He flexed his arm tighter around her waist. “’Tis nothing, lass. Dinna fash yerself over some wee scratches that I didna feel.” His deep voice rumbled against her cheek as he leaned in closer. “I take it ye are not well acquainted with riding?”
“No. Not really.” A wave of nausea washed across her and she clutched his arm again. “I need you to stop and let me down. Please.” She held her breath, praying she could stop herself from throwing up her bannock.
Cythraul immediately stopped. Gray folded the reins across the great horse’s neck and leaned around. Concern and worry filled his face. “What have I done to offend ye?”
Trulie pointed at the bridge in front of them. The wide stone bridge spanned a sheer breathless drop into a jagged stretch of what looked like razor-sharp stones surrounded with angry, roiling seawater. “I can’t be up this high and ride across that.”
Gray looked at the bridge, then returned his focus to Trulie. His expression clearly relayed that he didn’t understand. But without another word, he slid down from the horse’s back and held up his hands to her. “Come, m’lady. We will walk the rest of the way.”
Her heart double-thumped a hard, breathless beat. He could’ve cajoled her into riding across the bridge or made fun of her for being afraid. But he hadn’t. He had accepted her fears for what they were and tried to ease them without hesitation. Gray was the real deal. The living definition of chivalry. She swallowed hard. She had never met a man quite like him.
She leaned forward into his arms, holding her breath as he slowly pulled her from the saddle and lowered her to the ground. Her mouth went dry as she stood there, her arms resting on his, looking up into his face.
His gaze locked on her mouth. The tip of his tongue raced across his bottom lip as though anxious for the taste of her. She found herself wetting her own lips. What would she do if he tried to kiss her? Easy. Kiss him back. Trulie waited for him to make the first move.
With the barest flicker of a smile, Gray dipped his head, took a step back, and proffered his arm like a true gentleman. “Come, m’lady. ’Twould be my pleasure to show ye MacKenna keep now that ye can see.”
Well, dammit.Disappointed but determined to hide it, she forced a smile and hooked her arm through his. The chilling height of the structure spanning the ravine could no longer be blamed for the tingling dizziness spinning across her senses. Fear of heights was nothing compared to this subtle emotional dance with a heart-stopping Highlander.
CHAPTER10
The busy community housed inside the protective skirting walls of the MacKenna holdings filled Trulie with amazement. The fortress was a small village. To the left, a split rail fence hemmed in a training paddock connected to a stable. Two young boys, looking to be in their teens, led a skittish horse in a circle under the watchful eye of a barrel-chested man in a tattered plaid. He leaned against the fence, calling out instructions to the lads.
Against the farthest wall to the right, a smithy, covered in sweat and grime, held a glowing horseshoe with long-handled tongs against the curve of his blackened angle. Sparks showered from the red-hot metal as the iron sang out with every strike of his hammer.
Wariness pulled her closer to Gray as a cluster of women weaving baskets openly gawked at her with curious stares. She relaxed a bit when Karma pushed his wet nose into her palm, reassuring her that he was still close.
Stone dragons, weathered to a weary gray, flanked either side of the wide stone steps leading up to the main entrance of the keep. Gray led her up them and through the huge oak double doors leading to the main hall. Trulie came to a halt. The grandeur of the massive room was too impressive to take in with a simple glance.
Banners of plaid framed crossed broadswords and the clan crest hanging behind the raised stone dais bearing the chieftain’s chair. Long wooden tables and their benches had been pushed against the walls. A pair of serving maids swept aside soil and discarded scraps even the hounds had refused. Grimy-cheeked lads scurried around the room replacing spent torches with those freshly pitched.
Trulie lifted her gaze to the ornate gallery bordering the second floor of the room. The MacKenna colors hung from the dark wood banisters running along the balcony. The high ceilings caught her eye. The intricate masonry was astounding. The weathered stones arched overhead created a breathtaking mosaic of cobbled stones framed with ancient timbers blackened from years of smoke.
Gray motioned to a young man hoisting a log into the massive hearth that took up one side of the long room. “Bread and cheese, lad. In my solar.” Gray tipped his head toward Karma. “And a fine meaty knuckle for Mistress Trulie’s fine lad here.”
“Aye, MacKenna.” The boy bobbed his head, then took off through an arch at a quick trot.
“I thought ’twould be best if we had a bit to eat before meeting with my stepmother and Fearghal.” With a slight bow, Gray motioned Trulie toward a narrow alcove between two ornate tapestries suspended from silky braided ropes secured to dragon sconce embedded in the walls. One weave depicted a gnarled tree of Celtic knots filled with all manner of birds. The other was a colorful scene of a successful hunt.
Before Trulie could respond, men shouting and the squeals of an angry horse rang out from the courtyard. Karma pressed against Trulie, lowered his head, and growled.
“What the hell—” Gray bounded for the door, coming to a halt as a scrawny wild-eyed man shot into the narrow entryway walled off from the main room. Colum followed close behind, his teeth bared in an angry snarl. “That feckin’ idiot grabbed Cythraul’s reins. Put him on the demon’s back, my chieftain. I beg ye. Let the mighty Cythraul teach the foolish bastard a thing or two.”
Waves of loathing hit Trulie’s senses as the sniveling man jerked what could only be an obscene gesture at Colum. She blinked and focused harder on the man. She couldn’t tell if she was picking up his emotions or if Colum’s palpable hatred was fouling her reading.
Karma lowered his head and unleashed a deep rumbling growl. Trulie took a step closer. “It’s all right, Karma,” she whispered. “I have to get closer and get a better read.” She aimed her senses at the unpleasant man and forced herself not to recoil. She had never encountered such pure, unadulterated hatred in one person.
“Ye are drunk, Fearghal. Ye reek of it.” Gray moved to the door and glared outside.
The ruckus in the courtyard appeared to be dying down. All Trulie could hear now was the previous level of activity.
“Ye’re damn lucky Cythraul spared yer arse. I doubt verra much if yer mother wouldha been pleased to find ye stomped to death in the bailey.” Gray motioned Colum out of the room.
“I tire of bein’ treated like I am the bastard son.” Fearghal narrowed his red-rimmed eyes at Gray, his scowl deepening as he crossed his arms over his scrawny chest.
“Fearghal!”
A warning tingled across the back of Trulie’s neck. She turned and forced herself not to back away from the waves of negativity emanating from the unpleasant woman. This had to be the infamous Aileas.
