In the Highlander's Bed by Cathy Maxwell

Author:Cathy Maxwell [Maxwell, Cathy]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Tags: Historical Romance
ISBN: 9780061122101
Google: CfP3-MvFjz4C
Amazon: 0061122106
Barnesnoble: 0061122106
Goodreads: 1814694
Publisher: Avon
Published: 2008-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

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The whore would have none of it. “A woman must learn to toughen up to survive. You understand that, don’t you? My impression is that you are a survivor.”

“I’m not dishonest with myself,” Constance replied, “if that is what you are asking.”

Grace cocked her head as if reevaluating her. “So, are you going to leave?”

“How much did you hear?” Constance asked.

“Enough to know” was the cryptic answer.

“No, I’m not leaving,” Constance said, and was pleased to wipe the smug assurance off the other woman’s face.

“Why not?” Grace asked.

Constance bent down to pick up the bundle of food. She had to eat to maintain her strength for what lay ahead. “Because I’ve decided to join your fight,” she said, untying the bundle. There was bread and a hardened piece of cheese in it. She took a bite of the bread.

“Join us?” Grace repeated, no less surprised than Fiona had been.

“Yes. Let’s go out and meet the others.” She started toward the door, but Grace didn’t budge.

“Why would you want to join us?” Grace’s gaze grew speculative. “It’s the Lachlan, isn’t it? He’s caught your eye.”

For the briefest second, Constance wanted to deny it…then changed her mind. “Aye, itis the Lachlan. A more noble man I have never met. And a more disreputable group of followers I have never seen.” She crossed to stand toe-to-toe with Grace. “Do you think because you are a willing woman, it gives you airs over the likes of Fiona?”

Grace pulled back. Apparently no one had ever challenged her before.

“It doesn’t,” Constance said, answering herself. “You are just as afraid as she is. All of you are. You don’t believe in this fight. Not truly. And so you’re biding your time, not putting a great deal of effort into the Cause or the men who will fight it. Well, I’m not so namby-pamby.” She moved toward the tent flap.

“What does that mean?” Grace demanded.

Constance paused. “Lacking in character. Being afraid because fear is comfortable. Are the others outside? Are they listening?” She didn’t wait for a response but flipped open the flap.

Sure enough, it appeared as if every woman in the camp was gathered around Gordon’s tent, unabashedly eavesdropping. Constance came to face them.

They actually took a step back. Some of them held babies in their arms. Others had small children clinging to their skirts. They returned her stare with undisguised hostility.

Well, that was fine with her. The only onesnot paying attention seemed to be Mad Maggie, who stood off the side rocking her “Patty,” and Fiona, who was nowhere to be seen.

Page 83

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