the attack upon their return. Her brother must have forced her to run, because he met his death in defense of their home.”
Duncan settled into the chair, his mind awhirl, absorbing the facts. This explained so many things. The English and Scots blood, the training and regal bearing—though it didn’t explain why she was a fighter instead of the wife of a nobleman.
“She sought refuge with her grandda’s clan, then?” Duncan still wondered about the circumstances of discovering her alone so far from the border.
As he leaned forward in his chair, Kenneth’s face grew harsh. “Nae. She never went near Elliot, never sought aid, nor made contact. They likely fear she is dead or worse. She apparently does not know who attacked her family. She dinnae flee to another barony, but rather deep into Scotland, into the unknown. The heart of a lion, this one.”
Duncan finally heard the same admiration he felt mirrored in his father’s voice.
“To answer yer question, I have held her prisoner because ’twas possible she committed some sort of crime. I wanted to make sure she had no opportunity to flee. As ye know, there are those who would brutalize her then slit her throat simply because she is English. I captured her as much for her own safety as anything.”
This last statement reverberated through the room. Duncan couldn’t tell which of them he tried to convince. Duncan laced his fingers together across his chest, pushing deeper into the plush cushions of the chair, his legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. Yes, he’d seen her bravery played out several times. This story fit with what he knew of her character.
They sat in silence, considering the situation, considering the options. The truth of her circumstances only proved to intensify Duncan’s feelings for her.
“What will ye do?” He shifted position and rubbed his legs, awaiting an answer.
Kenneth strolled to the window overlooking the village. He stood quietly for a long time, staring into the distance, watching night absorb the remaining daylight. “MacGregors never back down from a fight, and we never forget a debt owed. We will harbor her here, hide her if her enemies come looking. Though I cannot think this Englishman will risk war by invading so far into Scotland over one lass.”
Duncan carefully chewed over his words before asking the next question. “Considering her experience thus far, is there reason to think she would trust us and accept such an offer?”
A genuine smile crossed Kenneth’s face. He seemed amused they were finally able to have a cordial conversation about the matter. His amused expression dissolved into something harder before he answered.
“I had three days to consider life without Nessa. Each day I imagined having to look into yer mother’s eyes if we’d failed to find her, or if she had died during the rescue. Lady Anna Braxton is the reason I willnae daily see the pain of Nessa’s death on yer mother’s face. I will offer her my sincerest apologies and treat her as a daughter if she will allow it. If not, we will provide escort to wherever she wishes to go.”
Duncan leaned forward, hands stroking his chin in a lazy manner, pondering his father’s plan. He readily agreed it was the right thing to do, however, the thought of her leaving was—unsettling.
“I spoke with her guard. She sits in silent concentration for regular intervals. She recites the Bible and poetry in several languages and performs complex fighting drills daily. She has eaten very little since her arrival. She has not touched the stew we have given her here, nor on the three days’ ride here,” Duncan said as if offering a crop reporting.
This last bit of knowledge brought a scowl to the laird’s face. “She starves herself?”
Duncan paused, considering the question. Fear for her well-being bullied its way into his thoughts. He firmly denied it access. “Nae, I dinnae think so. She hunted and killed on the ride back. She added this to some dried meat and fruit in her pack. I dinnae know why she has chosen to eat naught other than porridge and bread in five days. I do know each of her days is exactly the same. Her pattern is predictable, it doesnae vary. And there’s still the wee mystery of how she escaped her cell.” Duncan couldn’t stop the esteem he held for her, or the accompanying grin when he thought again of her escape.
With his scowl still firmly in place Kenneth asked, “She