Highland Warrior. Hannah Howell

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      “Mayhap he wouldnae be so contrary if ye gave him a proper name,” Ewan said.

      “He has one. Tis Stormcloud. He doesnae often answer to it, however. And he has weel earned the others.”

      “If he is so much trouble, why do ye ride him?”

      “He is big, strong, fast, and can go for miles without a rest. Of course, that isnae such a fine thing at the moment,” she muttered and glared at her horse, who looked at her, neighed, and tossed his fine head as if he were enjoying a fine laugh at her expense.

      “Stay here,” Ewan commanded. “Watch her, Gregor.” He started toward the horse.

      Fiona crossd her arms over her chest and watched him approach Stormcloud. To her utter surprise and a flash of extreme irritation, the man easily caught Stormcloud. The horse did not even try to elude him, seemed positively enraptured. She cursed as he led the horse back to her. When the animal looked at her and gave her a horsey snicker, she stuck her tongue out at him. Her captors found that worthy of a hearty laugh. Even the big man holding Stormcloud’s reins grinned.

      “Mayhap, if ye spoke sweetly to the beast,” Ewan suggested, “he would feel more kindly toward ye.”

      “I have spoken sweetly to him, in the beginning, when I thought he was a reasonable beast,” Fiona replied. “I spoke so sweetly honey fair dripped from every word. It ne’er worked. Watch.” She stepped closer to the horse and began to flatter him. “Such a fine gentlemon, ye are, Stormcloud. Big, strong, fair to look upon.” She concentrated on keeping her voice low and coaxing, struggling to think of every compliment she could as she wooed him.

      Ewan quickly lost interest in the game she played with her horse. He was caught firm in the magic of her voice. It was low, slightly husky, and dangerously seductive. The flattery she filled the horse’s ears with could all too easily flatter a man as well. He glanced at his men and realized they were being as seduced as he was, or nearly so. Ewan hoped their bodies were not growing as taut with need as his was or there could be trouble.

      Just as he was about to end the game, to try to break the spell she wove, she reached for the reins. The horse lowered his head and shoved her away forcefully enough to cause her to sprawl on her back on the ground. Stormcloud then produced that sound which all too closely resembled a human snickering. Ewan tried his best not to laugh, but the loud hilarity of his men broke his control.

      Fiona cursed softly as she got to her feet and brushed herself off, then glared at the laughing men. “I dinnae suppose ye would have let me ride on him anyway.”

      “Nay, I wouldnae,” Ewan said. “Ye are our hostage.”

      “Might I learn just who plots to drag me off to his lair and try to use me to pick clean the purses of my kinsmen?”

      “We are the MacFingals. I am Sir Ewan, the laird of Scarglas, and the mon weighted down with your vast array of weaponry is my brother Gregor. Ye can learn the names of the rest when we camp for the night.”

      “Just how far away are ye taking me?” she asked as he searched her saddle and packs, handing Gregor her second sword and three more knives.

      “Ye didnae think ten knives and one sword were enough?”

      “I might have lost one or two weapons in a battle. What are ye doing?” she asked when he mounted Stormcloud.

      Ewan grabbed her by the hand, relieved when she nimbly swung up behind him and offered no argument. “I am riding this horse. He has had more rest than my own. I am taking ye to Scarglas, a little o’er a day’s ride from here. When we get there, ye will tell me who ye are and where ye are from. Or ye can save us all a lot of trouble and do it ere we get there.”

      Before she could tell him exactly how small his chances were of her granting that wish, he kicked Stormcloud into a gallop and left her with no choice but to hang on. He might have a lot of questions for her when they camped for the night, and she might even give him a few answers. She had a few questions of her own, however, such as who in the world were the MacFingals of Scarglas?

      Chapter 2

      “She is muttering,” said Gregor as he leaned against the tree next to Ewan and joined him in watching Fiona.

      Ewan almost smiled. The moment they had camped, he had ordered Fiona to prepare a meal. She had obeyed him, but made no secret of her annoyance. The fact that only Simon, the youngest of his men at sixteen and his half-brother, was helping her seemed to have added to her irritation. She was, indeed, muttering, when she was not sweetly telling an obviously infatuated Simon what to do. Ewan had caught only a few words of her disgruntled litany, and had decided it would be best to distance himself.

      “I suppose that, because she believes she is a mon, she finds the chore demeaning,” continued Gregor.

      “Oh, I dinnae think she believes she is a mon,” murmured Ewan.

      “But her skill with weapons—”

      “She has been purposefully trained. I have nay doubt of that. And she has been trained weel.”

      “Why would someone train a lass to fight?”

      “I can think of many reasons. Mayhap a dangerous shortage of fighting men, mayhap she comes from a place where battles are frequent, danger all round, or mayhap she was reared mostly by men who didnae ken how else to deal with her. I favor the latter. She moves about in the lad’s clothing as if she is accustomed to such attire.”

      Gregor watched Fiona closely for a moment and nodded. “Aye, she does. She e’en moves more as a lad does than a lass.”

      “She also shows little fear about being amongst us, a lone woman amongst a dozen men.”

      “Oh. Mayhap she is no maid, is accustomed to men in all ways.”

      “Nay.”

      “Ye sound so certain of that.”

      “As certain as I can be. I make my judgment based upon how she acts.” And, he reluctantly admitted to himself, because he felt a strange, but fierce, loathing of the possibility that Fiona had been touched by any man, let alone many. “She has faced us with weapons, burned our ears with insults, and tries to thwart our plan to ransom her by simply refusing to tell us her full name or where she comes from. There has been nay one small attempt to flirt with any of us, to use any feminine wiles. And look ye at how besotted our Simon is, yet she makes no use of that weak spot in our ranks. There isnae e’en the hint of seduction in her actions.”

      “Ah, aye. She appears to treat him as a younger brother or the like.” Gregor smiled faintly. “Tis fair certain that is why Simon is so enthralled. Shy and virginal is our Simon. A few maids at Scarglas have sought to catch his eye, but he is proving verra skittish. I was thinking I should take him to a whore soon who will teach the lad a thing or two.”

      Ewan thought of the time his father had thrust him into a woman’s bed, insisting it was time he became a man. He had been fifteen, tall and bone thin, and painfully shy. He had also already begun to be appalled by his father’s apparent attempt to breed his own clan, keeping his current wife and far too many other women pregnant year after year. Ewan shuddered at the memory of the night he had lost his virginity. It had been a night full of failures, embarrassments, СКАЧАТЬ