Silver Flame. Hannah Howell

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      “I hope to save your soul.”

      “My soul is past redemption, Catriona. I will ne’er see heaven, but I am resigned.” He gave a heavy sigh.

      She made a soft, derisive noise. “If ye are so resigned, why do ye still visit the priests to confess and attempt penance?”

      “Drive the cart.” He thrust the reins into her small, delicate hands. “I must rest,” he murmured, and bent to fix his hose.

      After tidying his clothes he slouched in his seat, tugged his hat over his face, and wrapped his cloak about himself. Maintaining the air of one nearly asleep, he eyed Sine Catriona from beneath his lowered hat brim. It was a neverending puzzle to him that he did not lust after her.

      In the six years they had traveled together she had grown from a lovely girl to a breathtakingly beautiful young woman, ripe for love and marriage. She had a deep, low voice that brought the glint of desire into a man’s eyes. Huge violet eyes dominated her small, oval face, and were encircled by raven lashes so thick and long that many suspected some artifice had been employed on them. Her figure was slender yet had all the curves any man could crave. The crowning glory to her beauty was her hair, its silver-white waves tumbling from her head to her knees. It always seemed a pity to him that she had to keep it hidden, tucked away for fear it would lead her treacherous mother to her. Everything about Sine Catriona was desirable. She exuded an innocent, subtle, and unpracticed sensuality that drew men to her like wasps to hot, sweet cider. Farthing could recognize all of that, yet felt no hint of passion for her.

      The only answer to the puzzle was that she had become as close to him as his nearest kin. Despite the fact that he was just ten years her senior, at times he felt as if she was his child. He supposed some of that feeling arose because he had watched her make that almost magical change from child to woman.

      Yet again he felt guilty that he had not, could not, help her regain what her murderous kin had stolen from her. He had not even been able to stop Arabel and Malise Brodie from declaring Sine Catriona and the twins dead. They had feigned an elaborate burial and taken hold of all the money, the lands, and the title. What was more, he felt troubled over how he had taught his charges to live—by theft and trickery. Yet, what choice had he? Those were the talents by which he made his own living.

      What she needed was a warrior with a force of skilled, armed men at his command. She had said so while still a child and she had been right. She needed a knight who would not cower in his boots before the evil power of the Brodies, one with the coin, power, and force to battle them and win. She especially needed a knight with the wit to believe in the evil of the Brodies and avoid falling victim to their seductive ways. Farthing knew that, for all his cleverness and skill, he was not that man. Nor could he produce such a knight, though they had searched the border region for years, hoping to come upon the right man for the task. He sighed.

      “I dinnae think your knight was at the keep we just fled,” he said at last.

      “Nay. How foolish I was all those years ago.”

      “Only six,” he whispered.

      She ignored the soft interruption. “I was foolish to think I but needed to find a strong knight, one who would help us simply because our cause is just. There appear to be few who have what I need.”

      “Mayhaps there are simply too many just causes and ye must wait your turn. Dinnae give up yet.”

      “Nay, I will continue to search. Howbeit, at times I begin to think I shall be old and bent ere I find him. Ah, but by then the twins will have become men and can fight to gain what is rightfully theirs.”

      “Aye, the three of us could easily carve up your enemy.”

      She laughed softly, then after a long silence asked, “Am I to drive all night with no one to talk to?”

      “Ye talk and I shall grunt at all the appropriate moments.”

      “’Tis plain ye spent all your charm upon that wench we just fled, Farthing Magnus.”

      “I still possess charm aplenty. I merely need to rest. My charm isnae at its most glorious when I am weary.”

      “Farthing?” She looked his way but saw little, her dark companion well bundled up in his equally dark clothes. “Is it fun?”

      “Is what fun?”

      “Swiving.”

      “And where did ye come by that word, my sweet Catriona?”

      “From you, my lusty conjurer.”

      “Ah, I must be more careful in my speech.”

      “Weel? Is it fun?”

      “Aye, ’tis fun or I wouldnae risk so much to indulge myself. I ken nothing of how it fares for women, but to a mon, even the most fleeting and the lightest can be fun. I speak now of only the idle tussle, not the mating of true lovers.”

      “Love makes it better, does it?”

      “Glorious, child. ’Tis love and passion beautifully entwined. ’Tis ferocity yet tenderness. ’Tis all emotion thrown together in the headiest of mixtures. ’Tisnae just what lurks between the legs that is involved, but the heart, the soul, and even the mind. There is naught to compare. ’Tis glory, ’tis paradise, ’tis the Land of Cockaigne, the sweet paradise upon earth.”

      “That is what I shall have,” she vowed as she stared down the night-shadowed road.

      “Aye,” he agreed in a soft voice, “I do believe ye will. One such as ye can have no less.”

      Gamel Logan sat eating in the great hall of Duncoille keep, trying to avoid his stepmother’s eyes. But she was too keen.

      “Where are ye hieing to?” she asked him.

      “A fair in Dunkennley but a day or so ride from here.” Gamel kissed her smooth cheek.

      “A fair? To wenching, ye mean,” Edina muttered, and began to break her fast. She was a tiny, voluptuous woman beloved by everyone in the Logan clan.

      Gamel just smiled. As he ate and conversed with his father and half brothers, he waited for his stepmother to say what was on her mind. Since his burly father was unusually quiet, he suspected that what troubled Edina had already been thoroughly discussed with her husband. When Gamel finished his meal, he sensed Edina was ready to speak. He wondered idly if she had thought to save his digestion.

      “Ye are eight and twenty now, Gamel.” Edina frowned, then nervously worried her full bottom lip with her teeth. “Ye are a belted knight kenned far and wide for possessing a handsome purse. Hasnae it come time for ye to seek a bride?”

      “I have been looking for years.”

      Before Edina could respond, the children’s nurse bustled into the great hall, explaining that the youngest Logan had taken a tumble and Edina’s presence was needed. Gamel grinned as Edina grumbled with exasperation and left. He looked to his father to finish what Edina had been struggling to tell him.

      “Have ye sought out another possible bride then, Father?” he asked.

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