra cost the innkeeper added to the price of a room. Broc had to wonder if this was a ploy to empty the purse of a foreigner, offering subpar food which might just as easily be thrown out for stray animals and more than likely should be.

It was fortunate that the three of them had enough silver between them to leave them with options. Without waiting to find out what had happened at the farm, Derek and Hugh joined Broc just outside and walked down the wide street on their way to the nearest tavern.

After the day he’d had up to that point, he thought a large mug of wine wouldn’t be out of the question.

“So?” Derek asked once they were out of earshot of any interested parties. While the farm was far from the village, it was doubtless most people who called Thrushwood home would recognize Beatrice’s name. It was best they keep the nature of their visit to themselves, which meant not speaking about it while in the presence of others.

“She’s just as stubborn as that sister of hers,” Broc grumbled, wishing there were something nearby for him to kick. “And she’s got quite a strong hand, too.”

“She hit you?” Hugh asked, barely concealing a laugh.

“She did. As hard as she could, I wager.”

“Why would she do that?” Derek asked. “What did you say to her?”

“Ah, so you think it’s my fault, is that it? The lass greeted us at the door with a sword in hand, and you still assume it was my fault she slapped me?”

The twins snorted behind his back, and he could only guess at the cause of their mirth. They hadn’t been there. They didn’t know how impossible she was to reason with.

“The facts are these,” he continued, as though he took no notice of their chuckles. “Someone, a nobleman, expects her to marry him.” That silenced his companions, as he’d known it would.

Derek took his arm, stopping him in his tracks. “And she’s going to go through with it?”

“She doesn’t want to,” Broc explained, sighing heavily. “She’s appalled at the notion. I’ve an idea it was him she was so afraid of, the reason she greeted us as she did earlier today.”

“She thought he was coming to take her away,” Hugh mused, teeth gritted.

“It seems that way,” Broc agreed. “She doesn’t want to leave with us until the situation is settled. Fears that if she were to leave today, or any time before speaking with him first and explaining her refusal, he might come after her, which would place us in danger.”

“She’s a smart lass,” Derek murmured, frowning. “He might do just that. Men such as him simply take what they want. It matters little whether what they want wants to be taken. It’s easy to forget that not all nobles are like Phillip.”

Phillip Duncan would never order a woman to marry him. He’d never force a lonely, frightened lass into handing over her property simply because he wanted it for himself.

“I’ve half a mind to find this man and settle things for her,” Derek growled. “She’s the sister of my wife, and therefore under my protection. He has no right to force her into anything.”

“He’ll be quite surprised to find she’s not as alone in the world as he thinks she is,” Hugh observed with a snarl.

Broc, meanwhile, held a far different opinion. “I say we take the lass whether she wants to go or not. Tonight. And get out of this place.”

The two of them stared at him, unblinking.

“Why not?” he asked, eyes darting back and forth to ensure their ability to speak freely. He lowered his voice. “We can go to the farm tonight and pack a few of her things. I’ll ride with her. It isn’t more than two days on horseback to Silloth.”

The twins looked at each other, having a silent conversation. It unnerved Broc to no end when they did this, and they knew it.

“You might as well say what you have to say aloud, rather than discussing it in your heads,” he muttered.

“All right, then, but I’ll think a lot more clearly once I have a little food in me. Come.” Derek jerked his head in the direction of the tavern, still several buildings down from where they stood.

Broc had no desire to discuss what he had in mind while in the presence of strangers who’d more than likely pay more attention than normal to a trio of foreigners, but he followed nonetheless. The way Derek and Hugh looked at him, anyone would think he’d suddenly begun speaking another language.

The tavern was larger than the one he remembered from Kirkcaldy, larger even than some he’d visited in thriving harbors and towns throughout his travels. A good thing, since the extra space meant a better chance of finding a table away from the handful of patrons currently enjoying a hot meal and friendly conversation.

Conversation which came to a halt once all eyes fell on the newcomers.

Derek nodded, smiling, as they snaked their cautious way between tables which seemed to have been placed with no real scheme in mind. No scheme as to the size and appearance of them, either, nor to that of the chairs. It appeared as though the owner had simply taken whatever was available whether it was scarred, cracked, large or small. Like as not, most of it had been cast off by neighbors.

They found a round table near the rear corner of the room, closest to the fireplace and therefore left empty on a warm day such as that. In the winter, it would be the most popular spot in the tavern. The three of them arranged themselves, and Broc noted how much warmer it was back there than elsewhere.

“So,” Derek whispered, leaning across the table to be better heard. “You’ve actually gotten it in your head to take her.”

“Aye.” He might as well own up to it, now that they knew what had been going through his head. “We’ve already been far too gentle with her. What have we become? Women?”

“Watch yourself,” Hugh warned, not without good humor, but there was an edge to his voice.

“I’m merely pointing out that we’ve already given the lass space in which to think things over. It’s silly for her to be afraid, she’ll be under our protection as we travel.”

“What happens if she screams her head off the moment we reach Silloth?” Derek asked. “We can’t keep her bound and gagged once we’ve reached the harbor.”

“By that time, she’ll see it was for the best.”

Derek chuckled. “You don’t know women very well.”

Broc growled in frustration at this tired argument. “And you do, naturally, because you have a bride and I haven’t. I’ve spent more time speaking with the lass than either of you, and I tell you, she wants to come with us. She does. She’s merely frightened.”

“By all means, then,” Hugh smirked. “We should sneak out to the farm and kidnap her. That will set her mind at ease.”

“Neither of you see this for what it really is,” Broc insisted, feeling more and more with each passing moment that he was fighting a losing battle. Two against one. They simply didn’t understand.

Derek’s brows knitted together when he frowned. “What is it, then? Tell us. It’s clear you know something we don’t.”

A nervous looking young woman joined them, glancing wide-eyed over her shoulder before speaking.

“What is it you’ll be needing?” she asked, looking down at the scarred, stained wood of the table rather than at any of them.

“Roasted chicken, if you have any,” Derek suggested.

“We only have boar,” she whispered, shifting from one foot to the other.

“That will do,” he replied, his voice low. “Bread and cheese, and a tankard for the table.”

She merely nodded and darted away, as though even being near them was too much for her to stand.

“They don’t like us here,” Hugh observed, as though it needed to be said aloud. “I wonder why?”

“Outsiders are rarely tolerated anywhere,” Broc mused. “Especially Highlanders. Highlanders don’t have a good reputation, and you know it.”

“All a bunch of lies and myths,” Derek muttered, sounding very much unlike the way he’d sounded just moments before while speaking to the lass.

“And if she wanted to climb into your lap and wind her arms around your neck, then?” Hugh chuckled, giving Broc a good-natured shove.

“No, thank you,” he laughed. “I’ve already dealt with one lass today, and we see how that went. My cheek stung the entire way back from the farm. I’m not of a mind to repeat that.”

Hugh’s smile faded. “But you wish to frighten her even worse by taking her from her home.”

“And you never did explain why this matters so much to you, why we need to be so quick about it,” Derek added.

And he hadn’t wanted to, in fact, he’d blessed the presence of the young woman, the fact that she’d provided a distraction. How could he explain himself without telling the entire truth?

“The last thing we need is entanglement with a noble,” he whispered, careful to avoid the attention of eavesdroppers. “Her fight is not our fight, not when there are three of us and no telling how many on his side. It’s not just the land he wants, so offering it even for free won’t be enough to satisfy him.”

“You speak as though you know the man,” Derek observed.

“She never revealed his name, but I’ve known a noble or two in my time. I know how vengeful they can be.”

The twins exchanged a glance. “And yet you think it wrong for the English to think poorly of all Highlanders, simply over the actions of a few.”

“It isn’t the same thing,” Broc insisted. “I’ve known them personally. I haven’t merely known of them or heard stories. English nobility… they’re of another breed entirely. Nothing like you’re accustomed to, knowing Phillip as well as you do. The complete opposite.”

“There’s still no way of knowing for certain that this man is of the same sort,” Derek insisted. “I say we find out for ourselves, then go on from there.”

“Aye, I second that,” Hugh agreed. Broc marveled at the fact that he’d thought it necessary to express agreement with his brother, with whom he would naturally have taken sides.

It was clear to Broc what he’d need to do.

The food arrived, giving them all an excuse to let the matter drop for the time being. Not that Broc could stop turning it over in his mind. But he was on his own at that point, and he knew it, so it was just as well the others couldn’t read his thoughts.

The meat was hot and far fresher than that which the innkeeper had tried to pass off as edible, and the three of them ate heartily of it.

Until a new presence made itself known.