His cursing at her was getting to be quite a habit, Katrine thought distractedly. “I told you, I’m only half English!”
“And the other half a cursed Campbell!”
She raised her head to protest, but let out a soft cry instead as her cheek grated painfully against the stubble of his jaw. Raith muttered an expletive in Gaelic that Katrine felt fortunate not to understand. Then he suddenly rolled on his side, and Katrine had to suffer the indignity of being dumped on a carpet of pine needles.
He was on his feet in a trice, pulling her up after him. Katrine winced as a viselike grip on her arm jerked her bolt upright.
“I should have known better than to trust you to yourself,” he seethed, barely restraining the urge to throttle her. Still gripping her arm, he spun Katrine around, marched her back to the rock and pushed her down. “If you have any desire to reach a ripe old age, you’ll sit there and keep your tongue between your teeth!”
His biting fingers never left her shoulder as he turned and snapped out orders to his men to go in search of the horses. Nor did Raith once release his painful hold while they waited.
At least, Katrine thought defiantly, the Highlanders had great difficulty finding their mounts in the dark. It was nearly an hour later before the last horse was led into the clearing, and by then the eastern horizon was beginning to pale with dawn. By that time Ewen had returned from hunting lace. It was small comfort that he had found only two other scraps, proving that she hadn’t been lying, for the delay had given her too much time to contemplate what Raith MacLean intended to do to her. She could see the grim set of Raith’s black-shadowed jaw in the faint light, and didn’t at all care for what it boded for her immediate future. Especially when he told his men to proceed without him.
A feeling of trepidation welled up in Katrine as she watched his clansmen ride away. At least their presence had required their leader to behave in something of a civilized fashion toward her, for he wouldn’t want witnesses to her murder. Now there was nothing to prevent him from silencing her once and for all. It would be easy now to use his dirk to slit her throat, silently and swiftly....
Near panic, Katrine eyed Raith. He was sitting beside her on the rock, one arm braced on his upraised knee, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his dirk.
Her heart started hammering as she saw the long fingers tighten.
He glanced at her then, his eyes as hard as flint, and Katrine returned his fierce gaze with fright, her spine quivering.
“You wouldn’t—” she began in a high-pitched voice, before she swallowed and continued with more bravado than sense, “you wouldn’t use your dirk on me.”
One slashing black brow shot up. “You think not? And just why wouldn’t I?”
“Because you need me.” She swallowed again, a trifle desperately. “It would be foolish to kill a prisoner before you could make use of her.”
“Oh, I quite agree, Miss Campbell. But I can devise some other means of punishment for your conniving tricks…one I doubt you will find pleasant.” He released her arm, finally, but Katrine’s relief was short-lived, for he rose and offered her his hand. “Come, Mistress Campbell, your horse awaits.”
He managed to make an insult of his courtesy, which made Katrine bridle. With disdain, she glanced from Raith to the one remaining mount. “I don’t want to ride with you.”
“Your wishes are beside the point.”
“Then allow me to rephrase. I won’t ride with you.”
His hand swung out in an impatient gesture. “We’ve only the one mount. You have no choice but to ride with me—unless you would prefer to walk.”
“Indeed I would!”
“Suit yourself then!”
Katrine stared at him. “You honestly mean to make me walk?”
“I seem to recall you claimed to be an excellent walker.”
“Yes, but in this country?” Her voice was almost a squeak as she glanced about her in the dawning gray light. The swirling fog did much to hide the rise of the surrounding hills, but she knew very well the terrain was wild and treacherous, with steep slopes and nonexistent paths that were strewn with rocks and overgrown with bracken and brambles. And she was wearing slippers.
“I’m likely to break a leg,” Katrine protested.
“I’ll take that risk.” Raith paused, eyeing her grimly. “Would you like to reconsider?”
Pride goading her, she stubbornly raised her chin. “I most certainly would not!”
In reply, he slid to one knee before her, holding up the dirk. Katrine gasped and shrank back.
Raith gave her a withering look. “Be still!”
To her shock and acute embarrassment, he proceeded to cut off several narrow lengths of flannel from the hem of her nightshift, which left her legs bare to midcalf. At least, though, he didn’t remove her nightshift altogether, as he had threatened to do. Her cheeks flooded with color, Katrine watched him warily as he knotted the lengths together to form one long rope.