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her skin. He was too intent, too keen, and she feared he could read her feelings right off her face.
    “I am not challenging you, sir. All I crave is to be out of your sight.” She sounded breathless and grabbed the front of her skirts to go around him. The man let her move until she was even with him before reaching out and securing a hard grip on her forearm. Once more he loomed over her, his greater height making it necessary for her to tip her head up so she might maintain eye contact with him. Another tiny shiver went down her spine.
    “Now, lass, do nae be unkind. Cannae I enjoy the idea of a fine-looking woman such as yerself attending me while I’m saddled with the chore of keeping ye from starting trouble in me country?”
    “No, you cannot,” she insisted before pushing at him. He was as immovable as a mountain, and she gained not even an inch for her effort.
    “Well now, Clarrisa, ye do nae control me thinking, and that’s a fact.” His voice had turned deep and husky.
    “I have no say over what you do at all.” Nor over how he affected her. “There is something you have in common with my English kin.”
    He frowned, his eyes darkening, but for some reason the look on his face didn’t remind her of her uncle’s displeasure. When she looked into Broen’s eyes, she didn’t find the same arrogance, only solid disapproval.
    “I do nae care to be compared to the English, Clarrisa.”
    There was a warning in his voice that pleased her. It should have frightened her, but instead she discovered she enjoyed knowing he wasn’t happy with her. At least the knowledge killed whatever strange emotional response she’d been struggling against. Yes, it was much better to be at odds with him. “I seek privacy; if you allow me that, we need not converse.”
    “Something ye shall nae have until I can be sure ye are secured inside a solid tower.”
    Horror arrived at last, stealing her thoughts and leaving her gasping. Thoughts of the boy princes and the fate of those with royal blood who were locked away for safekeeping rose up to torment her. Those young princes had died because others coveted their power. No one ever saw them again, except as ghosts. “Now, do nae be looking at me like that. I am nae a monster.” He released her, a sound of disgust reaching her ears. “But I cannae have ye giving James a York-blooded son.”
    “So you will lock me up…” Her voice was a mere whisper, her throat feeling like it was swelling up.
    “A few of me countrymen believe slitting yer throat is a better solution, as ye have already noticed. Kindly recall I am nae one of them.”
    “There is little kindness in this entire affair.”
    She stumbled away from him, forcing herself to stop when he began to follow her. Horror was making her shiver, and she detested its powerful hold. She raised her chin and clenched her jaw. “Well then,” she ground out, “if you lack the courage to spill my blood, step aside and allow one of your men to do the deed. I have no taste for living in fear.”
    She might be foolish to say so, but it was what she truly felt in that moment. Her words were bold and brash, but they filled her with a steady confidence that cut through the terror. “I’m going up behind those rocks if you need to point the way to Shaw. If my throat is going to be slit, at least I shall not die with my robes soiled like a babe.”
    She turned her back on him. It took every bit of courage she had to not look over her shoulder, but she pulled up her skirts and climbed to the outcropping of rocks, making it behind them before her nerve deserted her.
    ***
     
    “I never thought I’d witness ye taking those sorts of words from any man—much less from an Englishwoman.”
    Broen sent a cutting look toward Shaw. “She has courage, so I’m feeling generous.”
    His cousin hooked his hands into his wide belt. “Ye mean she’s arrogant, which is in keeping with her kin. Young Henry is doing this world a service by