Hannah Howell by Highland Hearts Page A

maid.”
    “Aye, ye may,” she replied with a grin as Revan moved to her side and pulled her hand free of Simon’s grasp.
    Keeping hold of Tess’s hand, Revan asked, “So the tale of her ‘kidnapping’ has already been spread about, has it?”
    Simon quickly grew solemn. “I fear it has. Come, ’tis late. Let us make camp, eat, and then we can make plans.”
    Leaving the men to that, for they were far more adept at it, Tess sat down and watched them. Simon’s grave demeanor began to make Revan tense. She noticed Revan’s wary expression and his careful movements. She also began to share his uneasiness. Try as she would, Tess could not convince herself that Simon’s gravity was caused solely by the dire threat of treason.
    They ate a light meal mostly in silence. Tess found that even more ominous. It was as if Simon did not want to speak and Revan did not dare ask any questions. The tension became so taut that even terrible information would be better than not knowing.
    “Ye kenned who Tessa was,” Revan said at last. “Her uncle has spread word that she was kidnapped.”
    “Aye.” Simon sighed as he took a bracing sip of wine from the wineskin. “He not only says ye have kidnapped the lass, but that your intent is to rape and murder her.”
    “Does he give me some reason to commit such a vile crime?” Revan asked through gritted teeth.
    “Oh, aye—vengeance. Ye did this when Brenda spurned your attentions.”
    Revan cursed creatively. “And this is believed?” he demanded. “Why would anyone believe it?”
    “Mayhaps some have seen Mistress Brenda. She is said to be most beautiful.”
    “I have seen bonnier,” Revan grumbled. He took a long drink.
    Deciding now was not a good time to ask who was bonnier, Tess simply murmured, “Mayhaps those who have seen Brenda havena been as blessed as you.”
    Revan glared at her.
    “I dinna see what is troubling you so,” Tess continued. “I can easily refute the kidnapping charge. Although,” she drawled, “there is a wee bit of truth to it. A knife at one’s throat canna honestly be called a courteous invitation.”
    “Ye mean to belabor me with that till I am dead and buried, dinna ye?”
    “Oh, nay, never that long. But it deserves recalling now and again.”
    “Ye held a knife to her throat?” Simon asked, his expression a mixture of concern and amusement.
    “I will tell the tale,” Revan said when Tess opened her mouth. “If I had na done it,” he concluded after a terse relating of his escape from Thurkettle, “I would be a dead man.”
    “Ye forgot the part where ye threatened to give me a new smile,” Tess murmured helpfully. Simon grinned.
    “I had to appear really threatening or they wouldna have believed me. What was I to say? Pardon, sirs, I dinna truly intend to hurt the lass? I would have been dead ere we stepped out of that cell!”
    “Reminders of the kidnapping do irritate you, eh? Not to worry,” she hurried to say, “ ’tis a charge easily cast aside.”
    “Ye must get to the king first.”
    “ ’Tis where we head now, is it not? Do we not travel with Simon now?”
    “Nay. ’Tis best and safer if we travel separately, especially since we have people hunting us.”
    “Then I shall write to the king, and Simon can take him the message.”
    “Ye can write?”
    Tess found his surprise mildly insulting. “Aye, I can write.”
    “That would help,” said Simon, “except that I dinna have quill nor ink nor anything to write upon. Do ye?”
    “Nay.” Revan ran a hand through his hair. “Your word on this may do as well—for now.”
    Simon nodded. “ ’Tis a pity that isna all of it. Ere I tell you the worst of it, I assure you that many do not believe these lies. Many speak out on your behalf. Your family decries each charge and black rumor.”
    “What other crimes have been lain at my feet?”
    “The murder of Leith MacNeill.”
    Revan looked shocked. “Why should I kill one of the king’s men? One who