But the gates creaked open at their approach, dutiful as always. And the heavy iron-tipped portcullis rattled noisily upward as the little party cantered near.
Ready as ever to greet any guests, Dare beckoned with bright lanterns and torches lighting the way through the long, tunnel-like entrance. Still more brands smoked and sputtered in niches set into the bailey’s walling. But rather than seeming welcoming, the hissing flames only threw eerie orange haloes into the darkening twilight.
Wild flickering circles of mist-hazed light that looked too much like staring, piercing eyes of red.
Ronan shuddered and then ducked as one of the flaring pitch-pine torches popped as he rode past, the wretched thing sending a spray of sparks and ash right at him.
He bit back a curse.
Then he allowed himself the scowl he’d been trying so hard to squelch.
A frown he surely deserved, for his head pounded and his patience had long since flown. Even more vexing, despite his ills, he couldn’t banish the image of Gelis’s fingers sliding up and down the sheath of her thigh-dagger.
Or the sweet triangle of lush red-gold curls he’d glimpsed so briefly when she’d whipped up her skirts to show him thesgian dubh.
He slid a glance at her, not at all surprised to see that the day’s turn in weather scarce affected her.
She sat her steed as if she’d been born on the beast’s own back. A true daughter of a thousand chieftains, she held herself erect and kept her shoulders straight, her chin proudly lifted. Indeed, she rode along as easily as if the summer sun shone bright above them and the blue roll of the hills weren’t blurred by mist and the fast-encroaching darkness.
Even so, the day’s cold and wind had touched her. Her cloak and skirts were damp, the woolen folds clinging to every lush curve and swell of her voluptuous body. Even more telling of her nature, Ronan was sure, her braid had come undone, again. Wholly loosened, her flame-bright hair tumbled in a welter of riotous curls over her shoulders to her hips.
Eyeing those curls now, he swallowed, certain he’d ne’er seen a more fetching sight.
Every line and curve of her stirred him, her very dishevelment taking his breath, and in ways that pained him far worse than any cracked rib or crushed toes.
But now wasn’t the time to heed such an ache.
Already they were riding into Dare’s thronged bailey and mist swirled everywhere. Snaking tendrils curled rapidly over the damp, wet-gleaming cobbles, and great, billowing sheets of it blew across the open spaces.
The tower stood dark and silent, its narrow slit-windows and arrow loops showing scant light while its massive bulk proved nearly obscured beneath the fuzzy-white drifts rolling in off the moors.
A quick glance showed that Maldred’s hoary crest glared down on the bailey from its place of honor above the keep’s oaken, iron-studded door. But, surprisingly, the ancient stone looked more like an ordinary clump of hill-granite than Ronan had ever seen it.
Of the bold horned raven of the vision his lady had shown him there was nary a trace.
Indeed, the stone’s engravings had so deteriorated that it was no longer recognizable as a heraldic shield.
But before he could wonder o’er the matter, Sorley, Tam, and the Dragon pushed through the tumult, eager to see to his wishes and help him and his lady dismount.
The Dragon lavished his usual care on Buckie, lifting the now-tail-wagging dog from his onion creel.
“See he is bathed properly and combed,” Ronan said, turning aside even as the pock-faced, gap-toothed guardsmen strode away with the dog. “Then have Hugh MacHugh give him as many meat-bones as he desires.”
A wind-muffledas you wishdrifted back to him, but he scarce heard.
Nor did he do more than nod his thanks when Sorley handed him the Nordic armlet Gelis had gifted him with just before the bull appeared.
At the moment he had greater matters on his mind than bejeweled armpieces.
His lady had somehow slipped through the ring of guardsmen and was tripping up the outer keep stairs, already nearing the landing.
But it wasn’t her light step or her remarkable speed that sent him bolting up the steps after her.
Not even the tempting bounce of her shining, loose- swinging hair.
Nor the promise of her seductive siren’s bauble, bouncing just-so betwixt her thighs, its glittering green gemstone an allure powerful enough to turn the most resolute abstainer’s best piece into granite.
Nor was it the way she seemed to glow from within.
