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away, but not before he saw the flash of pain in her eyes. “Evan is my
bràthair, and he
does no’ know my whereabouts.
We
do no’ even know our whereabouts.”
    He chose to ignore that last digging comment. He knew where they were, but she didn’t need to know that. “Tell me how a lass managed to get herself arrested and imprisoned by the English without them knowing she was a lass.”
    She crossed her arms and looked away. And damn Colin’s traitorous mind, but all he could think about were those perfectly ripe breasts. “I’ve got nowhere to be and time on my hands, Sinclair.” Somehow calling her Maggie didn’t seem right. He’d yet to wrap his mind around the fact that she was a lass. “Although I might take another of those bannocks if ye have a mind to give me one.”
    Her jaw worked as she stared at him. She was a tight-lipped one, to be sure. “Ye ate the last one.”
    “Surely there’re more oats.”
    “I’m not yer servant. Make yer own damn bannocks if ye want them.”
    He hid his shock at her cursing. He shouldn’t have been surprised, since he’d heard her curse a dozen times, but that was before he’d known she was a she. What would make her want to dress and act like a man? Clearly, she’d been doing so for some time, for it came naturally to her.
    “I’m weak. I’m recovering from a fever and sickness.”
    Her eyes narrowed. “I’m no’ a cook.”
    “The last batch of bannocks was no’ bad.”
    “I’m
no’
a cook.” Her eyes dared him to say what he was thinking, so he did just to see her reaction.
    “Ye’re a woman. Ye know how to cook.”
    He could have sworn she growled as she reached for the
sgian dubh
at her waist.
    Colin held up his hands in surrender as he laughed out loud. “I was jesting with ye, lass. No need to get so upset.”
    It took a moment before her hand fell away from the
sgian dubh
. “That’s no’ funny.”
    “So ye don’ cook, ye wear men’s clothing, and I’m assuming ye know how to handle that dagger and
sgian dubh
Campbell gave ye. Ye’re quite an interesting woman.” Far more interesting than she should be.
    Her jaw worked again. He could detect the anger built up inside her. Colin was good at reading people. Far too many times he’d had to size up a person immediately and go by what his gut told him. Most of the time his gut was right, but when it failed him, someone got hurt.
    “I like fighting more than I like cooking, and trousers allow me to ride astride.”
    An image popped into his head of a whole hell of a lot more than her breasts and her riding astride. He pushed the thoughts away. What a cretinous ass he was being. The color was high on her perfectly sculpted cheeks. Her shoulders were rigid and she was still standing with her feet wide apart, primed to run or fight, whichever was needed.
    “I’m in no condition to fight ye, lass. Sit down.”
    She hesitated for a long moment, then gracefully sat where she’d been standing, folding her legs beneath her.
    Despite the two bannocks he’d already consumed, Colin’s stomach rumbled. He was a big man, and two bannocks weren’t nearly enough to tide him over. Especially since he hadn’t eaten in days and hadn’t had a decent meal in weeks.
    “If ye tell me where the oats are, I’ll make more,” he offered.
    She pointed to the side of the cave where the blankets had been stacked and a few pieces of dry wood remained. Colin collected the oats and the bucket of water and proceeded to mix the ingredients. When they were cooking on the fire, he sat back, exhausted just from that small act of domesticity.
    She’d watched him warily, and he realized she’d done the same in their cell. How frightened she must have been, keeping her secret, afraid someone would find out. He knew what the English were doing to the Scottish women, and more than likely, so did she.
    Yet “frightened” wasn’t a word he would use to describe her. Wary. Watchful but prepared. No doubt she’d had