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she’d run away.
    The price of her freedom would not be more Scottish lives. She wouldn’t allow it. Perhaps the life she’d been given was a test of her fortitude or penance for coveting the life of her sister. They’d not been close growing up, which made Mariana’s sting of jealousy all the more painful. Margot had been offered for after Mariana became the French king’s mistress. She had a handsome, wealthy, noble husband. They had beautiful children. Love. Happiness. A family. All things Mariana wished for, but did not have, and most likely never would. She was barren. Never in the last eight years had life quickened within her womb.
    Without a husband, and with a soiled reputation. Love was out of the question. Who could love someone with such a tarnished past? It was time to face facts, she would never know true happiness. The only way she would ever marry is if she were given to someone as gift from the king. The idea of being someone’s compensation made her tremble.
    With a hard swallow, Marian a turned her attention away from her bitter thoughts and focused on the camp. She again took note of the guards, ever alert. Brandon had joined Wallace and Ronan. Julianna, too, was with them and kept throwing Mariana suspicious glances.
    There seemed to be no chance of escape just yet. But the sun was dimming, turning the area within their camp grey. Darkness would be upon them soon enough, then perhaps her chance to disappear within the forest would surface.
    Until then, she’d have to settle in and wait. Several tents had been erected, but she’d not been given one. Would they make her sleep outdoors? She prayed not. ’Twas nearing spring, but the temperature still bespoke of winter, and with the sun’s weak warmth gone, the night was sure to be close to freezing.
    Mariana shuddered and burrowed deeper within her cloak and Brandon’s. The wool of his garment was soft, inviting and smelled of him—woodsy, smoky and a tang of masculine spice. She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing his scent in deeply. Her entire body tingled from it. Odd that a man’s scent could have that effect on her, like a potent tonic, the intent to intoxicate and draw in a victim. Mariana was that victim, totally beholden to this man’s fragrance.
    Oh, mon dieu!
    There was something wrong with her.
    Mariana pushed from the log, every muscle screaming as she slowly stood. Her movements caught the attention of half the camp. Some of the men gawked and the only other woman—Julianna—frowned. Mariana was sure the men’s reaction was due to the soot covering her face and hair.
    A cursory glance told her there wasn’t water nearby, but she desperately wanted to wash her face. She slid her hands from within the confines of her cloak. They were dirty with soot, her nails black. The sight made her stomach churn. Mariana couldn’t stand having dirty hands. A pet peeve of hers. No one in her service, nor any man she entertained, was allowed to touch her without clean hands.
    She tried to think about Brandon’s hands. Were they clean? Odd, but she couldn’t recall. They must have been, for she wouldn’t have let a dirty man hold her in his arms.
    Granted, she wasn’t exactly being held in his arms. He rescued her, and she pretended to faint so she wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. Keeping her eyes closed, exhaustion had overtaken her and she had truly fallen asleep. She frowned, realizing at the last minute that her unseeing gaze had settled on Julianna. Luckily, the woman had turned away and not taken note of her.
    With a deep sigh, she made a mental not e to be more aware of her facial expressions and surroundings. At court, her face hurt from the constant demure smile or flat affect. When she wasn’t surrounded by such formality, she tended to fall into a comfortableness with herself and wasn’t on edge. Not entirely bad, except for right now she was within a camp filled with people who would consider her their enemy if they