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He didn’t care. He shouldn’t care if he hurt her feelings. He couldn’t have another friend. Abaeze had known what it was like—he’d also killed to live.

Here, no one would understand. If Kate found out what he had done to survive… He couldn’t stand the look of revulsion on her face, especially after she’d just called him friend.

And if others ever learned the truth, he’d be condemned as a monster—rightfully so. And he’d be fooling himself if he thought he’d have a normal life here. He’d see his clan for the yearly gatherings. He’d help them if they needed him. But other than that…

His way forward was the way of loneliness.

“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to overstep… I don’t want to be a burden, though. I’ll work very hard in your kitchen.”

He nodded without turning his head to her. Her voice rang with hurt, but it was better to keep his distance from her and not give her any hopes. He felt for her, and he’d do everything he could to help her find out who she was and where she belonged. But that was it.

The rest of the day passed in silence. They slept in the woods and resumed their journey the next day.

As the set out, the road was a little rainy but otherwise easy.

Ian was glad they would arrive at the village of Rossely by the evening. The lass was still weak, and it would do her good to sleep in a warm bed at an inn, and not outside on the cold ground.

It was in the afternoon that he sensed something was wrong. Mayhap it was his warrior’s instinct, or mayhap he’d caught the slightest movement—either way, he’d learned to heed the sensation during years of fighting.

He stopped the horse and listened. Wind rustled the leaves. Birds chirped.

And then there was a movement farther down the road and a man stood there, waiting. Ian eyed him warily. His sword was in the back of the cart with his father.

But he wouldn’t kill another, anyway, he reminded himself.

He needed this to go peacefully.

“Say nae word,” he said to Kate.

He shook the reins and the horse resumed marching towards the man. He was tall and dressed like a knight, in heavy armor, a sword, and a shield.

“Identify yourself,” the man said in Anglo-Saxon.

English.

“Ian Cambel, with my wife.”

Kate looked at him sharply.

“Taking my father’s body home.”

The knight smirked. “Home? Everything from here to North Argyll belongs to King Edward of England.”

Ian gritted his teeth.

Aye, war. People who wanted to kill were everywhere.

“I dinna want trouble, lord,” Ian said, addressing the man more politely than he deserved. Ian hated himself for cajolery. But if he wanted this to go peacefully, he needed the man to let them through.

“Home is Dundail, on Loch Awe. I return there to bury my father.” He looked behind himself at the cart.

“Your home for now,” the knight said.

He walked around the cart and looked into it. There lay Duncan’s body, wrapped in cloth, the sword underneath his father’s side. Ian’s hands clenched into fists, his breath accelerated, and something began buzzing in his ears.

Just touch him with one finger…

But the man nodded and returned to stand by the horse. Thank God he had a decency to respect the dead and not look under the body.