Page 61 of Highland Storm

“What do ye mean?” Could she possibly know they’d been intimate together?

“You’re a prisoner, but also a woman. I wanted to make sure he was treating you with respect.”

“Och, aye, he is.”

“And do you like him?” She stopped and turned toward Phoebe.

“He’s my captor,” she reminded Wren.

“I assume you mean a lot to him. After all, he entered this camp with you and your siblings, rather than returning here with my father-in-law.”

“He tried to save Ian, but he found my siblin’s in the dungeon in my own castle. Euan is a wretch and has taken over.”

“Is your father still alive?”

“Aye, but barely. If I dinna find the proper plants and herbs to heal him, he will die soon.”

“And Hawke knows this?”

She nodded.

“I see,” she answered in thought. “Did you know Osla MacNab?”

“Aye. She was my cousin. We were close and like sisters.”

“Hawke was married to her for a short while in an attempt to align with your clan.”

“I ken.” Her teeth clenched. “He killed her and continued this feud between our clans.”

“You can’t really believe that, can you?”

“Well, mayhap no’,” she said, looking to the ground, thinking about her special time with Hawke, as well as the way he loved children and saved her siblings. “How did it happen?”

“That is a conversation you should have with him. But I will tell you that it wasn’t his fault that she died, however, he blames himself. To this day, he tries to protect all women and children trying to make up for what happened.”

“All right, the horses are tended to, now can we eat?” asked Hawke, walking up to join them.

“Hawke?” His mother looked at him knowingly and smiled. “You couldn’t have finished that so fast.”

“Och, all right, Mathair, I didna. But Caleb and the others dinna need me to do it. I am hungry and really wanted some food.”

“Really?” asked Wren. “I think I know you better than that, Son. You were wondering what we were talking about and it was driving you mad so you had to join us.”

“Me?” Hawke hit his palm against his chest. “I dinna ken what ye mean, Mathair.”

His hawk screeched from above them and Hawke held out his arm as a perch. The bird glided down, frightening Phoebe with its size as it gently landed on Hawke’s arm with a dead vole in its mouth.

“Och,” she cried, holding her hand over her head.

“He’s no’ goin’ to hurt ye, lassie,” said Hawke with a chuckle.

“But it’s so big!”

Hawke waggled his brows. “Some of the lassies say the same thing about me.”

“They do? How many lassies?” Phoebe lowered her arm and stared at Hawke, feeling a little jealous.

“Hawke, there will be no more talk like that around here with so many children listening,” scolded his mother.