A muffled thud hit the ground in front of him, followed by a cough and a wheezing, “Son of a bitch!”
Colum cautiously raised his head and found himself staring at the finest round arse he’d had the pleasure of viewing from this particular angle in quite some time. His bollocks tightened in immediate appreciation, and his cock perked with interest.
He had completely forgotten about the revealing trews Lady Trulie had worn on her arrival. But this sweet lass’s arse—in his humble opinion, of course—was a damn sight finer than her sister’s.
The woman with the mouthwatering curves crouched on all fours on a cluster of strange black bundles. Her lovely bottom was paired with an equally lovely top, which from this current angle was completely revealed by the sagging front of the odd bit of shirt stretched across her shoulders. The thin white material was bunched up nearly to her armpits, revealing the flimsiest bit of silk and lace he had ever seen cradling a woman’s breasts. Colum licked his lips and swallowed hard. He must remember to thank Mother Sinclair for choosing him for this task.
The sleeves of some sort of faded blue garment were knotted through the cloth straps of one of the lady’s bags. The dark-haired lass floundered forward. She stretched over the pile of bundles and retched so hard she shook from the soft ringlets escaping her braid to the delectable curves of her sweet arse.
“Son of a bitch,” she gasped again. “So much for the no-puke patch.” She peeled something off from behind her ear and threw it to the ground.
“Be ye Lady Kenna?” Colum rolled his eyes at his own stupidity. What a numpty. Who the hell else would the woman be? She had just dropped out of the sky and lived to tell about it.
The lass squeaked, spun around on her knees, and grabbed a fist-sized chunk of limestone. With it ready to throw, she staggered to her feet and yanked her shirt down into place. “Who are you? How do you know my name?”
“Easy now.” He slowly rose to a crouching position, both hands open in front of him. Damnation.The green-eyed beauty was even more fetching from the front. He stood and held out a hand. “Here now. Let me help ye steady yerself.”
“I can steady myself just fine, thank you very much. Now answer my question: how do you know my name?” The disheveled woman teetered sideways and swiped the back of her hand across her forehead. “Well . . . you sort of know my name. I have never been calledLady Kennabefore. Who are you?” She kept the stone ready to throw.
Colum offered her his most beguiling smile. He would have this fine lass won over in no time. Wait until Diarmuid saw him walk into the keep with this woman on his arm. “I am Colum Garrison, man-at-arms to Chieftain Gray MacKenna.” He politely bowed, then took a step forward and bent to scoop up her parcels.
She yanked the jumble of bags out of his reach and stumbled backward while struggling to sling them across her shoulder. “I have them, thank you.” Pointing the rock at Colum, she waved him back a step. “Gray MacKenna. Trulie’s husband, right? Did my sister send you to meet me?”
Colum scowled at the lass. A wave of irritation washed over him. Did she not trust him with her wee bags? Had she failed to notice how grandly he treated her? “Yer grandmother, Mother Sinclair, sent me. Yer sister is busy bringing forth her child.”
“The baby’s coming?” Her face brightened, then she staggered sideways, wrestling with the tangle of heavy-looking bags. She switched the chunk of stone to her other hand and grunted as she swung them higher on her back.
“Here now—pray give me the bags, Lady Kenna. And surely ye know by now ye can part with yer wee rock.” He looped a hand through the straps of her goods and lifted them free of her.
She fixed him with a pointed glare while tossing the rock up and down in her hand. “Never underestimate a woman with aweerock. Just so you know, I can nail theoin a stop sign at sixty miles an hour.”
He had no idea what she meant, but he had to admit, he liked the way she looked when she said it. Never could he resist a sweetling with a bit of fire in her eyes. Life at the keep suddenly held infinite possibilities. “Aye, my lady, I am sure ye can.” He slung her bags across his shoulder and gallantly offered his arm. “If ye still feel a bit uncertain of yer footing, I shall be more than happy to help ye to the base of the hill, where I have a fine sweet mare awaiting.”
“I am fine, thank you. And you have awhatwaiting for me? Forgive me, but I’m really having trouble with your accent.” She stared up at him with the same perplexed look Galen always gave him when he had no idea what the hell Colum had said. “What part of Scotland are you from? I don’t usually have this much trouble understanding a Scot’s rolling of his ‘r’s.”
What the hell was wrong with the way he talked? “I am from here.” He jabbed a finger at the ground, then raised it and pointed down the hill. “And I brought ye a mare,” he said more slowly. No one else ever had any trouble kenning what he said—most especially not the ladies. He edged his arm a bit closer for her to take. Lore a’mighty.He had never had this much trouble with a woman. “Come. Allow me to help ye.”
The lady’s face still showed no sign of recognition as she completely ignored his proffered arm and wandered over to the edge of the clearing. She stretched up on tiptoe and peeped past the swell of hillside blocking the path from view.
What sort of place had the woman come from? Did they not have horses in the future? Nor any proper manners so a lady knew when a man was trying to help her?
“No thanks. Really. I’m fine and I appreciate the offer, but I don’t know how to ride a horse—at least that’s what I think you said.” Kenna turned slowly, glancing about the rolling landscape. “Anyway, are we close enough to walk to Trulie and Gray’s house? I see smoke just beyond that tree line. Is that where they live? Granny mentioned the keep would be down the hill from where I landed.” The lady paused, a teasing smile brightening her features as she rubbed both hands up and down her delectable backside. “I really need to walk if that’s okay with you. I kind of had a rough ride getting here.” She nodded politely at his extended arm, then turned and started down the path. “This way—right?”
“Aye,” Colum said through gritted teeth, his arm still stuck out like a fool. Women never ignored him. No lass ever passed up the offer to walk at his side. As the back of her head bounced down out of sight behind the crest of the hill, a growing sense of determination kindled in his gut. Lady Trulie’s sister or not, this woman would acknowledge him and come to realize what a fine man was standing at her side.
“Are you coming or not?” Her voice floated back to him. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take one of those bags? I packed them pretty heavy.”
“I have them, my lady. Daren’t ye worry.” He yanked the bags higher on his shoulder and stormed down the path. MacKenna keep must surely be cursed. What else could explain the continued invasion of such impossible women?
He rounded the turn at the head of the path. Lady Kenna bounced a few feet ahead, arms swinging, braid flying, and lovely round arse swaying from side to side. He pursed his lips and slowed a bit. At least when the gods had cursed them with headstrong women, they had tempered the suffering with a very pleasant view.
CHAPTER6
Kenna skidded to a stop halfway down the hillside, finding herself breathless. The majestic vista spread before was amazing. How could the past seem so much more . . . more what? Vibrant? Was that the word? She blinked hard, then opened her eyes wider. Yes.Vibrantwas definitely the word.
She slowly turned in a half circle, awestruck by the beauty of Scotland dressed in the refreshing hues of spring. Deep rich greens subtly bordering the lighter chartreuse of new growth reached toward the sunlight and the promise of warmer days. Clouds as wispy as combed strands of cotton skittered across the brightest blue sky she had ever seen.
Suddenly, she clearly understood the legend of Scotland’s flag and how the cherished Saltire might’ve come to be. When King Óengus saw those startling white clouds forming a cross against the stunning blue of the sky, his dream of Saint Andrew must have felt so real it inspired him and his forces to reign victorious over their enemies in that long-ago battle. No wonder they’d memorialized the omen with a flag fashioned after the sight—or so the story went.
