Willow wondered if he said that to help save her from such indignity, or if he meant it. She was aware that she was nowhere near as beautiful as her two sisters, her features far too plain and her hair dark red with stubborn waves running through it. But what did her features matter now? She had more pressing matters to worry about.

“Be gone with you, I say,” Rob ordered again, then turned to Slatter, handing him a swath of plaid. “And you cover yourself up and stop showing yourself off.”

“How can I not brighten the lovely lassies day?” Slatter asked with a chuckle as he fitted the plaid around him.

Willow almost laughed at his audacious behavior and she had to admit, from what she saw—the back of him—he did have a fine body. Broad shoulders, defined muscles, narrow waist, tight buttocks, and muscled legs though not overly so. He really was nicely proportioned.

Enough, Willow, you don’t need to be thinking of him that way,” she chastised herself silently.

“You’ll both see to your needs, eat something, then it’s back in the hole until later,” Rob instructed.

It didn’t take long to see things done and when a bowl of gruel that looked days old was handed to her, she wanted to cry. She was so hungry.

“Eat.” Slatter encouraged. “The other meal may be worse.”

She grimaced with the first taste, but knew he was right. If she wanted to survive, until she was rescued, she had to eat.

There was a heavy chill to the air and grey clouds floated along gray skies and she tried not to think of what might happen if it rained.

“Where did you get those scratches on your face and the rips to your garments?” Slatter asked.

“I hid in thorny bushes during the battle and got stuck there. Beck’s men weren’t gentle when they pulled me out.”

“Some on your face need cleaning, they swell red.”

Willow looked toward Rob and Geary talking between themselves a few feet away. They didn’t care about her wounds. She’d have to do the best she could herself. She tore off a small piece of her shift and soaked it with the stale ale she had been given to drink, to clean the scratches.

“Let me,” Slatter offered, taking the scrap of cloth from her hand before she could protest.

He dabbed at the scratches with a gentle hand. She was a brave one. He had thought for sure she would have panicked when she was lowered into the hole with, at the time, she thought a complete stranger and to find him naked. She could have started screaming like a banshee, but then she had been exhausted, not much strength left in her. Still, she had handled herself well, had remained calm, had not lost her mind, an easy thing to do when stuck in such a confined place and in the ground.

He finished dabbing at her scratches and thought of something she had said earlier and never got to respond to. “I didn’t set fire to your sheds.”