The devastation that flashed across Lady Eva’s face was real. Strath had experienced anguish, disbelief, and shock enough times in battle and when he’d informed the wives of his men about the loss of their husbands to recognize the emotions.

Eva sank to her knees and pressed her hands to her throat, tears brimming in her soulful blue eyes. The expression on her face tore at his heart, unsettling him. It took every ounce of willpower he had not to get up and pull her into his arms. To offer her comfort.

More disconcerting was that she did not dispute the accusation.

“Ye knew?” he asked her.

She shook her head, her lips forming the word nay but no sound coming out.

“Did ye suspect?”

Again, she shook her head. “I thought… I thought ’twas you.”

Strath narrowed his gaze. “I had an idea that was what ye meant earlier.”

“You. I thought…” Her voice trailed off on a sob, and she pressed her fingers to her eyes, whether to hide her tears or ebb their flow, he couldn’t be certain.

“Ye thought I would kill my own people and burn down their village. That I was a monster. I might be a Highlander, lass, but that doesna mean the lives of Lowlanders are any less precious. The English have done enough devastation in my country, I’ll not be adding to it.”

She was shaking her head now and swiping tears from her eyes. “I don’t understand.”

“What is there not to understand?” Strath leaned back, jabbing the tip of his dagger into the ground. “Belfinch, your father, Englishmen who worship your devil king…they do not hesitate to kill my people.”

“Not all people of English blood.”

Strath pressed his lips together, acknowledging she had a point. “There are very few that wouldna, and I happen to be related to one who would never.”

“You have English relations?”

“Aye. My mother is English.”

Why had he told her that? It was none of her business.

“You see? You must know not all English are evil. I am not evil.”

“Aye. My mother is a saint. And her relations are right there with her. But ye…why would ye be marrying that bastard Belfinch?”

Lady Eva frowned. “I’d not pegged you for an imbecile.”

He paused, regarding her. “Explain.”

“What woman has the right to choose a husband? My sister didn’t. I didn’t. What woman has a right to refuse the man she’s been told to marry?”

He thought about his sister Bella. She’d chosen her husband, Niall. In fact, many of the women in his family had done much the same. But he understood what she meant, for it was not the norm. And the knowledge she’d not chosen Belfinch and had not wanted to marry him lifted his mood.

When he didn’t answer, she continued. “Are you married?”

Strath didn’t like the path this was taking. There was no way he was going to reveal that his betrothed had betrayed him. “Nay.”

“Do you expect the woman you choose to marry to do as she’s bid or to choose you freely for her husband?”

He thought about the woman he’d been betrothed to. She’d not been a part of the dealings. In fact, neither had he. His father had approached him about it, and Strath had been obligated to agree to grow their lands. But it didn’t matter, that had nothing to do with this current situation. And she should know that. Was this a way of distracting him?

He shrugged. “Ye might have refused. My da would never force my sisters to marry an evil bastard.”

“I tried.” She shifted her gaze away. “We are not all blessed with situations that are black and white. Some of us live in the gray.”

She picked up a stick and stirred the stew, leaving Strath at a loss for words.

“No one wanted to hear my pleas.” She touched her cheek, where the faint yellow outline of a bruise marred her skin.

The vague outline looked almost like fingertips. He’d not known what to think of it before now, but seeing the pain in her eyes, rage filled his chest.

“Your father hit ye?”

“Nay.” Her tone was so soft he could barely hear her.

“Belfinch?”

She barely nodded, but even that slight tilt of her chin toward her chest was a stab in his gut.

“And your father let him?” He couldn’t help the exasperation in his tone. His father would never stand for it. Hell, Strath wouldn’t stand for it. Any bastard who laid a hand on a woman he cared about could count on retribution.

Again, she nodded. “He…he had no choice either.”

Strath narrowed his eyes. “That’s a load of ballocks, lass. As your father, he’s got an obligation to protect ye. No matter the cause for his ire, Belfinch shouldna have raised a hand to ye. Dinna tell me ye think ye deserved it.”

“I did not.” She looked up at him then, tears in those light-blue eyes that again had his protective urges surging.

What is it about her?

It wasn’t as if she was the first beaten woman he’d come across. In fact, just a few weeks prior, he’d had a stern talking to with a crofter after his wife brought a basket of eggs to the castle with her eye blackened. Strath had nearly choked the life out of the man, only letting up when he’d sworn never to do such a thing again on pain of death. Strath’s da had taught him to respect women. They were precious. And if growing up with three sisters who could try the patience of a saint wasn’t enough to prove that violence was never the answer, he didn’t know what was.

“I am sorry for ye, lass.”

She frowned, anger brightening her eyes. “I don’t want your pity.”

“’Tis not pity. I promise.” He held his hand over his heart. “Know that as long as ye’re under my protection, I’ll not lay a hand in violence upon ye.”

Lady Eva cocked her head, staring at him a long moment. He wished he could see what was going on in that pretty head of hers. At last, she asked, “Why would you be so kind to me?”

“’Tis not just ye, but every woman.” Strath brought a small flask out of his sporran, took a swig of whisky, and passed it her way.

At first, she hesitated. Then she took a tentative sip and wrinkled her nose before taking a bigger gulp. “That has a bite to it, but it is good.”

He grinned. “Comes from my da’s land.”

“A well of spirits? I’ve never heard of such a thing, but I suppose you Scots would have discovered it long ago.”

“A well?” Strath couldn’t help bursting out into laughter at that. “I didna mean it literally comes from the land, sweetling, but that it is made on Sutherland land.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks turned crimson, and she busied herself with stirring the soup.

Strath took the time to clean up the cooking preparation mess and then sat back down before the hearth.

“Laird, why did you take me?”

“I made that clear when I did.” He picked up a stick and chewed on it.

“To draw Belfinch north.”

“Aye.” He hated lying. He should tell her about the king’s request for information about her, but something held him back.

“But why? Was it because of the fire?”

“And the like.” She was fishing for an answer.

“There’s been more than one fire?”

Strath let out a sigh and pulled the stick from between his teeth. Her naivety appeared genuine. Was she really so sheltered from what was happening in her own castle?

“Aye. He’s a bad man, lass, and I hate to tell ye, but so is your da.”

She leaned over the pot of soup, breathed in the scent, and shook her head. By her action, he thought the succulent scent of the stew cooking was unpleasant, but then she spoke, “My father is not a bad man. You don’t understand.”

“Och, lass, I understand perfectly.”

“Nay,” she said sadly, “you don’t. Because I don’t either.” That last part was filled with such despair, it could be nothing but the truth.

“Why do ye not try to explain it then?”

“I can’t.”

“Ye could try,” he prodded.

“But I don’t know. How can I explain something I don’t know?”

“Try me.”

She just shook her head though, not willing to part with whatever secrets she had stored. Strath waited, not wanting to push too hard.

“The stew should be done soon.”

All right, perhaps she needed a little more time to mull things over. “Smells good.”

“Thank you.”

“Where did ye learn to cook?”

“My mother.”

“Ah, my mother loves to cook.”

She glanced up at him, a teasing smile on her face. “Was she tired of dried venison, too?”

Strath let out a hearty laugh. “Maybe so. What else did your mother teach ye?”

“Many things. Fires for one.”

“She sounds like a good woman.”

“Aye…she was.”

Was. He couldn’t imagine the loss of his own mother, who was so very dear to him.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” She bit her lip as though she wanted to say more, but didn’t.

“Was it recently?”

“Two years ago. But the ache is still fresh.”

Strath passed her the whisky, and she took it and smiled wryly as she sipped. “To numb the pain?”

“Aye, something like that.” Strath rose, went to his horse, and pulled out two small metal cups and two spoons. “Ready to eat?”

She wiped a drip of whisky from her lip. Oh what he wouldn’t have given to be the one to do it.

“You’re going to have some?” She seemed surprised.

“I’m starving. And ye were right about the dried venison.”

“But are you not afraid I’ve poisoned the stew?”

“What? Why would ye do that?”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Then why would ye suggest it?” But the truth dawned on him quickly as he studied the men he traveled with. His warriors. Most of whom he’d known since they were barely out of swaddling clothes. They shook their heads at the pot.

The men didn’t trust her, and he supposed he should have known that they wouldn’t. She was English and had been about to wed the man they’d traveled all the way from the Highlands to attack.

“Ah, I see. Well, I dinna think ye’d poison me, lass. Because that would only leave ye alone in these woods with no way of getting back to England. Besides, from what ye revealed to me, I think Northwyck is the last place ye want to be right now. Not to mention an English lass in the Scottish wilderness, all alone, would not fare well.”

“I might. I do know how to start a fire, and to forage for food.”

“That is true. I suppose I’ll just have to take my chances then.”

He reached his cup into the pot and scooped up a healthy portion for her before scooping another cupful for himself.

“Smells like heaven, and definitely worthy of a painful death.” He grinned and lifted the cup.

“Make her taste it first,” one of his men called out. It was Wee Duff, called such on account of his feet being incredibly small for his stature.

Strath frowned, took a long sip of the tasty broth, and then shoveled a spoonful of meat and vegetables into his mouth.

“Delicious,” he said around the mouthful.

And he wasn’t lying. The stew was divine. And not because they hadn’t had a decent meal in weeks. The lass truly had a talent.

Eva smiled and took a dainty spoonful of stew. “Thank you.”

The men watched for a few minutes, perhaps waiting for Strath to fall over dead.

“Come get your fill, else I eat the rest of the pot myself,” Strath called out.

One by one, the men gathered their cups and spoons from their satchels and filled up on the stew. Though they’d turned around enough to eat the food Lady Eva had made them, they still did not join the two of them around the campfire.

The blatant distancing had Strath bristling, but there was naught he could do about it besides demand his men sit. And he wasn’t going to do that. Trust was earned, not forced. When they didn’t die from eating her stew, their trust would grow. By the end of this journey, when they reached Dornoch, his men would be sitting beside her.

Why was he doing this? Allowing her to cook, and then eating it and asking his men to do the same? Over the days since they’d taken Northwyck Castle and stolen Eva along for their journey back north, he’d noticed how his men shied away from her. He’d also had taken note of the goodness in her. His own desire to be around her. To make her laugh. To have her jut out her chin and argue with him. There was a strength about her that he found inspiring.

Several hours later, when the sun fell, the men appeared more rested than they had in days. Likely because they’d slept better with full bellies.

Strath mounted his warhorse and pulled Eva up to sit on his lap. As they rode out of the camp, she said, “I hope no one gets sick.”

“Why would they get sick?”

“I didn’t poison the stew,” she hurried. “But if anyone gets sick from anything else, they will blame me.”

“They willna.” That wasn’t exactly the truth. If anyone were to start something, it would be Wee Duff, and Strath would be forced to put the man in his place. But that was something he’d seen coming for quite some time.

The man had been causing rifts between the other warriors for years. If there was ever a rumor to dispute, or a brawl to break up, nine times out of ten, Wee Duff was at the heart of it. The more he thought on it, the more certain he was that before this journey was over, Duff would indeed be at the core of some sort of commotion. Whether that be blaming the lass for something, or just slowly wearing away at Strath’s patience, he wasn’t certain.

“You sound very confident,” she mused. “I wish I was.”

Strath grunted. “I am their laird. They will follow my lead.”

The lass nodded, and he narrowly avoided the bobbing of her head against his chin once more. The woman wielded her skull like a weapon.

“That is nice that they trust you enough to follow you, and that you trust them.”

“Aye. Trust is necessary for warriors.”

“Trust is necessary for families, too, but it is not always freely given.”

“Aye. Trust is earned.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Do your parents trust you?”

“Aye. With their lives. Just as I’m certain your father does.”

“I’m not convinced he does.”

That admission piqued his curiosity. “Why?” he asked softly, hoping not to scare her off the topic.

“Never mind,” she said, her head angling down, dejected.

Strath wanted to push, but if he knew anything about women, and he’d learned a lot from his sisters, pushing would only make her clam up. Without thinking, he said what he always did to his sisters, “I’m here if ye ever want to talk.”

That had her head shooting up again, and this time, he didn’t see it coming. The sharp pain of her skull cracking against his chin caused him to bite the tip of his tongue.

“Ballocks,” he cursed, tasting metallic.

Eva tried to turn around in her seat, her beautiful face pointed up toward his. “I’m sorry. Are you all right?”

“Aye. I’ve had many worse injuries than a bruised chin.”

“That is not truly a consolation.”

The lass looked so concerned, and Strath realized in that moment that her soul would have been completely crushed married to a man like Belfinch. A woman like Eva deserved so much more. She deserved to flourish.

Involuntarily, he stiffened and tightened his hold on her.

“Laird,” she said pushing against his hand. “I truly am sorry.”

“Och, nay, lass, I’m sorry. I was but thinking of that bastard hitting ye.”

“How did you know, before when you asked?”

“Ye touched the fading bruise on your cheek when we were talking earlier.”

“Oh.”

“And, lass, ye need only call me Laird in front of my men. When it is just the two of us, I’d like ye to call me Strath.”

“Strath? I’ve not heard that before. The name suits you.”

“’Tis short for my title.”

“Your title?” She shot her head around to look at up him accusingly, and with perhaps a little mockery. “So, what you’re telling me is that you’ve given me permission to call you by another title?”

He grinned, and then let out a chuckle. “I’d not thought of it that way. My friends and family call me Strath. I share a name with my father, we are both called Magnus. I was given the title Earl of Strathnavor when I was a lad, and it stuck.”

“Ah. Well, then I suppose I will not be as offended as I was planning.”

“Aye, I didna mean offense.”

“Strath. Hmm.” She played with his name, rolling it off her tongue a few more times.

And he liked it. Perhaps too much.