“I must apologize.” Beatrice rode beside Broc on her slow, tired gelding who looked as though he’d just as soon take a long nap in the hay than carry a rider.

They kept an easy pace as a result, but Broc didn’t mind. It would give him more time to understand her, and convince her, possibly.

“For what?” he asked.

She clicked her tongue to signal the horse, who kept trying to wander off the road and into the banks of clover which lined it. Broc found it difficult to keep from laughing at the animal.

“For forgetting your name. Did you ever introduce yourself? I was a bit… distraught when you arrived.”

“You don’t greet all visitors with sword in hand? And you seemed so experienced, too.”

Her cheeks flushed nearly dark enough to match her hair. “I don’t appreciate being laughed at.”

“Something you share with your sister,” he observed. “My name is Broc.”

“Broc,” she murmured, chewing her lip. “You do know my sister, then?”

“She gets very angry when she feels as though someone is laughing at her. Or when someone tells her something she doesn’t want to hear. Such as when her husband informed her she wasn’t well enough to make the journey with us.” He winced before chuckling quietly at the memory.

“Was she very upset?”

“She threw nearly everything she could reach.”

“That sounds like Margery.”

The depth of emotion in her words surprised him. When he looked over, he noticed her quivering chin and tear-filled eyes. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Sarah, who’s a skilled healer, assured us it’s not unheard of for a woman to experience such illness while carrying a child.”

“It’s not that,” she replied, her voice thick with tears. “It’s that I feared the worst. Why didn’t she try to reach me before now?”

“I don’t know. I wish I did. Something the two of you will have to talk about when we arrive.”

“Did you really think it would be as easy as telling me to come with you and leaving the same day?” she asked, watching him from the corner of her eye.

He kept his gaze focused on the road ahead as he replied. When she put it to words like that, the journey sounded somewhat ill-planned. “Your sister made it sound as though you were merely waiting for word.”

“I was. Every day, I hoped to hear something. Every time I went into the village, I hoped there would be word waiting for me. Every rider on the road past the farm, I hoped carried something for me. Have you ever waited like that, Broc? Every day, waiting for something to happen? Something which meant more than anything to you? Your entire life, or so it seemed?”

He was quiet for a moment before answering. “Yes. I have.”

Rather than asking what he’d waited for, she continued, “Then, you understand. I wasn’t preparing so much as I was simply waiting. Holding on to hope, because it was all I had.”

“Now you know, do you not? There’s nothing holding you back. You’re a free lass, able to go as she pleases.”

“Even so, I can’t leave Bess and Cecil with no one to care for them.”

“I thought you lived alone.”

She chuckled, patting the horse’s neck. “This is old Cecil. He’s been a good friend to me during these lonely fortnights on my own. As has Bess. Our cow.”

He smiled. “Ah. I see. I’m certain you could find someone to care for them, couldn’t ye? If someone were to purchase the land, wouldn’t the animals come along with it?”

“I suppose.”

She didn’t sound convinced, however, and he felt for her. She had a good heart and had become attached to the only friends she’d felt she could depend upon. The fact that those friends happened to be farm animals only made his feelings for her soften further.

You’ve no business holding any soft feelings for the lass, he reminded himself. He also reminded himself of the deacon, who it was clear had wanted to protect her from the big, frightening, threatening Scot.

The deacon was dangerous.

“Did you hear me?” Beatrice’s voice held the same note of irritation her sister’s did from time to time. Had he not known better, he would’ve thought it was Margery riding beside him down that country road.

“I’m sorry. I did not.”

She sighed. “I asked what sort of home my sister lives in. Is it a farm? Or someplace grander?”

“She demanded the laird allow her to live in the village near the manor house.”

“Demanded?” Beatrice’s laugh rang out, the sort of laugh that brought a smile to Broc’s face. When she laughed in such a way, she sounded young. Not so troubled.

“She’s living in the manor house of late, with the women keeping watch over her. She… was not pleased at being told what to do.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less. Ah, so there are people there who care for her.”

Broc nodded, and she fairly glowed with pleasure.

“I’m so glad. I had prayed for just such a thing.”

“And she has prayed for you. I know she has.” He suddenly felt embarrassed at having shared such an intimate detail. It wasn’t for him to speak in such a way.

Silence fell between them, filled only with the twitterings of the birds who sang away in the trees all about them and the clip clop of hooves on the road.

So long as he’d already made a fool of himself, he thought it made little difference what he said next. “Who are you afraid of?”

She took a deep breath, and the top of Cecil’s head suddenly held great interest for her as she stared at it. “Who said I’m afraid?”

“The sword ye greeted us with, for one. It didn’t need to speak in order for me to understand. And the way you accused us of being there to take you elsewhere, when we hadn’t so much as spoken a word of going anywhere, led me to believe there’s somebody, somewhere, who wants to take you away.”

“I was foolish. I acted before I thought. There was nothing to be so afraid of.” She glared at him, indignant. “What would you think if three strange men rode up to your home, looking as you do?”

“As we do?”

“You’re… Scottish,” she replied, slowly. “And the twins—I suppose they are twins—appeared rather rough.”

“Derek and Hugh,” Broc explained. “And Derek’s a sight good enough for your sister. I don’t know that she would appreciate your jumping to conclusions about him.”

He half expected her to fly into a temper, as Margery would have. Instead, she appeared to take his words to heart.

“You are correct. Of course. I shouldn’t make judgments based upon such trifling things as appearance or the place from which a man hails. None of that matters when compared to one’s character.”

The sort of mature, rational thing he would’ve expected her to say, based upon what Margery had described.

“But you were already very frightened. Most people do not think clearly when they’re frightened.”

“That is so.”

“What is it you were frightened of? Or, who?”

Her jaw worked, as though she wanted to speak but was too frightened to do so. Or too angry. He sensed the deep vein of temper which ran through her, as it ran through Margery, even if she was better at managing it than her sister, Beatrice was just as full of fire and fury.

“Deacon Eddard spoke of my marriage,” she whispered, sounding almost as though she fought not to choke on the words.

“Aye.” The mention of it filled him with displeasure, though he didn’t know why.

“It is not a marriage of my wishing,” she explained, speaking slowly. Choosing her words carefully. As though she were only just deciding how she felt about the marriage in that moment.

“Why did you agree to it, then?”

Her head whipped to the side, her eyes flashing. “I didn’t agree. I’ve never agreed. I’ve never spoken to the man about a marriage to him or anyone else.”

“I see.”

“No, I don’t think you do. I don’t think anyone does. The lord of a noble family wishes to take my family’s land. I suppose that isn’t enough, I would sell it to him, and gladly, if that were the case. He could afford a good amount of silver.”

“He wants more than that,” Broc mused. “He wants a wife. A family.”

“Heirs,” she agreed.

Something about this made his blood fairly boil. Why did it matter what happened to this stranger? Why did it make him want to hit something or someone as hard as he could? “It isn’t fair. I’ve never believed such arrangements to be fair.”

“I agree with you.”

“You won’t go through with it, then?” He had to give her credit for bravery, for even thinking she was in a position to refuse a powerful man’s wishes. Was it possible? Would the man, whoever he was, allow her to turn him away and leave the country?

Doubtful.

“Absolutely not,” she snarled. “Now, I have another option. I can go with you, I can be with my sister. I will merely tell him I’ve made other plans and offer the farm and everything it entails up to him. Although…” She cleared her throat when her voice broke, then went on. “Although it pains me to consider leaving behind my home, that which my father worked hard to build, I must consider my own life now.”

A remarkable woman. A strong one, and intelligent.

And incredibly foolish.

What he was thinking as a result was incredibly foolish, too, but that didn’t stop him from speaking the words aloud. “You would need protection. If you were to face this man. You should not go alone.”

“You think not?” She tried to affect an air of calm, of mere interest rather than fear.

But he saw it in her, the gnawing worry. She had feared so many things already and had been all alone. He hated the way he didn’t want her to be alone anymore.

He cleared his throat, feeling awkward and tongue-tied. “A man who would decide to marry a woman simply because he wants her land and her womb—begging your pardon—should not be taken lightly. There is no telling for certain what such a man would do if disappointed.”

“You speak as though you know of such men.”

“I knew of one such man. A long time ago.” He gritted his teeth against the memory, which seemed to be bubbling up more and more, unbidden.

The farmhouse was coming into view, with its weathered walls and thatched roof which looked as though it needed repair in more than one place. There was no one there to help her with even that task.

He had to speak quickly, in order to make her turn her thoughts in the right direction.

“You know, there’s something else you could do. Another choice you could make.”

“And what is that?”

“You could simply come with us. Leave word for the deacon that you place the land in his hands, to do with as he sees fit. Donate it to the church, if you wish. Anything. Only shake yourself free of the burden and come with us. First thing in the morning. You might even come with me now and stay the night in the village. We’ll make the trip to Silloth and sail from there.”

She chewed her lip, looking out over the land which was now hers, the two of them having crossed the borderline. He understood how she felt. She wanted to agree with him, to accept his invitation and run away. She had been bearing the burden for far too long and yearned for freedom, or at least the chance to do something for herself, to protect her life and her interests.

But damn the lass’s stubbornness when she shook her head.

“I can’t do that. It isn’t so simple.”

They reached the rough-hewn log fence which separated the house from the road, and she slid from the back of the horse before tying him off to one of the logs.

“Why not, in the name of all that’s holy?” He didn’t mean to raise his voice, knowing how it would upset her, but she pushed him to it. He’d only once or twice in his life met anyone who made his temper flare outside the reaches of his control.

And that was all it took for her temper to flare in response. She stood there, glaring at him, hands on her hips and eyes flashing fire.

He threw his right leg over his gelding’s back and hit the ground.

“For one thing,” she spat, “if I were to run without facing the Lord first, he might follow me. Which would mean he’d be following you, too. Would I put three innocent men in danger simply because I was foolish or frightened enough to run from my responsibilities?”

“You think he would do that?”

“You said it yourself,” she retorted, throwing her head back. “A man such as that, after having been denied, might be capable of anything.”

“If we left at first light, we could be far away by the time he even knows you left. It isn’t as though you’d ask the deacon to make an announcement for ye. It might even be better if he behaved as though he didn’t know. It would buy you more time.”

“I will not run away,” she decided. “It doesn’t matter how you try to force me into it or try to talk me into it. I won’t go with you until I’m good and ready.”

He let out a deep, sharp breath, his nostrils flaring like an angry boar’s. He understood what it meant to fly into a rage, because he was nearly there. “If ye intend on waiting until you’re good and ready, ye won’t be going anywhere at all. Ye can rot here on this pitiful farm or marry yer lordship and be his broodmare for all I care.”

The sharp, stinging slap of her hand across his face was more surprising than it was painful.

She didn’t hurt him, not really. Not one as small as she. If anything, she’d hurt herself.

Her eyes flew open before she fell back a few steps, holding her right hand in her left.

“Get off my land,” she ordered. “Now, Broc.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.