Brice wouldn’t have admitted to it even with the threat of hellfire bearing down on him, but the quiet dressing down he’d received from Rodric while the lass took her good, sweet time answering nature’s call still prickled at his pride.

“You accepted this assignment, just as the rest of us did,” he’d reminded Brice, the words coming out a bit garbled thanks to the way he clenched his teeth.

“Aye, I did that,” Brice had admitted.

“Why do ye insist on pestering the lass so?” Rodric’s brows had knitted together in a frown. “I’ll tell ye now—and it gives me no pleasure to say this—that you might as well go back to Padraig and the rest if this is how you plan to conduct yourself over the duration of the journey.”

The two of them had been more at odds than usual throughout the journey, and this appeared to be yet another example of the unspoken tension which had grown between them. Never had Rodric gone so far as to order Brice off a mission, or even to suggest such a thing.

Brice fixed his friend with a steady stare. “You’re asking me to leave?”

Rodric wore a grim expression. “I’m merely reminding ye that we still have quite a bit of riding ahead of us, and if you intend to start fights at every turn, it might be best that you accompany us no further. I know not what it is that makes ye behave so, but it will only make this journey more difficult.”

“Aye,” Brice growled. “And I’ll do what I must to keep my distaste under control.”

“And silent, if possible,” Rodric added. “Though I know that’s difficult for ye.”

It was not the time for jests, yet Brice strove to prove his friend wrong by holding his tongue.

Which, of course, was exactly what Rodric wanted him to do.

* * *

“I’m certain we’ll be able to find something in the morning,” Quinn said, mostly for Alana’s benefit. “There are normally deer aplenty in the woods. Rabbits. I once hunted down a boar, though that was quite a task and perhaps not worth the trouble.”

If the lass found him interesting or even worth listening to, she gave no indication. Her face remained blank, the light of the fire moving over it as she stared into the flames. There were moments in which he could not decide whether he found her comely or not. When light and shadow played on her features, it was more difficult to tell than ever.

Though it mattered not whether the lass was pleasing to look upon. He’d only have to look upon her for a week, at the most.

“The lamb will do for now. Since we covered much ground today, we might have time for hunting tomorrow,” Rodric announced, impaling what was left of the animal on a stick which he propped over the fire in order to warm it. It had come from the kitchen of the inn, meaning it was far more palatable than anything they would’ve roasted themselves. It was what was left from the feast they’d enjoyed that afternoon.

Alana nodded, only once, indicating her agreement. She did not appear to be difficult to please when it came to things that truly mattered, such as where they set up camp for the evening.

Perhaps she did not care. That was likely the truth of it.

“I expect you’re looking forward to seeing where your earl lives.” Quinn sat not far from Alana, where he’d set up blankets for her comfort.

He was besotted, plain and simple, which did not come as a surprise. He had a bad habit of becoming besotted with a lovely face and long, beautiful hair. The lass possessed both—when she was not behaving like a spoiled child and making herself appear ugly.

She shrugged as Rodric handed over a large piece of lamb, the fat dripping from it still. She licked it away from her fingers before tearing off a small bit of flesh.

“Not overmuch,” was her eventual reply. Sullen, reluctant to give any of herself away.

“Who is this man you’re marrying, then?” Fergus asked in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood.

“Earl Remington,” she replied, toying with the hunk of meat in her lap. The lass didn’t even have the good grace to show gratitude for having been granted the largest piece of lamb.

He’d often heard of certain Highland lasses and their manners—or entire lack thereof. Up to that point, he’d thought it mere stories and falsehoods. Like the type spread about Highland men.

He’d been wrong, evidently, because this Alana Stewart was the worst he’d ever seen.

“But who is he?” Fergus pressed.

“You want to know whether he’ll make good on the offer he presented you?” she asked with more than a bit of an edge to her voice.

“I do not think that was what he meant, lass,” Brice muttered.

“I believe your brother can answer questions for himself,” she spat back. “He’s a grown man with a tongue of his own.”

Oh, gods above, how she tested his patience.

Fergus cleared his throat. “Brice is correct. I didna mean to imply that I do not trust the man. I was only wondering what you knew about him.”

She wiped her mouth with the hem of her kirtle. “What I know about him? I know that his name is Remington and that he is an earl. I know he met my father while traveling the Highlands this past spring, and the arrangement for my marriage was made then but not finalized until the last fortnight or so. That is when I was made aware of it.”

Silence fell over them, the four men shifting uncomfortably in place at the looming implications of her simple tale. It was really all very simple, so simple that Brice was at a loss for how they’d managed to misunderstand.

She knew nothing of the man, for it was not her idea to be wed.

She was not in a rush to get to him because she loved him or wanted to be with him. She had simply wanted to get on with the whole affair, which clearly disgusted her.

She did not even know until a fortnight ago that a wedding was in her future.

That bastard Stewart. Brice saw how right he was not to trust the man.

While his daughter was certainly no prize and might or might not even survive the journey—depending on whether she could learn to keep her mouth shut and be amenable—she was more than a head of livestock to be bartered. Yet that was how he’d treated her. He’d sold her in marriage to a man he’d met while on the road.

Without her even knowing of it until months had passed.

Rodric cleared his throat, eyes darting this way and that as if searching for something new to discuss. “I was married recently,” he offered.

“You were?” For once, the lass sounded interested.

He nodded. “My wife’s name is Caitlin, and we only found out just prior to leaving to fetch ye that we’re to have a child.”

Brice watched as Alana’s expression softened a great deal. “You are? That’s lovely. I’m glad for you, because I can see how glad you are.”

“Aye, it’s good news, to be sure.”

Then, her brows knitted together. “You would rather be with her right now, would you not?”

“Aye, I must admit,” he chuckled, ducking his head and rubbing the back of his neck. “Not that I blame ye, ye ken.”

“Why would you blame me?” she blinked. “I did not ask you to come. I did not wish for you to come. I did not know any of you existed until this very day. I’d assumed my… my new husband would come to me, that we would be married in my ancestral home and make the journey together. I thought…”

She trailed off, staring into the fire as though it held some great secret.

Brice wondered about her as he hadn’t done before. What would it mean to be sold into marriage to a woman he’d never met? No, even that wouldn’t be the same, as he would still hold the power in the marriage—as the man, this would be expected.

What if he were a woman, then? What if he had no choice but to travel to a foreign land, to leave behind everything he’d ever known in favor of this stranger’s life and home and kin?

The lass couldn’t even have any of her family with her on her wedding day, not that she seemed over-fond of them. She had not even stopped to say a final goodbye to any of them before leaving.

Perhaps she felt she was leaving nothing behind.

He wouldn’t know the answers to any of these questions unless he asked her himself, flat-out, and he was not about to do that. She’d be more likely to scratch his eyes out than she would to answer in a pleasant manner.

Beside, it was none of his affair.

Once they’d finished eating, throwing the bones into the fire, they worked out the shifts in which they’d sit up during the night while Alana made a show of moving her blankets further from the fire. She kept her eyes on her work, not so much as glancing their way.

“It gets cool out here at night,” Brice warned. “Ye might find yourself wishing ye were nearer the fire before long.”

“I’ll be fine, thank ye,” she replied, not shaking out the blanket she intended to cover herself with.

A sidelong glance at Rodric told him it would be best to leave the matter alone. And so, he did, and sat up to take the first watch while the others settled in to sleep.

It did not take long for the sounds of heavy breathing and snoring to fill the air, as all of them were still recovering from their illness. They might have the strength to ride half a day at a clip, but rest was needed afterward.

Rest which Brice wished for, truth be told. But he had sustained far worse as a member of the army. He’d once sat through the night with an oozing wound to his arm, half-freezing in the rain which felt like ice as it battered his skin, listening to the death rattles of more than one of his friends as they suffered and finally succumbed.

Staying awake for a couple of hours would hardly be a challenge after that.

Even so, the tree at his back was welcome. He leaned against it, allowing himself to relax somewhat—not entirely, but enough that he was comfortable. The night air was comfortable and dry, unlike the heavy heat of summer. He drew a deep breath of it with a smile.

And she moved.

He went still.

She moved once again, the curves beneath her blanket rolling and shifting as she rolled onto her back. Her eyes opened.

She looked around.

Then, propped herself up on one elbow.

The way her eyes darted back and forth told him she wasn’t merely waking to answer nature’s call.

She was considering an escape.

He snapped his eyes shut before she saw him, leading her to believe he’d fallen asleep on duty. Oh, how fortunate she must have believed herself.

It was nearly too easy, and too enjoyable. He watched through one half-opened lid as she scurried to her feet as quietly as possible, her head moving back and forth as she watched her four escorts for any signs of movement. He had to give her credit; she was quiet, so quiet that no one who truly slept so much as shifted while she moved about.

She drew up her skirts, exposing her stockinged legs up to the knee, picking up her shoes in her free hand and darting off into the darkness while carrying them. He knew where she was going, to the horses.

The moment she was out of earshot, he got to his feet and crept along in her wake. She’d take the time to replace her shoes; her fumbling around in the dark would give him even more time to catch up to her.

For a man of his size, he had always been an expert in moving silently from one place to the next. A skill which had served him immeasurably well in the Army when ordered to perform dangerous spy missions against the Viking horde. He’d done admirably well then, and that had been while fighting men who’d been well-trained in the art of combat.

Alana was merely a headstrong lass.

There she was, bent at the waist, sliding her feet into her shoes. She straightened, and he went stiff as a plank while she cast frightened looks about.

She didn’t see him. How could she possibly consider traveling in the dark, alone, when she couldn’t make out the shape of a man of his size? Even in the poor light from a quarter moon?

He would make certain to beat this point into her thick head when he had the chance.

Or perhaps… he might be able to convince her now.

She would either fight like the devil himself or faint. He would have to prepare himself for both outcomes.

If she kicked him in his private area, well, he likely deserved it for what he was about to do.