didn’t want to speak to Tristan. He was one of them. A killer. One of the deadlier ones. His name alone had frightened her attackers before he killed all twelve of them.
“Rose, I dinna know what I can truthfully tell ye.” He came close on his mount and they both slowed to a stroll.
“Aye,” she looked up at him with eyes like glistening coals, “you are not in the comforting business, are you, Tristan?”
She thought she saw regret flash across his stormy gaze before his lips settled into a natural pout and dark shadows hovered over his eyes.
“The men I kill show no mercy to others.”
“But my father showed me mercy when he risked his own life and found me in the flames and then kept me safe after my mother was killed and burned. If you care for me at all, Tristan, and I think you do, then let all he has done for me matter to you. He is my father and I will never forgive you if you hurt him.”
He didn’t answer and she turned her gaze away from him. Perhaps she was incorrect, and he didn’t care for her. What in the blazes did she know about matters of the heart? “Are all Highlanders as stubborn as you?”
“Aye, all the ones I know.”
She almost smiled but she didn’t feel like smiling. She wasn’t sure if she would ever again.
Why did such a perfect man have to be a killer?
“I do not want you to bring me to the castle. I will not have my father come running out to greet me only to be murdered by you.”
“Rose.” He sounded annoyed. “How many times d’ye want me to tell ye, I willna kill him if he is innocent.”
“And who is to declare him so? You?”
“Aye, me. Since I am the one sent to kill him. His life is in my hands.”
“His life is in God’s hands,” she corrected him. “Or do you think you are He?”
He smiled, and though it was a mocking gesture, she would have sworn before the king that he was otherworldly.
“Tell me when we are close,” she requested, letting him know she didn’t wish to speak with him.
“I will escort ye to the door, and I will meet him,” he told her, staring at her with eyes as ruthless as when he looked at Walters. She wasn’t going to change his mind.
She had to try. She didn’t want him near her father.
“You said you would find the truth. How do you intend to do that?” she put to him.
He lifted his dark brows, and his entire expression shifted in an instant. “Help me.”
She was certain he could hear her heart beating, clanging in his ears. “You would accuse me of favoritism.”
“I wouldna expect anythin’ other than that from ye. He is yer father. I will sift oot the facts.”
She was tempted to smile at him, but this was her father’s life they were talking about. Then again, because it was her father’s life, she knew she could convince Tristan of his innocence.
“Tell me how I can help.”
“I dinna know. Tell me aboot him. About yer life with him, and…why did Jonetta go with yer mother?”
“I do not know. I never asked,” she told him.
“What d’ye remember aboot the night of the fire?”
“Not too much. My father was away in Heathhall. I was home with my mother, but I wanted to spend the night with Jonetta. Her mother, Estrid, was my mother’s handmaid. But, well, I do not remember much. ’Twas long ago. Jonetta was ill and Estrid brought me home. My mother heard that poor Jonetta suffered from a fever and went to her immediately. My mother was a kind, caring soul.”
“Do ye remember how the fire began?”
“No. I just remember being alone and seeing the light of the flames and feeling the heat. My father arrived home as the flames engulfed much of the house. When he heard that I was still inside the house, he ran inside and saved me.”
“What aboot this Neill ye mentioned before? Ye said he tried to save ye?”
“Aye. When I woke up ’twas his arms that cradled me while my father tried to put out the fire. Neill had smelled the smoke and came out of the servants’ quarters to see the manor house aflame. He heard me cry out and he ran inside. He did not find me but was badly burned on one side of his face. Poor Neill.” She shook her head and