Highland Warrior. Hannah Howell

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СКАЧАТЬ with both hands, and attacked so swiftly and gracefully, Ewan was struck with admiration. So struck that he came very close to getting wounded. As he met her attack, however, he realized it would have been little more than a scratch, that she had not been aiming for anything vital. He also realized that she had been well trained. She might lack the strength and stamina to outlast a man in a long, hard battle, but she definitely had the skill and agility to give herself a fighting chance. A touch of good fortune or an error on the man’s part and she could win a fight. The silence of his men told Ewan they also recognized her skill. What he did not understand was why she had attacked him. He was sure it was not because he had called her a name she did not like. Ewan wondered if this was another test of some sort, one to judge his skill or to see just how hard he would try not to hurt her.

      Fiona knew within minutes that this man did not want to harm her. He was fighting her defensively and she was certain that was not his way. Even as she wondered how she could now extract herself from this confrontation, it was ended. He blocked the swing of her sword and somehow ended up within inches of her. The next thing Fiona knew, her sword was gone from her hand, her feet were pulled out from beneath her, and she landed flat on her back, hard enough to knock the breath out of her. As she struggled to catch her breath, she braced for the blow of his body landing on top of her. It not only surprised her, but impressed her, when he somehow managed to completely pin her to the ground with his body yet rested very little of his weight upon her.

      “Now, are we all done with this troublesome nonsense?” Ewan demanded, fighting to ignore the feel of her beneath him and pushing away the tempting images it tried to set in his mind.

      “Aye,” Fiona replied, panting a little as she regained her ability to breathe. “I will accept your surrender now.” The man truly could growl impressively, she mused, and wondered why that rough noise should send small, pleasurable shivers down her back.

      “Enough,” he snapped. “Ye are now my prisoner. Do ye have any other weapons?” he asked as he took the knife sheathed at her waist and tossed it aside, his brother Gregor quickly appearing to collect it along with her sword.

      “Nay,” she answered and could tell by the way his eyes narrowed that he knew she lied.

      “Surrender your weapons, woman.”

      “I told ye, I dinnae have any more.” Fiona wondered if the fact that the knife sheathed at the back of her waist was digging painfully into her back was the reason her ability to lie was so hampered.

      That thought had barely finished forming when she found herself caught up in a fierce wrestling match with the man as he tried to search her for weapons. She got some pleasure out of his curses and grunts, which revealed she was at least discomforting him. Unfortunately, it did not deter him. He quickly began to find all of her knives. His curses increased as he took the two strapped to her wrists just inside the sleeves of her jerkin, the two tucked inside her boots, and the one sheathed at her back. He even found the subtle slits in her breeches that allowed her to reach the knife strapped to each of her thighs and took those. All her struggling halted abruptly when he ran his big, long-fingered hands over her breasts and found the knife sheathed between them. As he tossed that to the man collecting her weapons, he yanked her to her feet, and she wondered why she could still feel the warmth of his touch.

      Ewan stared at the collection of weapons a widely grinning Gregor had piled up. He suddenly realized that, at any point during their confrontation, she could have pulled out one of those well-hidden knives and thrown it at him, or slipped it between his ribs. There was no doubt in his mind that she could have done so with speed, stealth, and deadly accuracy. He had obviously not failed any of those tests she had been putting him through. When he looked at her and she smiled sweetly, he immediately grew suspicious.

      “Any more?” he asked.

      “Of course not.” She met his narrow-eyed stare for a full minute before she sighed. “Just one.”

      “Hand it to me.”

      His eyes widened as she reached behind her head and pulled a knife from out of the thick coils of her braid. When she slapped it into his outstretched hand, he ignored the hilarity of his men and studied the weapon. It was long with a narrow blade, sheathed in thick, soft leather, and the hilt had been made in such a way it looked like no more than an ornate hair ornament, yet was still perfectly usable.

      “Why are ye so heavily armed?”

      “Weel, it wouldnae be wise to ride about alone without a few weapons,” Fiona replied as she undid her sword belt and tossed it down with the other weapons, then began to remove the sheaths for her knives that she could reach discreetly.

      “Tis nay wise to ride about alone nay matter how weel armed ye are.”

      She scowled at him and he tried to fix his attention on her ill humor, but it was not easy. His gaze kept falling to where her hand had slipped inside the clever slits in her breeches to remove the knife sheaths strapped around each slender thigh. Ewan could all too clearly recall the feel of that soft skin. It had taken a lot of willpower to resist the urge to linger there, to stroke that soft skin, and to recall that he was disarming her beneath the amused gazes of his men.

      Even worse, his palms still itched with the need to feel those firm, plump breasts again. He had all too briefly felt how perfectly they had nestled into his hands as he had searched her for more weapons. Despite her clothes and the fact that she had been bristling with weapons, he could not ignore the fact that she was a woman, a soft, temptingly shaped woman. Worse still, he seemed incapable of ignoring the fact that he desired her.

      “What is your name?” he asked her as Gregor put all of her weapons in a sack.

      “Fiona,” she replied and met his hard stare, one that demanded more information, with a smile.

      “Fiona what? What clan? What place?”

      “Do ye expect me to sweetly reply and give ye all that is needed to rob me and mine?”

      Cleverness in a female could be extremely irritating, Ewan decided. “Where were ye headed?”

      “Nowhere in particular. I was just riding about enjoying the rare sunny day.”

      “Then how did ye end up here?”

      “Ah, weel, my mount is a contrary beast. He bolted. I think I must have hit my head on the saddle pommel or the like, for after a rough ride, I became quite dazed. When I finally came to my senses, the wretched beast was moving at a calmer pace, but as soon as I tried to grab the reins, which had slipped from my hands, the horse bolted again. After yet another long, rough ride, he tossed me to the ground and left me here.”

      “Is that the beast over there?”

      Fiona looked to where he pointed and softly cursed. The big, gray gelding stood only a few yards away, idly feasting on soft grass. If she had known he was so close, she would have tried to catch him, might even have escaped the trouble she now found herself in. Then, she sighed, accepting her fate. Since she had truly needed a horse, it was certain that aggravating beast would never have allowed himself to be caught.

      “Aye, that is him,” she replied.

      “What is the name it answers to?”

      “Several, actually, but if he is feeling particularly contrary, the best one to use is Wretched.”

      “Wretched? Ye call your mount Wretched?”

      “Tis СКАЧАТЬ