The druid forgotten, Ronan kept his gaze on the straight-backed, proud-featured veteran. “Tell me true,” he pressed, “did you no’ catch a glimpse of a great wild-eyed bull, gray-white and massive? The beast went charging off in the very direction whence you came.”
Sorley shook his bearded head. “We only saw yon two garrons.”
“And a wee dog fox,” another guardsman put in. “Strange creature, that. Creeping through a thick patch o’ bracken, he was. Then, soon as he saw us, he hopped up onto an old holly stump and raised a paw as we rode past, almost as if he were saluting our progress.”
“Weird eyes, he had,” another added, edging his horse near. “Deep orange, and . . . knowing.”
Sorley snorted. “ Shrewd-eyed foxes!” he scoffed. “I saw no such a creature or a bull!”
“The foxwasa weird one,” a third voice chimed, “though I missed the bull for sure.”
Gelis eyed the men with interest, her cloak clutched tight against her breasts.
Ronan dismissed the comments with a deft flick of his hand.
“Good men of Dare, hear me.” He glanced round, his deep voice strong, lifting. “It scarce matters whether you spied a strange-eyed fox or the bull. Only that we quit this place anon and see my lady wife safely returned to the keep.”
If any present felt a need to lift a brow upon hearing him refer to Gelis as hislady wife, they were too well-trained to show it.
Only the lady herself dared a reaction, her eyes flying wide.
But she caught herself as quickly, her glance turning artful.
“Might I hope that you intend to make me thus?” She leaned close, her voice pitched for his ears alone. “Could that be the reason you desire such haste?”
“I desire haste because I would know you away from this place,” Ronan flashed back at her, his voice equally low.
“We shall see.” Her lips curved in a smile that was pure female triumph.
Off to the side, several guardsmen coughed.
One cleared his throat.
Ronan frowned.
Like it or nae, the temptation of her words was sliding through him. Warm and honey-sweet, they slipped ever lower to curl around his vitals, squeezing and rousing.
A tight, pulling hunger, hot and urgent, that only served to blacken his scowl.
And, saints preserve him, made him consider doing just what she suggested!
Feeling like a great gowk, for he was sure the notion stood emblazoned on his forehead, he allowed himself a hearty bit of his own coughing and throat clearing.
Let his men crane their necks and gawp at him. Doing so would serve them naught.
Making sure of it, he put back his shoulders and stood tall.
“You, Tam,” he called, pointing at the youngest guardsman, “ride hot-foot back to Dare and see that Hugh MacHugh sends a hot bath to my chamber — and readies another in the kitchens for Buckie!”
The young man jerked a nod, then yanked his mount around and was gone, cantering away across the heather.
Satisfied, Ronan turned to the next-youngest guardsmen, a pox-marked valiant whose spotted face would not have been so notable if he wasn’t cursed to have a missing front tooth as well.
His visage, quite passing until he smiled, didn’t at all match his by-name, Dragon.
But he was proud — and particularly good with animals.
“You, lad!” Ronan couldn’t bring himself to call out the ludicrous name. “Take yon onion creel and fasten it to my saddle’s cantle, then heft Buckie into the thing and stand watch o’er him until I am ready to ride.”
