Arran strode up to the man and unceremoniously yanked him from the saddle. Grabbing his tunic in both fists, he shook him and snarled, “This lass is no ‘distraction’, Sean MacLeod! She is a MacFinnan spellweaver come to aid us, and ye will show her the same respect ye show to me! Is that clear?”
Sean swallowed thickly, his eyes darting between him and Jenna. “Aye, laird. My… my apologies.”
Arran released him and studied his men. They were staring at Jenna with wide eyes, a chorus of awed murmurs rippling through the air.
A MacFinnan spellweaver!
We’re saved!
But they died out, surely?
Jenna said not a word but licked her lips nervously as she looked around at the men, clearly a little rattled by this greeting.
Mal was the first to regain his composure. He bowed to Jenna from his saddle. “Welcome to Skye, my lady. We are at yer disposal.” He turned to Arran. “There is quite the tale in this I suspect, cousin.”
“Aye, there is, but it’s telling can wait until we’re all safely back inDun Tabor. Sean, double up with Mal. I will take yer horse. Hamish, Dougal, ride to the keep and warn of our arrival.”
As the men scrambled to obey, he turned to Jenna. The earlier rosy hue to her cheeks had faded and she looked a little pale. “We’ll move more quickly by horse. Will ye consent to ride with me?”
She blinked. “What?”
“Will ye consent to ride with me?”
“Um… I suppose so—”
“Good.” Without further ado, he bent and lifted her into his arms. She gave a surprised shriek as he hoisted her into the saddle and then swung up behind her.
“Wait! I didn’t know you meant—”
“Yah!” He nudged the horse into a canter.
The lass squawked and was thrown back against Arran—something he didn’t mind one bit. She felt warm and inviting where she touched him and her scent—something akin to sandalwood—made his nostrils tingle and a pleasant warmth steal through him.
The next moment, she grabbed hold of the saddle horn and clung on for dear life, pulling herself forward until she was half slumped over the horse’s shoulders, her eyes squeezed closed.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, puzzled.
“What’s wrong?” she cried. “Isn’t that obvious? Make this thing slow down!”
He did as she asked, pulling on the reins until the horse slowed to a trot. Yet this only seemed to make things worse as the lass bounced around like a sack of turnips, not swaying with the horse’s gait at all.
“Aargh!” she cried. “I think my bones are getting shaken loose!”
He slowed the horse to a walk. “It will take longer to get home at this pace.”
She peeled her eyes open, loosened her death-grip on the saddle horn, and slowly pushed herself upright, sitting rigidly and being careful to keep a gap between them.
“You know what? That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
The wind picked up, sending her hair billowing out behind her and making it tickle Arran’s chin. It was not an unpleasant feeling, and he found himself wishing she would lean back against him again.
Stop that, he chided himself.It’s been too long since you had a woman if you’re having such thoughts about a MacFinnan spellweaver!
He schooled his patience as they plodded their steady way along the trail. There was none of the usual banter among his men as they rode, caused in no small part by the atrocities they’d seen on the beach today but also, no doubt, by the presence of the woman riding with them.
Everyone knew that MacFinnan spellweavers were not normal women. Possessors of formidable powers and strange gifts, they were more akin to witches or seers, and anyone with an ounce of sense was wary around them. He caught his men casting covert glances at her and then looking away quickly when she noticed.
For her part, Jenna said nothing, but her head swiveled from side to side as they rode, taking in the craggy landscape they passed through. Was this as strange for her as it was for him and his men? Or was time traveling all in a day’s work for her?
