left. We don’t want war and would pray that you are merciful in your dealings.”
He kept his gaze averted, his head bowed in a subservient manner, but Bowen could see the lad’s hands trembling and it angered him that this child would be sent into harm’s way.
“Ansel! Ansel!”
A woman’s voice rang strongly through the courtyard. It resonated with anger—and fear. And then a slight figure adorned in a cape that completely obscured her features from sight appeared through the gates.
She ran to the child and grasped his arm, quickly pulling him into the folds of her cape until he was hidden from view. Only his feet stuck out.
“Who sent you on this fool’s errand?” she demanded, looking down in the direction of the child’s head.
It was a question Bowen would very much have liked to know the answer to as well.
“Corwen,” the child said, his voice muffled by her cloak.
The only thing visible on the lass were her hands peeking from the long sleeves of the cape. Bowen studied them with interest as they gripped the child so tightly that they went white at the tips.
Young hands. Smooth. Nary a wrinkle in sight. The nails were elegantly fashioned and rounded at the tips, and the fingers were long and slender, pale, as if they hadn’t ever been kissed by the sun.
’Twas evident this was not one who worked in the fields. Or in the keep cleaning, either.
“Cowardly bastard,” she spat, startling all four of the men with her vehemence—and the base language. Not that any disagreed with her assessment.
“ ’Tis the lass who directed us to the dungeon where Eveline was being held,” Brodie said in a low enough voice not to be overheard.
The hairs at Bowen’s nape prickled and stood on end. Aye, ’twas so. When Graeme had despaired of uncovering his wife’s whereabouts, the shadowy, caped figure had appeared at the stairs and directed them below, where they’d indeed discovered where Eveline was being held prisoner.
“Is what the lad saying true?” Bowen directed at the lass. “Has Patrick McHugh fled, leaving his clan and his keep to fall as they may?”
The lass went still, her hands leaving the lad to curl into tight fists at her sides. If her body language was any indication, she was furious.
“Aye,” she said coldly. “All that is left are the women and children, those who are old and cannot travel, and the warriors who have wives and children they refused to leave. The others left at dawn.”
“And where are those who remained?” Brodie persisted.
“Inside the keep. Huddled in the great hall, wondering if each breath will be their last,” she said in a disdainful voice.
Something about the lass’s tone rubbed Brodie the wrong way, and it irritated him fully that she was hiding her face from him.
“Remove the hood, lass,” he ordered. “I’d know who it is I speak with.”
She froze, her hands lowering to her sides until they pressed against the skirts of her dress. Did she dare openly defy him in front of his men and the Armstrongs as well?
His expression darkened and his lips thinned. “Do as I have ordered,” he snapped.
With shaking hands, she pushed the lad behind her and then slowly lifted her fingers to the edges of the hood. She was turned so that her right side was presented to him and his men, and as she lowered the hood from over her head a gasp went up behind Brodie.
Jesu, but the woman was beautiful. Perhaps the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life. Her features were rendered with perfection.
Long brown hair fell in waves over her shoulders. There were varying shades mixed in and, with the sunlight beating down on her, the different colors were highlighted in a dazzling array. He’d thought the lass had raven hair the first time he’d seen her. She’d been in the darkness of the keep and only the barest strands had peeked from her cape. But here, in the full glory of the sun, it was evident that her hair was not simply plain black. Nay, it was a magnificent mane of hair that seemed to change color depending on the way she moved and the source of light.
Her bone structure was small and delicate, her cheek high and her jawline firm, leading to a perfect bow of a mouth. A dark eyebrow arched, and long eyelashes heavily fringed the vivid wash of green.
It felt as though someone had punched him solidly in the gut, for he