She sad
dled her horse herself and left the peninsula to meet Davey.
Davey stared at her for some moments, his eyes hot and piercing. When Bronwyn looked down at her hands, trying to put her thoughts into words, he knew her decision.
“So!” he said, his eyes changing to an unforgiving look. “You’re going to put your lover before the clan.”
She looked at him without blinking. “You know that isn’t true.”
He snorted. “Then I can assume that it’s me you don’t believe in. I hoped you’d let me prove myself, prove that I’ve matured over that horrible boy who cursed his father.”
“I want to, Davey,” she said quietly. “I want to do what is right for everyone.”
“Like hell you do!” he exploded. “You only care for yourself. You’re afraid for me to return. You’re afraid the men will follow me, the true MacArran.” He turned toward his horse.
“Davey, please, I don’t want us to part like this. Come home, at least for a while.”
“And stand by and see my sister,” he sneered the word, “take my rightful place in the clan? No thank you. I’d rather be king of my own poor kingdom than a servant in another.” He nearly jumped into his saddle and thundered away.
Bronwyn had no idea how long she stood there alone, staring at the ground, feeling stupid and helpless.
“Who was that?” Stephen asked quietly.
She looked up at him, not surprised to see him there. So often he seemed to be near her even though she wasn’t aware of his presence. “My brother,” she said quietly.
“David?” he asked with interest as he looked in the direction of the galloping horse.
She didn’t answer him.
“Did you ask him to come to Larenston?” he continued. “Did you tell him the gates are always open?”
“I don’t need you to tell me what to say to my own brother.” She turned away, tears in her eyes.
He grabbed her arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like it sounded.”
She jerked away from him, but he drew her back, pulled her into his arms.
“I was wrong to curse you when I found Chris dead,” he said quietly. “I was just so angry I wanted to lash out at someone. I was wrong.”
She kept her face pressed to his chest. She longed for him to hold her in his arms. “No! You were right! I did kill my men and your friend.”
He pulled her closer, felt the trembling in her body. Her shoulders were so small and delicate. “No, that’s too much responsibility for you to assume.” He lifted her chin. “Here, look at me. Whether you believe this or not, we’re in this together, and I share the burden of the men’s deaths.”
“But I was the one,” she said desperately.
He put his finger to her lips, then his eyes searched her face. “You’re so young, not even twenty, but you’re trying to take care of hundreds of people, even to protect them from me, a man who you think could be a spy.”
He laughed at the expression on her face. “I’m beginning to understand you. Right now you’re thinking that I have an ulterior motive for talking this way. You’re thinking that I’m planning some treacherous act, and I want you quietly dazed by my honeyed words.”
She pulled away from him. “Let me go!” His words were so close to what she’d been thinking that she was almost frightened.
He gave a low laugh. “Am I too close to home? You want me to remain a stranger, don’t you? Someone you can easily hate. But I don’t plan to leave you alone long enough to forget that I’m a man before I’m an Englishman.”
“You—you’re not making sense. I need to get back to Larenston.”
He ignored her as he sat down on the grass and pulled her down beside him. “Tomorrow we start for England. How do you feel about meeting my family?”
She stared at him. “I haven’t thought of it.” Her eyes flashed blue fire as she remembered her time at Sir Thomas Crichton’s house. “I don’t like the English people.”