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cried with abandon.
    “Ye are verra good, I’ll admit, my lady. But I’ve seven sisters to me and I’ve learned to tell the real tears from the fake.”
    “What!” Isabelle jerked her head up, annoyed. Their eyes met and he gave her a sly smile. “Oh, fine then,” she snapped, stepping back from him. “You are a most dreadful man. I hope you know that.”
    “Aye, so my sisters have said on many occasions.”
    “How am I to return to England?” she asked, more to herself than anyone.
    The Scottish knight shrugged and pointed toward the horizon. “England is that way.”
    “Do you think I could make it walking by myself?”
    “Nay,” he replied with brutal honesty.
    Isabelle sat on a rock by the creek, trying to work out how she would escape. She accepted the leftover meat and some water with thanks, but still no obvious solution presented itself.
    “Is Glasgow a large town?” she asked hopefully after considering and discarding many poor plans.
    “Aye.”
    “Do they trade with England?”
    “Aye.”
    “Mayhap I could go with a trading party back to England?” asked Isabelle, brightening.
    “Mayhap,” said the taciturn Scot.
    “Then that is precisely what I shall do.”
    Campbell said nothing, but caught her eye and held his appraising look. Isabelle looked away, flushed and confused.
    “What is it, sir? Why do you stare at me so?”
    “I was wondering when ye are going to tell me the truth.”
    “I… have told you…” Isabelle stammered, her cheeks burning.
    “Nay. Another thing seven sisters taught me is how to tell the truth from a falsehood. Ye may be a bonnie lass, but ye are no’ telling me the whole truth.”
    “I…” Isabelle swallowed hard and thought fast. “The honest truth is I must get to Bewcastle.”
    “I believe it. I also believe ye would say anything if ye thought it would get ye there.”
    Isabelle straightened her shoulders and looked him directly in the eye. She would not allow him to shame her. Despite her appearance as an unlucky harlot, Isabelle knew who she was. “You are correct,” she acknowledged. “I would do much to return to Bewcastle, though perhaps not as much as you think. There are people who are depending on me. People I care about. Children even. I must get to Bewcastle safely.”
    “Ye have many children?” he asked, turning away to prepare the horse for travel.
    “Oh no! Not my children. Others whose welfare I must consider.”
    He stopped his work and his eyes met hers with a critical frown. “Who are ye?”
    The wind rustled through the tall grass, the birds chattered merrily, but Isabelle held her tongue. Campbell waited for an answer.
    “I must get to Bewcastle,” Isabelle finally said. She could not tell him the truth. It was too dangerous.
    “That is the only thing about ye I ken is true.” The Highlander shook his head. “Come on wi’ ye. I plan to change horses up the road a ways. Mayhap ye can pay for passage back to England there. They trade wi’ the borders.”
    “Thank ye, but I have no coin.”
    “Aye, I reckoned ye woud’na, but I do.”
    “Thank you.” Relief flowed down her tense shoulders and Isabelle viewed Campbell from a fresh perspective. Maybe he was her knight in shining armor after all.
    David Campbell mounted his horse and reached down to help her up. This time he lifted her up in front of him. She gasped at the forced intimacy of it. His arm was around her, and she was sitting mostly in his lap, her legs over one of his thighs.
    “I can ride behind ye,” she gasped.
    “I am tired o’ ye squeezing the life from me.”
    “I—” Isabelle tried to move away from him, but it was quite impossible. “I do apologize for squeezing you, but this must be unnecessary.”
    “Only if I wish to keep ye from cracking a rib.” Campbell’s eyes glinted with mischief and he clicked to get the horse moving.
    “Surely not, sir!” exclaimed Isabelle, resisting the urge to grab for him when the horse began to saunter.