Page 50 of Desire's Ransom
But in war, there were no rules. Temair had to reclaim her legacy by any means possible.
Anyway, his part in this would be over in a few days, she thought as she patted the slurping dogs’ heads. Once the knights returned, he’d be free to go.
She imagined he’d return to England. Like most Englishmen, he probably thought Eire was savage and unruly. Especially now.
As for his marriage, no doubt the king would arrange another suitable alliance for Ryland. His assets wouldn’t go to waste. Indeed, prospective brides probably vied fiercely for such a prize as Sir Ryland de Ware.
A man in his prime.
Strong.
Handsome.
Clever.
Her gaze slipped over to where he sat on a stump. He was frowning at the ground between his knees, lost in thought.
She had to admit, he really was a fine specimen of a man. If circumstances had been different…if he weren’t English…and if he weren’t betrothed to her by command of the king, but rather by virtue of affection…
As if she’d spoken aloud, he suddenly glanced up at her.
Rattled, she looked away.
It was going to be a long couple of days—waiting for the ransom while dodging Ryland’s damning stares, battling her sense of guilt, and trying to forget that she’d once let him kiss her.
“Gray,” Domnall called out.
She looked up.
“He’s your hostage,” Domnall said. “What do ye want to do with him?”
The breath caught in her throat, especially when Ryland and the rest of the woodkerns leveled sharp questioning glares at her.
What did Domnall mean? What was there to do with him? He was a hostage, that was all. Shouldn’t he just…sit…and wait?
At her silence, Domnall prodded. “He won’t be worth a farthin’ if he runs off into the woods.”
Young Fergus offered, “Do ye want me to tie him to a tree?”
“Ye could chain him with the dogs,” Ronan said.
“Or shackle his ankles so he can’t walk,” Domnall suggested.
Temair creased her brows in indecision. Was that really necessary? Surely he wouldn’t leave the safety of the camp for the danger of an unfamiliar forest.
“Or,” Ryland chimed in with dark humor, “I could just give you my solemn oath that I won’t leave.”
Domnall scoffed at that.
But noble Cambeal asked, “On your honor as a knight?”
“Aye.”
That was enough for Cambeal.
Domnall thought otherwise. “Ye’d trust an Englishman?”
“A noble knight?” Cambeal asked, drawing himself up to his full height. “Absolutely.”
