the basics to protect herself. Still, Dirk insisted on going with her, and he always brought at least two other Mackintosh warriors who could be trusted to guard her.
Traversing the path to the croft a few miles away without Dirk with them was probably dangerous given the redcoats swarming the Highlands, but Jenny didn’t dwell on the concern. She had a sgian dubh in each boot, another dagger strapped to her thigh, and yet another strapped to her left arm beneath her sleeve. Annie was equally armed. Tucked into the waistband of her trews and beneath her waistcoat, Jenny had hidden a pistol. Aye, there was only a single shot, but she had deadly aim.
Jenny could make this journey with her eyes closed. She knew that for a fact, because she’d done it more than once with her eyes bound by a strip of cloth to practice the walk for nights when the moon would be covered by clouds. She made note each day of where newly fallen trees had been downed and where weather might have otherwise changed the vegetation. She was nothing if not prepared.
Their journey was short, and she gave the bird of prey signal as the shadows of the croft drew into view. Moments later, they were inside.
A tall figure stood at the rear of the croft, arms crossed over his chest as he stared right at her.
“Toran,” she said by way of greeting. “How is Archie?”
“Awake. Moving around.” His voice was low, laced with irritation.
“He is doing much better, then.”
“Aye. He’s a Highlander, trained as a soldier.”
Jenny knew what this answer meant. Men, warriors, did not complain about ailments. They could be dying and still try to force themselves out of bed.
“Impressive all the same.”
“Perhaps to a woman.” His tone was combative, and the energy in the room seemed to match his mood.
Jenny narrowed her eyes but grinned instead of lashing out. He was trying to rile her up, that much was evident. “It bothers ye that I am in charge, does it not?”
He studied her a long moment before answering. “Nay.”
She didn’t believe him. But before she could drill him some more, Archie limped inside, his arm bound in a sling and a guard behind him.
“Ah, my lady.” A lock of dark hair fell over his striking face, only slightly less hard than that of his cousin.
“Mistress J,” Toran corrected his cousin but eyed her mockingly. “She’s in charge.”
Jenny forced herself not to roll her head toward him and skewer him with a glower. If he wanted to challenge her, why not just say so? She wouldn’t back down.
Archie ignored his cousin and stepped forward, holding out his hand to her. Jenny paused a moment, worried that he would try to kiss her hand, a show of chivalry she wasn’t interested in. But when she grasped his hand, he only squeezed it in a show of mutual respect.
“My gratitude for taking us into your fold, Mistress. Would ye happen to be the Mistress J?” Archie smiled, the expression giving him a somewhat boyish look.
She found herself smiling back. “The one and only.”
Toran snorted so low it was barely audible, but she caught it. She was too aware of everything he did, every sound he made. Arse.
“Glad I am that ye found us upon the road, not only because ye saved our lives”—Archie passed Toran a look she found quite curious—“but because if there’s any way I can get involved with kicking English arse, I’m more than happy to do my part.”
“Well, then I only await your cousin’s refusal.”
Toran let out a great sigh. “I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot, Mistress.”
It was the first time he’d said it without sounding like he was mocking her.
* * *
Toran shouldn’t have been surprised that it was the dead of night when Mistress J returned. Jenny was her true name; he’d overheard her high-handed henchman Dirk use it when he spoke with another of the Highlanders, Mac. The two of them thought he was asleep. Toran would sleep when he was dead.
Whenever he’d closed his eyes, the faces of the Frasers he’d condemned to die flashed before his eyes, haunting him. They weren’t supposed to die. Their deaths were on his hands, as though he’d been the one to tie the nooses around their necks.
At least now he could be distracted from his guilt by the lass. He had to find out the extent of her involvement in his mother’s death. She’d always been on