Highland Surrender by Tracy Brogan Page B

have his men hear him with some tavern whore, but Fiona was his wife. And as much as he’d like to teach her a lesson in obedience, he’d not do it now. Not here in a tent, surrounded by twenty pairs of interested ears. Tonight, both his bride and his overeager cock would have to wait.
    The harsh screech of an owl awoke Fiona with a start. At first uncertain of her surroundings, her mental fogginess cleared, and she remembered. She’d not meant to fall asleep. But there she was, curled up in a ball with her husband snuggled up behind her, like cozy kittens in a box. His quiet breath was soft and rhythmic. She straightened and turned, just enough to see what she could of his face in the pale light, and agitation scoured away any remnants of her slumber.
    Torches lit the camp outside, and the fire, tended by the night watch, still burned bright. She could see its illumination through the tent walls, and though the hour remained a mystery, beyond the firelight, darkness beckoned. Her time had come.
    Slow and silent as the moon rising, Fiona slid from under her husband’s arm. The blankets rustled like a whisper, but clanged like cathedral bells in her mind. Sweat prickled under her arms and down her neck as she moved from the makeshift bed, slithering like a snake from under a rock. When she at last reached the edge of the covers, out she came, reborn and free from his grasp. She picked up her shoes and hose and then stepped toward the tent flap.
    Myles breathed deeply in his sleep and rolled to the spot she’d just vacated. Fiona froze in her tracks, waiting for him to wake up at her absence, but he merely stretched his long leg out and sighed with slumber.
    She offered up a silent prayer of thanks, and on the chance her neglectful God might indeed be listening, she offered up a second prayer, asking forgiveness for the sin she’d soon commit. With one eye on her husband’s inert form, she reached down and gripped the handle of his dagger. The blade scraped the scabbard’s side with a metallic hiss as she pulled it loose. And still Myles slept. Leaning farther down, she scooped up her green cloak and swung it round her shoulders. Then she stood, and with one final glance at the body in the bed, she stepped outside the tent.
    The moon was a sliver in the sky, a mixed blessing, for any light could be a boon or a curse, depending on her immediate circumstance. The big red giant, sitting several yards away and near the fire, rose from his seat and stared at her. He must be the watch. She pulled shut the cloak, tucking the dagger inside.
    “What are you about, lass?”
    She stood tall, tilting her chin. “Nature calls.”
    He stared another moment, his beard almost glistening from the reflection of the flames. Then he nodded. “Well, then be quick or I’ll be after you.”
    She turned and walked past the wagons, past the pallet made for Bess, and into the rows of trees, searching the darkness.
    “Psst! Here! What took so long? Surely you haven’t been jousting with your husband all this time?” A voice, thin and reedy, came from just beyond where Fiona stood.
    “Bess, where are you?”
    “Here!” the maid whispered again, and stepped farther into the tiny clearing.
    “Ah, praise heaven. God may be a Sinclair after all. Have you anything for me?” Fiona grasped at the tiny bundle held in Bess’s hands, quickly unwinding the fabric. In the darkness, she could barely make out the shapes.
    “There’s bread and a bit of cheese, and some dried meat. I couldn’t find you any water or ale. They keep a closer eye on their drinks than their food.”
    Fiona nodded, wrapping the bundle back up. “Thank you, Bess. This is fine. Are you certain you’ve the will to go through with this? I’d not put you in harm’s way without your consent.”
    “Aye, I’ve the will. But you’re the one who is sure to get lost in the woods and be eaten by wolves.”
    “I’ll face wolves of a different sort if I stay. So, let’s be