“Same thing.” He turned his head to the side and looked away from her.
“It is not the same thing,” she retorted, feeling slightly affronted by what she deemed to be a dismissal of her heritage.
He twisted his neck slowly and gazed at her once more in an appraising manner.
Isobel’s eyes darted to the blade in his skillful hands again and she had to fight the wave of uneasiness that fluttered through her stomach. “Put that away at once,” she said, jutting her chin toward the weapon while summoning all her strength to infuse her words with authority.
One of the Highlander’s eyebrows hooked high on his forehead, rumpling the scar there, but he said nothing. He simply twirled the dirk in his fingers and stared at her.
“I do not wish to provoke you,” she said as she watched the blade swirl and cut neatly through the scant bit of air between them. “But you must see that the danger has passed and there is no need to continue brandishing your weapon.”
The Highlander let out a long breath, making a rough sound in the back of his throat as he seemed to consider her words. “Ye’ve cost me a man.”
“I did no such thing,” she retorted tartly. “You…”
“Ye were crouched in the brush watching men kill each other.” His voice was laced with annoyance. Isobel felt as if she were being scolded for sneaking a second slice of cake during teatimeor nabbing a book from the library without bothering to return it later. “Ye announced yerself at exactly the wrong moment. What ye intended doesnae change what happened.”
“I thought I could stop the killing,” she said. “I thought I could save…”
She swallowed the words before they flew from her lips. She dared not say she meant to save the other man. And she knew, just by looking at him, that this warrior would be forever insulted if she even mentioned having spent a fleeting moment worrying over his safety.
He looked at her as if she had said something so deeply misguided that it barely deserved a response. He was still close, too close, and the dirk remained in his hand. Despite all of this, she stood her ground.
“You sought to provide ‘help.’” The word sat in his mouth like something foreign. “You think I needed help to come from a Lowland lass who cannae move through undergrowth without tellin’ every livin’ thing within a quarter mile exactly where she is.”
“I can stop your bleeding.”
She nodded first at the rivulet of blood that leaked from his nostril, then they both glanced down. There was a cut along his left forearm, shallow, but open, a slow dark bead tracking toward his wrist. He looked back up at her, and something in his expression shifted in a way she could feel more than read,the way a person feel a change in air pressure before they understand what’s coming.
“I have water,” she said. She clutched at the water skin which hung from her belt. Then, she jerked her chin over her shoulder, indicating the spot where she left Star. “I can offer you what’s left in this skin, but there’s more. Over there. With my horse.”
“Go home,” he said brusquely, and the quietness of the order made her heart race unhelpfully. He moved another step forward, closing the already too-small distance between them, and she took one involuntary step back before she caught herself and stopped. “Go home, lock yer doors, and forget ye were in this part of the forest.”
“There is blood running into your hand.”
“Aye.” Because they stood so near to each other, Isobel was almost sure she could feel it when he tightened his grip on the dirk. “And there is a dead man in that stream and another loose in those trees who’ll tell whoever sent him exactly what he saw. I daenae have the time or the interest in yer charity, and I daenae want it.” He tilted his head, just slightly, and the gesture was not kind. “What I want is for ye to get on yer horse and ride until ye cannae see these trees anymore.”
“How can you claim my offer as charity? I’m just trying to help!” Isobel was clearly irritated with this stubborn man now. Who did he think he was? Just because he was handsome, capable, and clearly deadly, did not mean he was above her.
Though, maybe, she should take heed of his words and run out of there. But Isobel was never particularly good at following instructions. And she wasn’t about to begin.
“Ye Lowlanders are all the same,” the man said as a dark look of loathing flashed through his eyes. His words spurted out coldly, causing Isobel’s blood to chill. “Ye watch us bleed, and then ye hold out yer hand as though that makes ye somethin’ better than ye are. It doesnae.” He turned from her then, a dismissal so complete it was almost physical. “Take yer water skin and go.”
“And what do you suggest we are?”
He glanced back at her over his shoulder, and the look was full of venom. “Crows. Ye circle around us, waiting for the perfect moment to take our resources. Just like the English.”
His words . pierced a piece of her heart. She knew how the Highlanders felt about those from the Lowlands and the English. She had heard tales of their mistrust and battles throughout all her early years. But she was not like the others. She was not entirely English or of the Lowlands, either. The blood of the Highlanders ran within her, through her mother, and Isobel would not allow this warrior to discount her heritage or lump her in with anyone else.
She stared at him and contemplated what she could say that might change something between them, but she held her tongue for a moment before speaking.
I should go. He has told me to go four times, and he is holding a sword. I should absolutely go.
But her pride did not let her. Not when this man, who clearly did not know her at all, had so many thoughts about her and her people. She knew that the Highlanders were not fond of the lower clans. She could agree that many Lowland clans had clear alliances with the English, most going against their own people. But it was all for survival. And this man did not know her, or her clan, personally to accuse them of being crows.
She had never felt so offended to be compared to an animal as she was at the moment.
“You do not know me. And nor do I know you, or care to get to know you. However, I offered help, because you will lose a lot of blood and won’t be able to ride far with this wound. But you’re too prideful and cruel to understand when someone does something out of the goodness of their heart.”