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slide the too-large shoes off of her feet. He tossed them to the ground and stepped up onto his horse, sitting behind her.
    As he took the reins in a tight grasp, she looked at him from over her left shoulder. “Why do you throw the shoes away? Ada and I have need of them.”
    Ada gave a frail whimper and Ysabelle noticed tears gleaming in the woman’s eyes. The handmaiden hunched her shoulders and wrung her hands as she glanced between Ysabelle and the Scots Ram. Ysabelle loved Ada like the mother she had never known and could not fault the woman for being protective of her.
    “Be at ease, Ada. I’m all right,” Ysabelle reassured her.
    Nicholas frowned. “You’ve lost the right to have shoes for now. It’s better to keep you barefoot so you cannot run off again.”
    “How are we supposed to walk without them?” Ysabelle argued.
    “I’ll carry you wherever you need to go. One of my men will see to your handmaiden’s needs.”
    The thought of him packing her into the bushes so she could relieve herself caused hot welts of anger to tighten across her chest. “Absolutely not. Give them back.”
    “Maston indulged your every whim.”
    She glared at him, but he didn’t budge. When she tried to jump from his horse, he caught her with deft grace, holding her hands tight in his own.
    “Let go!” She tried to jerk her hands free. She succeeded only because he allowed it.
    He ignored her after that. Calling to his men, they rode off. With the jerking stride of the large war horse, Ysabelle was forced to hold on to Nicholas once more.
     
    *
     
    Exhausted and hungry, Ysabelle had long ago given up trying not to touch the Scots Ram as they crossed the lonely hills and neared the River Tweed. Her bones would be rattled from her skin if they didn’t stop soon. Fatigue caused her to lean back against his wide chest, her face turned so she pressed her cheek against his throat to support her head. Slanting a glance at him, her gaze sought his.
    “Please, let us stop to rest.” She spoke in a croaking whisper. If not for the desperation of her request, she would have kept her silence.
    Longing for a drink of water, she also wished to lie down and stretch her legs. The hills rolled out before her in an endless sea of murky green. Puffs of breath floated on the frigid air with each breath she took. Though still dark, it would soon be morning, bringing the welcome warmth of the sun.
    He must have heard her weary request for he reined in his charger and gestured to his men. Riding into the sheltering trees, Nicholas gave the order to set up camp. Ysabelle breathed a sigh of relief.
    “We’ll rest a short time. I dare not tarry long,” Nicholas spoke to his brother.
    “That’s wise.” Alex stepped off his horse. “Once his men catch the horses we chased off, Lord Marshal will ride hard to intercept us.”
    Ysabelle stood where the Ram placed her, looking at the ground covered by rocks and thistles. Unable to see what she treaded upon, she dared not move around in the dim light. Her bare feet were quite tender, with few calluses to offer protection. By denying her shoes, Nicholas had effectively hobbled her.
    The horrid man.
    Placing his hands at her waist, he lifted her and set her upon a large rock. The heat from his body stifled her. Peering at her face, he studied her, and she flinched when he removed one gauntlet and brushed his fingers tenderly across her aching jaw.
    “Your cheek is swollen. How did you get this bruise?” he asked.
    So, he’d noticed Malcolm’s abuse. She pushed his hand away. He would soon learn that she couldn’t be won by gentleness. Though she longed to scream the truth at him, she kept her silence. It didn’t sit well with her to confide in a stranger.
    His jaw hardened. “Was this Sir Malcolm’s doing?”
    Lifting her chin, she refused to answer. Let him think what he may. All men were pigs, using women for their own gain. She trusted none of them.
    His mouth tightened into a grim