5 HIS PLACE

ASTRID STIFFENED. "EXCUSE me?"

"Ye should have paid half of what she's charging."

Astrid pursed her lips. "That's yer opinion, MacDonald," she said, her tone as wintry as the anger that now burned in her belly. How typical that the cur had held his tongue all day, only to insult her in front of the others now. "Not mine."

"It's not opinion but fact," he replied, a challenge glinting in his eyes. "Although I suppose ye wouldn't know … sheltered as ye are."

Silence followed this comment.

Astrid was aware that the others of her escort were looking on, observing their captain's disrespect. As always, her first instinct was to go for his throat.

She'd never forget the incident a few months earlier—and neither likely would he—where she'd thrown a sharp eating knife at Finn after he insulted her. They'd been in Loch's solar, and her brother had been horrified at how close she'd come to killing his friend. But her brother's fury had been worth it, just to see the shock that rippled across Finn's face.

She'd have liked to stun Finn again—anything to wipe that arrogance off his face. However, there was no place for outbursts of temper on this mission. She wouldn't lower herself to his level either by insulting him in return. Instead, she would treat Finn with the same cold disdain he reserved for her. It was time she reminded him of his place.

"I may be sheltered, but I'm not stupid," she replied, her gaze never leaving his, even as her pulse thumped in her ears. "And if I wish to hand over a bag of silver for a night's accommodation, I shall. Don't question me again."

With that, she turned and moved away, unslinging her cloak from about her shoulders, and hanging it upon a peg on the wall. Then, still ignoring Finn, she took a seat by the fire .

"They're bonnie lodgings to be sure, Lady Astrid," Colin spoke up eventually, shattering the brittle silence. "And it's good to be out of the rain and wind."

Astrid cast the warrior—who hailed from a farming family a short ride south of Duart—a grateful smile. "Aye," she agreed, warming her tingling fingers over the fire. "Let's hope the weather improves for tomorrow's journey."

All the while, she was aware of Finn's baleful glare, yet she pointedly ignored him.

Her chilled fingers started to warm under the fire's glow, and she released a soft sigh.

"We could do without the rain," Colin agreed. "Although we need a brisk wind to carry us north." Their journey the following day would take them across the sea, past the Small Isles, and along the western coast of Skye. There, they'd travel up to Dunvegan, which sat on the northwestern coast of the lobster-shaped isle.

If the wind was favorable, they'd reach Dunvegan by nightfall—and if not, they'd have to break their journey.

Astrid's pulse skittered as she considered this possibility. Time was of the essence now. Loch will be fighting the Mackinnons.

Her breathing grew shallow then, fear clutching her throat as she imagined the clash between the two clans. She'd lost both her parents, and her closeness with her brother was new indeed . Despite that she was still sore at Loch's insistence Finn accompany her, the thought of losing him tied her up in knots.

Loch was depending on her to reach the Macleods of Skye swiftly, and to bring back help to Dounarwyse as quickly as possible.

Any delay would cost him.

The door to the barn creaked open then, and their hostess appeared, bearing a large platter, piled high with trenchers of food. The rich, oily aroma of mutton drifted through the barn, and Astrid's belly rumbled. She didn't often have much of an appetite, but after a day at sea, she was starving. Nonetheless, the men who spent long hours at the oars would be even hungrier.

Three comely lasses followed the woman, and judging from their features, they were the woman's daughters—how she would have looked before a hard life took its toll on her face and body. The lasses carried more food as well as cups and ewers of ale.

They were a merry group, laughing and flirting with the men as they served them.

One of them, possibly the prettiest, even roused a half-smile from Finn as she handed him a trencher of mutton and coarse oaten bread. He sat across the fire pit, at the farthest point away from Astrid, so she hadn't heard what the lass said—yet whatever it was had amused him.

Finn's mouth quirked, and for an instant, his sharp-featured face transformed. He murmured something back, eyes glinting, and the lass giggled.

Astrid's mouth pursed, and she cut her glance away. Hades, lasses could be daft. She'd never giggled over a man—and certainly not that man.

She wasn't that kind of woman. Astrid liked to be taken seriously. When her father's health had declined, she'd discovered she had a skill for leadership. She'd stridden upon the castle walls with a dirk at her hip and had made decisions for the good of her clan. The servants and the Guard respected her.

A chatelaine couldn't act like a witless goose and keep everyone's respect.

Maggie used to giggle over lads.

An ache rose under Astrid's breastbone then, at the memory of how Maggie's blue eyes would sparkle when she was amused. Unlike her friend, Astrid had always been shy about showing her interest in someone. If she was honest, flirting represented a loss of control. It made her feel vulnerable.

Finn took a bite of mutton and chewed slowly. The food was good, he'd admit—although Astrid had paid a king's ransom for it.

Swallowing, he picked up his cup of ale and took a gulp. Around him, his men were bantering and laughing. However, Finn was content to let the conversation eddy around him, to observe rather than participate.

He'd always been an observer. Always on the outside looking in.

He preferred it that way .

His gaze shifted then, across the glowing fire pit, to where Astrid sat, eating her supper. After her illness months earlier, the lass had been painfully thin—so fragile that it looked as if a gust of wind could blow her away. But these days, she was looking far healthier. Her cheeks had filled out, and the waifish lines of her body had gotten fuller. She devoured her meat and bread hungrily as she listened to the conversation between the warriors closest to her.

Finn's mouth pursed as he observed the laird's sister.

Don't question me again.

He'd swallowed his ire earlier and literally bitten his tongue to stop himself from replying. However, anger still simmered within him in the aftermath. How he longed to cut the high and mighty chit down. He was leading this mission, not her. If he decided to question Astrid, he would.

They weren't so different in rank. He was a chieftain's son, after all. And yet, she'd treated him like a baseborn cur.

He wouldn't forget it.

"How about a game of knucklebones, Captain?" Dougie's voice roused him from thoughts of revenge, and Finn cut his gaze to the red-haired and freckled warrior seated to his right. Dougie hailed from Craignure. A fisherman's son, he'd upset his family by choosing the warrior's path instead. However, Finn was glad he'd joined the Duart Guard, for the lad was one of his best.

"Ready for me to wipe the floor with ye again, are ye?" Finn challenged, putting down his trencher and reaching for the pouch at his belt.

Dougie snorted a laugh. "I've been practicing, ye know?"

Finn raised an eyebrow. "Aye?"

"Aye." One of the other warriors, a big broad man named Roy called out. "Dougie beat me two days ago."

Finn snorted. "That's hardly a challenge."

Roy flashed him a toothy grin and heaved himself off his stool. "Right … I'm joining ye for a game." He swept his gaze over the rest of the group. "Which of ye lads thinks ye can beat our captain?"

Murmurs and muttering followed, and Roy harrumphed. "Come on … someone has to wipe that smirk off MacDonald's face."

Finn cocked an eyebrow. They could try, but all his men knew he was a fiend at knucklebones. Lord knows, he'd practiced often enough, for when he'd been on campaign, following the Bruce across Scotland, there had always been someone keen for a game in the evenings.

"I shall play," a cool female voice replied. "If I'm permitted, of course."

All gazes, including Finn's, cut to where Lady Astrid observed them.

There was no mistaking the challenge in her dark-brown eyes, and when her attention shifted to Finn, her face hardened.

Finn fought the urge to make a mocking remark. There was a part of him that wanted to dismiss her, to put the woman in her place as she'd done with him earlier.

But his men's faces were now expectant. They all liked the laird's daughter, respected her. He wouldn't win any friends tonight by putting her down. And he had to admit that her behavior intrigued him. He'd never seen her play knucklebones. Indeed, women usually left their menfolk to such pastimes.

"Very well, Lady Astrid," he drawled, jerking his head toward the trestle table behind him. "Let's get started."