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and it worked.
    He was the most daunting man she'd come across in her life. He was also the most appealing one. The blue paint on his face could not disguise the masculine beauty of his features. Hair like shining obsidian hung past his massive shoulders and even the intricate tattoo around his bicep added to his appeal. It looked like a blue armband and none of the other soldiers had one.
    Not that she would have seen any such thing on the Sinclair warriors. They had the decency to cover their upper torsos with saffron shirts under their plaids. Not so with these barbarians. His chest and one shoulder were bare. She could see a purplish bruise forming where she'd bit him as well as a smear of blood.
    She winced, pained that she'd done that to another person.
    His face held an impassive stare, yet she felt as if he were reading her every thought. She did not know how she was going to stop him from taking her friend, but stop him she must.
    She pulled a handkerchief from where she had it tucked in her kirtle and wiped gently at the blood on his chest, not completely aware of what she was doing because her mind was spinning so furiously. She had to protect Cait.
    "The journey could hurt the babe," she pointed out.
    "Balmorals do not hurt women. Drustan is keeping her, but she and the bairn will not be harmed."
    Emily pressed the cloth over the small wound she had inflicted. "Would not taking the laird's wife give you more revenge?" she asked, a desperate plan forming in her mind.
    The warrior's eyes narrowed. "He is not married."
    "Well, that was true a few days ago, but it isn't anymore."
    At her friend's quick intake of breath at her lie, Emily silenced her with a look.
    "Where is this wife then?" asked the warrior, in spite of himself.
    He did not know why he hesitated and was actually listening to the Englishwoman. She was lovely, but he had never been swayed by a beautiful woman before. Perhaps it was her courage, or the way she tended the wound she had inflicted. The contradictory behavior intrigued him.
    As did she. Her obvious concern for Talorc's sister confused ton. He would have expected no less from another member of the Sinclair clan, but this woman was not a Sinclair. She was English. Unmistakably so from the way she was dressed and spoke their tongue with the accent of their southern foe.
    English or not, he liked watching her. She tried so hard to hide her fear from him, but her trembling gave her away. Despite her nervousness, purple eyes shot fire at him and this amused him. She looked ready to go to battle. Against him.
    And she was not even a femwolf.
    Amazing.
    Where had the Sinclairs found a jewel such as this?
    "I am his wife."
    The words hung in the air, slicing through his pleasure in her company. This jewel belonged to the Sinclair? He would not believe it.
    He shook his head.
    She nodded emphatically.
    He turned to the Sinclair woman. "Your brother chose an English mate?"
    "No."
    Lachlan tilted the woman's chin up so she had to meet his gaze. "I do not like being lied to."
    "I-I'm not lying."
    "You say your friend is a liar?" he asked in a voice that had sent grown warriors running.
    "No, of course not. Talorc did not choose me. Your king did it for him."
    "You won't convince me that he married an Englander." The other man's hatred of the English was too strong. He'd lost a father and a brother to a greedy English baron and his cohort, the English woman who betrayed the Sinclair clan.
    "Talorc hates the English more than he hates the MacDonalds," Drustan said, echoing Lachlan's thoughts.
    "I know Talorc hates the English and it has not been a happy relationship." There was too much truth in her tone for Lachlan to continue to dismiss her claim. "But I am his wife. Your king and my king ordered it and my dowry was substantial."
    He did not think Talorc would be moved by any amount of money, but he could not guess at the workings of the other clan chief's mind.
    "Why aren't you wearing his plaid?" he