And Fergus had thought there was no chance of Moira surprising him again.

“Ye wish to…” He scratched his head, squinting. “Ye wish to join us? Ye mean, to ride with us and accept missions and perform the duties we perform? Along with us?”

“Yes. That is what I had in mind.”

His mouth fell open.

She rolled her eyes, jutted her chin. “You need not look at me as though I’ve suddenly grown horns.”

“Ye might as well have!” He wanted more than anything to laugh at the notion, but even he with his limited understanding of the female gender knew his laughter would sound cruel after everything she had just shared.

Her hands found her hips, and she went from a weeping, shaking lass to the Moira he’d come to know. Angry, bold, full of ideas, of strength and skill.

“I do not understand what you feel is so amusing or unthinkable,” she muttered.

“Ye do not? Let me see.” He leaned against the nearest tree, counting off on his fingers. “First, ye know nothing of fighting. We do have to fight from time to time—cutthroats, thieves along the road. Or enemies of the person or people we’ve been tasked with protecting.”

“I would leave that to you, though you’ve seen how easily I handle a dirk,” she reminded him. “I’m a skilled archer, as well. If I can hit a deer in the heart before it has the chance to learn of my presence, I can hit a man.”

“Ye won’t have the chance to put enough distance between the two of ye to so much as draw your bow,” he assured her. “As I was sayin’. Second, ye would be riding with men. If ye think I’m unpleasant to ride with, wait until ye meet my friends.”

“I have dealt with unpleasant men,” she sneered. “I understand the true nature of your protests. You do not wish to ride with a woman. Are you afraid to? Have I done anything since we met to give you cause to fear me?”

He laughed. “That is not a fair question, as ye have held a blade to my throat.”

“Which proved how well I handle a blade,” she reminded him.

“Aye, I admit it. Even so, I can promise with all certainty that none of the others will take well to the notion of working alongside a woman—no matter how able she is,” he added when she opened her mouth to unleash hell on him.

“Third,” he finished, counting off one more finger, “and this is most important of all, lass, so ye might be paying close attention—when there is a woman on the road, she is the one a man will devote his attention to. And I dinna mean because he finds her comely.”

“You mean because you’ll feel I need protecting.”

“Aye, and it matters not how much you protest.” He held up his hands, half-certain the lass would pummel him if he did not. “We shall always feel as though your safety needs protecting, first of all. We know all too well the dangers of women traveling over rough, open road. Which means we may not devote the attention we need to our own safety, or the safety of someone under our care. Do ye understand me, Moira?”

“I understand perfectly well that you lot are afraid to admit a woman can take care of herself without your help,” she smiled. He wanted so much to take her and shake her when she smiled in such a way.

She refused to see the truth he tried hard to help her understand. She was the type who would have to learn the hard way.

He did not wish to subject her to such difficult lessons.

She’d already learned more than her share that way.

He would never forget the rippled scars on her back, the way they crossed each other. Ten in all, none of them very thick, but all visible to his eyes and fingers.

How many other strikes were there, strikes which had not broken the skin? What a mass of bruises and blood she must have been afterward. He hadn’t thought to ask who’d treated her and never would, as it would mean bringing up ugly memories again.

Perhaps her brothers had tended her, washing the wounds. How old had they been? She hadn’t said.

All three Reid children had faced the hardships of life from a young age, it seemed.

Why did the eldest of them insist upon bringing more of the same upon herself?

“I cannot allow it. I’m sorry, lass, but this is simply not the way things are done. You canna expect to do what we do, ‘tis difficult enough for us, and we’ve been at it for many a year.”

She did not squall in protest. She did not swing at him as she had earlier.

She merely narrowed her eyes.

He knew this was more dangerous than anything else she could have done.

Her smile was slow. Sweet. “Do you have the courage to make a wager? Or does the idea of wagering with a woman frighten you as much as the thought of riding with one?”

“I would watch my tongue if I were ye,” he warned. “I only have so much patience.”

“Very well.”

He watched in bemusement as she went to the mare, withdrawing her bow and quiver.

“The question is the same. Are you up for a wager?”

“It depends upon the stakes.”

She nodded, a faint smile playing upon her lips. “Fair enough.” Her head tilted back, her eyes scanning the sky.

“What are ye looking for?”

“A target.” Her smile widened. She pointed up. “I would not normally do this, but if it is to prove a point, I choose that hawk. Up there.”

He shielded his eyes with one hand, looking up in the direction of her extended finger to find a hawk perched atop a tall pine.

“Ye choose a hawk for what?”

“If I hit that hawk, you must allow me to come with you on one mission. And if that mission is a success and I prove myself worthy, you will allow me to continue on with you.”

What were the chances of her striking the thing? If it were a trunk she wished to strike, he would feel less confident in his chances. But a hawk? It would likely take flight before the bolt reached it, so far from the ground.

He looked at it again, then at her. She certainly appeared confident, with that knowing smirk of hers. She’d already nocked the bolt and was merely waiting for him to agree.

“Come now,” she whispered, grinning. “Are you game? Do you believe I would miss the hawk? How much are you willing to chance?”

In spite of the stakes, he found himself fighting a smile. Strange, that.

“All right. Let us see what ye can do, lass.” He shielded his eyes once again, hoping with all his might that the hawk would take flight long before Moira released the bolt. What would Rodric and Quinn think if he arrived in the village with a woman?

How hard would his brother laugh, especially when he found out who the lass was?

He heard her draw a breath—

And just then, in that very instant, the hawk spread its impressive wings and took to the air.

His heart rejoiced, his mind eased.

Moira, meanwhile, released the bolt and sent it flying.

The hawk soared, seeming to hang in midair—

then plummeted to the ground.

“This canna be!” He took off at a run, eyes moving back and forth over the ground until he found the bird. Dead, on its back, the bolt having pierced its chest.

Moira joined him, dropped to one knee beside the fallen hawk. “I am sorry,” she whispered. “Thank you for giving your life.”

“Who taught ye to speak that way to the things ye kill?” he asked, remembering how she’d done the same after taking down the doe.

Moira glanced up through the hair which had fallen from her braid. “My mother. I was a small girl, and we happened to be walking through the woods when we saw some of my father’s friends returning from a hunt. She told me I ought to always thank the animal who gave their life for my meal.”

She returned her attention to the hawk. “I cannot tell myself I needed to kill this sweet bird. Perhaps I was a bit bold in naming it as the target.”

“Ye act before ye think,” he observed.

“I have been accused of just that.” She stood, bloodied bolt in hand.

“Aye. So have I.”

They stood that way for a long, silent moment, regarding each other.

In another place and time, he might have taken her in his arms and kissed her until all such foolish ideas were nothing but a memory. He might have taken her and made her his own, for he’d never known a woman who stirred him, body and soul.

So strong was the impulse that the only way to overcome it was to turn away. He could not gaze into her clear, frank, shining eyes another moment.

“Well?” she prompted from behind him. “What will it be, then? Will you honor your word, Fergus MacDougal?”

What choice did he have? The lass would only track him until they reached his destination, then continue to do so once Murphy gave him a task to complete.

Better to keep her close to him, then, to be sure of her safety.

So he told himself.

“Aye,” he grunted.

“Supper,” she uttered, kneeling to collect the hawk.

He beat her to it, then mounted the horse.

“Let us be on our way.”

Her smile was radiant.

The sort of smile a man could become accustomed to.