CHAPTER1
Scotland
The Highlands
Thirteenth Century
“Have ye ever seen such a lovely set of bosoms?”
Colum Garrison lowered his cup enough to peer over its metal rim.Aye.Diarmuid had the right of it there. The man had a keen eye when it came to the lasses. The newest serving girl was indeed a comely maid blessed with a bounty of curves.
He drained the tankard, licking the last of the tangy ale from his lips, then slid the empty mug to the table. “An untapped MacKenna keg against that fine ale ye bring all the way from Ireland. What say ye? I give ye fair odds. Whoever leaves the hall with her on his arm claims the spoils, aye?”
Diarmuid squinted one eye shut while scrubbing his fingers through the short black curls covering his jaw. “Fair odds, my arse. If I win the gift of that lass’s charms, ye’ll give me yer best bow along with that keg of fine MacKenna whisky.”
Colum tapped his thumb against the handle of his empty tankard. Yon sweetling would easily choose him over Diarmuid, but wager his best bow? Over something as flighty as a woman’s druthers? Instinct and past experience with Diarmuid’s less-than-scrupulous wagers gave him pause. The man’s terms reeked with the stench of a carefully laid trap. Colum drummed his fingers on the rough table. “That bow was a gift from the chieftain. There is none like it in all the Highlands.”
Diarmuid grinned, held up his index finger, then slowly allowed it to droop at the knuckle. He gave a sly wink and flipped the sagging appendage, making it appear boneless. “What ails ye, my friend? Are ye not feelingupfor the wee challenge?”
Colum banged his empty mug on the long trestle table and waved the girl toward them. “I will show yeup, ye bastard. After the lass has been with me, she willna give yer wee sausage a second glance.”
Diarmuid rubbed his hands together, his impish grin widening into a devilish smile. “We shall see, man-at-arms. We shall see.”
The teasing look in the young woman’s eyes, paired with the coy tilt of her head, settled the matter nicely. Aye, the lass was as good as his, and so was another keg of Diarmuid’s fine ale. Colum slowly traced a fingertip around the curve of his mug. Soon his fingers would trace along much finer curves.
The girl tucked her broad wooden platter under her arm and sashayed toward them. When she reached their table, the red-haired vixen leaned across the bench and propped a hand on it. Her smile widened as she not so subtly arched her back, providing an even better view of the creamy cleavage about to spill free of her tightly laced kirtle. “Aye, master. Can I be a fetching anything for ye?”
Colum unleashed his most beguiling smile, leaned forward, and ever so gently slid a finger under her silky chin. Diarmuid never stood a chance. This wee filly was already his. The truth of it shone in her clear blue eyes and her barely parted lips, already begging for his kisses.
A deep voice boomed across the crowded hall. “Colum! Here. Now. The MacKenna bids ye to his solar at once. Best be about it, man.”
Colum let his hand drop, clenching his teeth to keep from cursing aloud. Damn Galen and his ill-timed interruptions. What the hell was wrong with the man? Could he not see there was serious business at hand?
Diarmuid chuckled and scooted Colum farther down the bench, bumping his way in front of the still smiling maid. “Dinna worry, friend. I will make sure this fine young lass doesna feel neglected by yer absence.” Diarmuid tickled a finger up and down her lightly freckled forearm as a beguiling smile lit up his face. “Do ye happen to fancy sausages, my dear one?”
A low-throated growl escaped him as Colum swung out from the bench and stood. He searched the far wall of stone archways for Galen. ’Twas a sorry day indeed when he had been fool enough to make that clot head his second in command. Aye, Galen was a fine warrior, but the stubborn bastard had a talent for being a verra large pain in the arse.
Barrel-chested Galen grinned and waved from the widest of the arches leading up to the private rooms of the keep. He nodded and winked, rolling up on his toes to bounce a bit higher than his stumpy height, which barely brought him to Colum’s shoulder. His smirking grin widened to a toothy smile as Colum closed in on him. “Now, lad, dinna fret. I feel sure ye can win the lass back from Diarmuid as soon the chief is done with ye.”
“Ye just cost me my best bow and a keg of whisky.” Colum shoved Galen aside as he shouldered through the doorway.
Galen lowered his broad shoulder and effectively bounced Colum a few steps sideways into the opposing wall. The man might be short of stature but he was nearly as wide as he was tall and stood as solid asBeinn Nibheis.He jabbed a short stubby finger into the center of Colum’s chest. “I saved ye from yer chieftain’s wrath, ye ungrateful bastard. Were ye not just telling me how the MacKenna warned ye to leave the maids alone for a bit? Did he not tell ye he grows weary of getting his arse chewed by both his wife and her grandmother for how ye run through the women in the keep? Good Lord, man. Ye should be thanking me. I saw Mother Sinclair herself heading toward ye from the kitchens.”
Damn the squat bastard.Colum rolled his shoulder, still stinging from scraping the rough stone of the wall. He glanced back behind them. Sure enough, Granny Sinclair was currently blessing out Diarmuid. She had one bony hand clamped around the serving girl’s elbow while she shaking a bent finger just inches from the tip of Diarmuid’s nose. The old woman didn’t even pause for breath as she whipped around and shook the same finger in the face of the wide-eyed maid.
It appeared a debt of gratitude was owed rather than a swift kick in the arse. Colum clapped a hand to Galen’s meaty shoulder and hurried them both farther down the hall. “I owe ye greatly, my fine friend. I swear to do the sword dance at yer next wedding.”
Galen shook his head and held up a hand. “I’ve seen yer great gawking from hopping about to the pipes. Spare me the favor, ye oversized son of aLochlanach.”
Colum gave Galen a friendly shove and widened his stride. Galen wasn’t the first man to accuse him of Viking ancestry. And what of it? Colum found no fault in being compared to some of the most fearless warriors on land or sea. “So, tell me, friend. Does our chief truly wish to see me or were ye merely saving my hide?”
Galen’s bushy brows arched higher on his balding head, greatly resembling a pair of oversized wooly worms. “Oh no, lad. The MacKenna did summon yer arse.”
“For?”
“I dinna ken.” Galen shook his head and scratched a hairy shoulder before yanking the neck of his tunic back in place. “But I did hear him say ’twas really for Mother Sinclair—her and the Lady Trulie. What the hell have ye done now, and do ye even remember her name?”
Colum halted. An uncomfortable sense of foreboding settled in his gut, then took to churning like a great serpent stirring the bowels of the sea. “Mother Sinclair, ye say?”
