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should know about wind,” he retorted with an edge of amusement in his voice. “They were always more talk than action.”
    Leah struggled to follow his meaning. She thought she knew English well, but Brandon twisted the words about to make a different purpose. An argument with him was like the braves’ competition for dancing on hot coals. Even if you won the contest, you had doubts if you had really won anything worthwhile. “My father spoke in the manner of Alex, and he was a real lord,” she insisted. Actually, it had been so long ago that she wasn’t certain how her father had talked. “If he was here, ye would soon see.”
    “I’m sure of it,” he replied mildly.
    Leah glimpsed the hint of mischief in his eyes. “Ye dinna believe me, do ye? Well, it matters nay whether ye do or dinna. “’Tis true, and there be an end of it.”
    “As you will, my Highland lady, but the word is still come.” He reached for a corncake, and she smacked his fingers sharply.
    “They’re nay ready yet.”
    He chuckled. “I bow to your superiority in the kitchen.” He licked his burned fingertips. “What did you have in mind to hunt today?”
    “Aatu, the deer.” She turned the corncakes. “Did the men call you equiwa?”
    “How’d you guess?”
    “Men—married men—dinna fetch water and firewood unless their wives be sick or heavy with bairn.” She rummaged in a basket and came up with a wrinkled man’s vest. It was decorated across the back with porcupine quills and fringed along the bottom. “In the forest ye will need protection. Your back is tender yet. Put this on.”
    He frowned. “You think to make a savage of me so easily?” She held it out to him and he took it. “It stinks,” he grumbled.
    “Nay, ’tis ye who stink. Ye didna bathe today in the river, nor yesterday.”
    “In England, a man who bathes once a month is considered a milksop.”
    “I dinna ken this milksop, but a mon who doesna wash is nay human.” She wrinkled her nose. “Those”—she pointed at his breeches—“are nay fit for a mon t’ wear.”
    “Keep your hands off my breeches, woman,” he warned. “They’re all I have left of civilized attire. You’ve already stolen my boots.”
    “I gave ye moccasins in return. Elkskin. They will last many years. Do they not fit as your own skin?”
    “They fit well enough, but they’re heathen footwear. My boots were Spanish leather, made by the same family who does them for the duke of—” He broke off with a low oath. “Damn me, girl. They cost more than a country parson would see in two years.”
    She looked unimpressed. “Eat your corncakes now. If we dinna bring down game, ’tis all ye’ll ha’ to eat this day.” She tugged on a long fringed legging and tied it to her skirt. “And wear the vest,” she ordered. “I’ll nay be slowed down in the forest by your complaining.”
    “Yes, m’lady, as you say. I’d not wish to delay your hunt.”
    Leah fixed him with an unwavering gaze. “Take care, Englishman. I’m nay a fool. Ye’ll go wi’ me into the woods and you’ll do as I bid ye. There are more dangers in the forest than a Shawnee war party, and I for one intend to return to camp with my scalp intact.”
    “And a fat deer, don’t forget that.”
    “Aye,” she agreed. “If the spirits are wi’ us.”
     
    Brandon’s gaze was fixed on the back of Leah’s head as he followed her down the steep incline. They’d been walking for hours without stopping, and he was surprised at the small woman’s endurance. The undergrowth was thick here, and he had to duck his head to avoid the branches from trees overhead. More than once, he’d admitted to himself that he was grateful Leah had insisted he wear the vest.
    Sweat ran down his face, and he paused briefly to wipe it away. The air was hot and sticky; the August afternoon seemed to close in around him. He climbed over a rotten log and braced himself with his left hand. Instantly, he felt a sharp stinging