Page 36 of In the Highlander's Bed

Constance replaced the Bible under his clothing. The huge dog had watched her every move. He didn’t seem so mean. She’d always had a way with dogs. She could usually coax them into doing what she wanted them to do.

Closing the tack chest, she rose and cooed, “Nice Tad.” She took a step toward the door.

Tad leaped to his feet and barked furiously.

Constance pulled back in surprise. The animal even bared his teeth. Fearing he would attack, she fell back into the chair.

As if having said his piece, Tad flopped down and with a sigh placed his head on his paws, peacefully returning to his post.

Constance sat still. There must be a way out of the tent, she thought, one that didn’t involve having her head bitten off by either the dog or his master. And she was determined to discover what it was.

Dusk had settled over the camp. Gordon crossed to Thomas’s tent and found the giant sitting outside before a small fire, a bottle in one hand and Grace McEachin on his knee.

“I don’t think it wise of you to be free with your hands and your drinking when we have women and children around,” Gordon said.

Thomas raised the bottle to his lips. His gaze held Gordon’s in open defiance. The man was tired. Gordon understood. Still, he would do what was necessary to have the rules of the camp followed.

The bottle came down. Thomas hadn’t taken a drink. Instead, his lips curved into a lazy smile as he shifted his weight, sliding Grace off his lap. “I was teasing you, Gordon. I know my place.”

Gordon doubted that.

“Where’s Miss English Princess?” Thomasasked. “Or are you out hunting her now?” he said, nodding to the weapons Gordon carried.

“Tad’s watching her. I removed these for safety. I’ll place them in your tent.”

“You believe that dog can do what we haven’t been able to?”

“Aye,” Gordon answered, giving a passing glance to the insolent young woman who now stood at Thomas’s side. She was a former vicar’s daughter who lived by her wits and her looks.

She was comely enough to do so. ’Twas rumored that more than one man had been tempted to stray because of her silvery blue eyes and black curling hair. Gordon didn’t mind if she was Thomas’s plaything. Single men needed their release. But he’d bluntly warned her off the married men.

“Fetch Brian,” he said to Thomas. “I’m going to use your quarters to write the letter to Colster.”

Thomas nodded for Grace to leave and then did as Gordon had ordered.

The giant’s tent was as sparsely furnished as his own, although Thomas’s table and chairs were of better quality and he did have a cot. Gordon preferred to sleep on the ground because that was how most of his men slept.

He set aside his weapons, removing the pistols from his waistband and the sword at his waist, lit a candle and opened his writing case, removing paper, ink, and quills. The tip of his quills were dull. A sound at the door made him look up.

Grace stood there, her arms crossed, a hip cocked back in resentment. “Must you interfere every time I’m with Thomas, Gordon?” she demanded.

He began sharpening the quills with a knife from his case. This wasn’t a discussion he wanted. She’d not thank him for it.

“Answer me,” she ordered. “Or am I not even good enough to talk to?”

Gordon set his penknife aside. “Why are you in the business you are in, Grace?” he asked, answering her question with his own. “You have beauty, brains, your health. Why whore? And whyhere?” he asked quietly.

She straightened. “Why are any of us here, Gordon?”

“I know why I am here, Grace. Do you?” He sat at the table. “Use your brains, lass. There is more to life than laying with men. You’ll never receive any satisfaction from the likes of Thomas. He’s a good fighter but he’ll never be faithful.”

He’d struck a nerve. “I don’t want a faithful man.” She’d uncrossed her arms, her hands curled into fists, which she hid in the folds of her skirt. “If there is such a thing. Look at your sister, Gordon. She played right and good and what does she have to show for it? What future does she have? At leastIchoose who I sleep with and am paid well for my efforts.”

Gordon went still. There had been a time when his sister was the delight of the countryside. A laughing, beautiful, frivolous young woman with a line of suitors out the door.

But then, after the rebellion at Nathraichean was discovered, English soldiers went to Dougal MacLeod’s house, where Fiona had been living since their father’s murder. The English kept her in prison for a week at Fort William before tossing her out into the street like a stray when they were done.

Gordon had arrived in time to bring her to the clan…but laughter was gone from her.