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responsibility was to train him, not care what he thought of her.
       From beneath lowered lashes she studied him. The MacKinnon continued to eat his meal, at the exclusion of all else, appearing more like a man who had gone days without food than a warrior with wounded pride.
       Scotia frowned. Never had she met such a complete puzzle of a man.
       When only bones remained on his trencher, he gulped two mugs of wine, then pushed back from the table with a contented sigh.
       "Are you quite done?" she could not help but ask, feeling somewhat irritated that he had bathed before coming to dine with her, then managed to ignore her entirely while he ate.
       "It was delicious. Thank you." He offered her a smile that brought out a tiny dimple on the left side of his cheek.
       Somehow that tiny indentation added to his allure and increased her irritation.
       His gaze dropped to her food. "Are you not hungry?”
       She eyed the demolished bread. "Nay."
       His expression grew somber. "If I am the reason for your lack of appetite, I apologize. I had no right to say what I did."
       She dismissed his apology with a gesture of her hand. "You were correct."
       "About what?" He leaned toward her and her heart beat a little faster. He smelled of mint and musk, the combination fresh and complex.
       Disconcerted, she shifted to the far side of her chair. "I trained you today the way my mother taught me. If you still wish to train, we will approach things differently. I have information about the Four Horsemen, their strengths and weaknesses, that I shall teach you. I also know less 'arcane' ways of training that I have yet to reveal."
       "Information about the Four Horsemen?" A dark expression crossed his face, then vanished. "That is why I came to you."
       Scotia did not know whether his response pleased or worried her.
       "Then we shall get started right away." He pushed his chair back, but she stalled him with her hand.
       "We have had enough of battles for one day."
       He froze, and for a moment she thought he might refuse, but he relaxed. "Agreed. Besides, it seems your people have other plans for this evening's entertainment." He nodded to the musicians who entered the hall just then, sending a sparkling refrain of music through the murmur of voices. A hush settled across the room as a dulcimer, a bagpipe, a lute, and a harp chimed a steady beat. A cheer arose. In an instant, the tables were cleared and pushed back, making room for dancers.
       Two lines formed. Men and women joined in pairs. Even Maisie reached for Burke, parading him into the fray. Scotia leaned back in her chair and watched, as she had for years, though she could not still the light tapping of her foot beneath the table. She liked to dance, had often done so as a small girl. But things were different now. She had an image to maintain as a warrior first and a woman last. She sighed at the falsehood. It was not that she should not dance, it was more a fact that she could not dance and still be on guard against those who would challenge her.
       "Dance with me, Scotia." The MacKinnon held out his hand.
       She shook her head. Such spontaneous adventures were not for her. She must keep her guard up, her defenses sharp.
       "Then you cannot dance?"
       "I can," she said, crossing her arms over her armored chest. "Armor tends to make things a bit more difficult."
       "You could take it off." He offered her a smile that brought his dimple out once more.
       Scotia scowled at him. "Never."
       "Then you must learn to dance with it on."
       Giving her no time to object, he grasped her arm and hauled her from her chair and into the ring of dancers, locking his arm through hers. She knew she should dig in her heels and stop him, but she did not. Instead, she allowed him to pull her forward, sending her into a spin as though she were dressed in gossamer cloth instead of the heavy metal and boiled leather that gave