Highland Warrior. Hannah Howell

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СКАЧАТЬ he said sharply and pretended not to see Gregor’s look of surprise. “Leave the lad be. He will take that step when he is ready and ’tis best done that way.”

      Gregor shrugged. “As ye wish. It just seemed to me that he was a wee bit slow to get the itch.”

      “I am sure he gets the itch, but ’tis best if we let him choose his own time to scratch it.” He studied Simon, who reminded him a great deal of himself at that age. “He probably just needs to get beyond seeing himself as naught but sharp bones and a pair of too big feet.”

      “Is that how ye felt?” Gregor just smiled when Ewan scowled at him.

      “Nay all of us are blessed with your confidence and bonnie face.”

      “Thank ye for nay saying vanity.”

      “Ye are welcome. Of course, ye might consider resting your parts now and again ere ye wear them out.” He almost smiled when Gregor cast a startled glance at his groin, then glared at him.

      “We cannae all be the monk ye are,” Gregor grumbled.

      “I am nay a monk,” Ewan snapped.

      Gregor rolled his eyes. “Bedding a woman once a year is monkish. I dinnae ken how ye can do it.”

      “Tis called restraint. Tis better than breeding a bushel of bastards.”

      “I only have two. We have all tried to do as ye have asked. A mon has needs, however, and we dinnae all have your strength. Some of us cannae help but wonder if that restraint is why ye are so dark of humor.”

      Ewan sighed and shook his head. It was an old argument. It was difficult to teach restraint when the patriarch of the clan showed none. The fact that Scarglas had far too many women within its walls who were free with their favors did not help, either. He had had some success since wresting the laird’s seat from his father five years ago, but not as much as he would have liked. Ewan looked at Fiona and could not stop himself from wondering what she would think of Scarglas and its people.

      “Mayhap that lass will give the lad confidence,” murmured Gregor. “If Simon can learn to be at ease with a lass as fair as that one, he may gain some ease with others. Weel, if that lass will be staying with us for a while.”

      “Oh, I think she will be our guest for a long while, unless ye can think of a way to get her to tell us exactly who she is.”

      “Ye could always try to seduce the truth out of her. Where are ye going?” Gregor asked when, after one furious glare, Ewan started to stride off into the woods.

      “Hunting,” Ewan replied. “Better I try to kill some beastie and put meat on our table than run my sword through ye. I might just start to regret that in a year or two.”

      It did not surprise Ewan when he soon heard Gregor trailing him. The dangers surrounding him and his family meant that he was never allowed to go off on his own. He also knew he would do no hunting, would only catch something if it was unfortunate enough to stumble across his path. It annoyed him to admit it, even if only to himself, but he was trying to escape the temptation of Gregor’s suggestion.

      Seduce a woman as beautiful as Fiona? It was laughable, or would be if it did not stir up so many thoughts and feelings he was trying so hard to bury deep within himself. He was a big man, dark of looks and nature. Fiona was all sunlight, beautiful, spirited, and so very alive. She was so far above his touch, it was almost dizzying to look at her. Only hours in her company and he was already fighting a craving for what he knew he could never have. Somehow he was going to have to find out who she was, ransom her, and get her out of his life before he succumbed to his desires, tried to reach for her, and made an utter fool of himself.

      “Where did a weelborn lass learn to cook so weel?” asked Simon, taking a deep, appreciative sniff of the rabbit stew Fiona was making.

      “Now, why would ye think me weelborn?” Fiona asked as she stirred the stew, wondering if it would be enough for so many people. She had two full pots bubbling over the two fires Simon had made, but twelve men could probably devour it in minutes.

      “Ye may nay be dressed as a lady or act much like one, but I ken ye are one. Your clothes and weapons, e’en your mount, are those of a weelborn lass or lad. Ye e’en speak verra weel. And”—Simon blushed—“ye are clean and smell verra nice.”

      “Ah, weel, aye, I am weelborn, but the first years of my life were spent living like the poorest crofter.” She tossed the wild onions one of the men had gathered into the stew, and smiled at Simon, who obviously expected a tale now. “For too many years our clan and two others tore each other apart. Finally, there came a time when there was naught left but rubble, burned fields, slaughtered livestock, widows, and orphans. We who survived the last battle which killed the lairds and too many of the grown men rose up from the destruction and swore that it would end on that day. No more feuding, killing, raiding, and all of that. And so it was. Howbeit, for many years, survival and rebuilding took all our few resources. All of us, from the poorest to the laird himself, turned a hand to whate’er work needed doing.”

      “Is that why ye were taught to fight?”

      “Aye, although, praise God, the peace held and there was little of that. Howbeit, we were so weakened, we would have been easy prey for anyone. It was a hard life, verra hard, yet I can see that some good came of it. We all have gained a wide array of skills, and I believe we are, weel, closer than others. We no longer have to fight each day just to survive, but we ken we can do so if we must, and we ken that every mon, woman, and child in the clan can do the same, willingly and skillfully. Tis a good thing.”

      “Aye,” agreed Simon. “Yet, ye must have a laird, aye? One who stands above the others?”

      “One who leads the others, aye. But because of what we suffered, everyone is certain our laird will, if necessary, work side by side with his people, whether tilling a field or thatching a roof. They also ken that he will ne’er fill his belly whilst they hunger or sit warm in his great hall whilst they shiver in the cold. There is also the rather comforting knowledge that their laird willnae thrust them into war at the slightest hint of insult, that he willnae allow pride to stop him from trying to reach some compromise or less bloody solution. That, too, is most comforting.”

      “Twould be nice. Our old laird fights with everyone, or did. Five years ago Ewan took o’er as laird, and he works mightily to make alliances. Tisnae going weel. Our father made some hard enemies.”

      “Oh, ye are Sir Ewan’s brother, too?”

      “Half-brother. Bastard born. There are a lot of us. Near three dozen at last counting.”

      And what could one say to that? mused Fiona. Since her brother Diarmot had five bastard children, it would seem somewhat hypocritical to condemn such a thing. Yet, the old laird seemed to have gone a bit too far. Such rampant profligacy was probably one reason Sir Ewan was now the laird. That and the hint Simon gave that the old laird had a true skill at offending people, thus leaving his clan surrounded by enemies. Fiona wondered just what sort of place she was being taken to.

      For a brief moment, she considered telling Sir Ewan exactly who she was so that she could be quickly ransomed and returned to Deilcladach. Then she inwardly shook her head. Her clan was not so rich it could afford its coffers being emptied because she had been fool enough to get lost and captured. Her family would worry about her, but there was no way she could let them СКАЧАТЬ