Kenna turned away to hide her smile. Did her audience not realize that if the animal wished to, it could toss her high over its back and into the trees? With the grip she had on the reins she was no more than an insect on the end of the line, waiting for a fish to do it in.
She had watched this horse and its rider closely enough to know they were both eager to make a great show. What she did now only gave the horse the attention it relished.
When it seemed certain the beast would bow no further, Kenna’s bare foot came up and stepped on the reins between her hands and the bridle, forcing its nose lower still, until its nose was mere inches from the ground. The mane covered its eyes completely.
Now this is trust.
The men watched, mesmerized, and it dawned on her that the voice she was using to sooth the animal was soothing them as well. She tried not to laugh at how many men had bowed their heads in sympathy with the animal. They looked to be in prayer. If only Tearloch were so easily manipulated, he might just help her fulfil that vow that stood between them.
When she sensed the horse’s impatience returning, she removed her foot and slowly allowed its head to rise. When it felt free to, it stamped and threw its nose around. She allowed just enough of a tantrum to draw a gasp from the men, but she knew the animal was only daring her to climb on.
Tearloch heldhis breath when Kenna moved to the horse’s side. Kincaid hurried forward to help her mount. He knelt andoffered his knitted hands. Instead of stepping into them, she backed away, got a running start, and jumped onto the man’s tall knee, then his shoulder, then onto the saddle she flew. Once in the saddle, she parted her legs so her feet could find the stirrups.
He didn’t look to see which men gasped, which choked with laughter, or which of them cheered. He was occupied with prayer. Please, Almighty God, let her stay seated.
If she broke her neck, he would never forgive himself.
The horse screamed and reared, and the woman held tight to its mane and laughed, perched casually on top of a bundle of muscle 17 hands high! But he could see in her eyes she appreciated the danger of the situation. She might be enjoying the game, but she had no intention of losing it.
While the beast stamped and snorted, he and Duncan had to restrain the rest from trying to assist her.
“Which way?” she shouted over the horse’s complaints. Her white clothes bunched above her knees. The sight of her calves had apparently caused the entire company to go deaf.
“What?” Duncan had missed her question, too.
“Which way?” She demanded again from the other side of the horse since the beast had decided to try to spin her off.
Twenty arms lifted to point to the right, and with her bare feet, she spurred the violent monster into a gallop. Tearloch and the others rushed to their mounts while Jamie shot off after her. Anything that had not been repacked was left by the side of the road when they all raced away. It was obvious the winner was anyone who might catch up enough to get another glimpse of those legs.
He'd look a fool if he demanded they all fall back. He’d look a bigger one if he lost the race.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Gair Balloch rode unmolested into Gowry Keep. Funeral pyres burned unattended at the bottom of the hill. Thankfully, the wind blew south.
His armor was uncomfortable despite the padding, but he could dispense with it soon, since the fighting was over and done. To deal with his enemies, he much preferred a bit of treachery to sword wielding anyway. His sword may not be so sharp lately, but his tongue and his wits could draw blood.
Howard looked even less knight-like with his brightly colored clothes peeking out beneath his hauberk. The man clearly belonged in court.
“MacPherson’s made quick work of the place,” Howard noted aloud as the two of them dismounted in front of the Hall doors.
“And long gone, the bastard!”
Balloch knew he’d be too late. When he’d left Carlisle keep, he held out no hope of getting to the wench before Gowry married her. His only consolation was that Tearloch MacPherson wouldn’t have been able to reach her in time either.
So…why lay siege to the place? It was more like something Balloch himself would do out of spite. But he expected MacPherson to be more reasonable, more measured. Still, hewould like to see the young woman again. Perhaps with their history together, she would prefer him over Gowry. No woman in her right mind would want that Viking monster for a husband.
With a few drops of poison in the man’s drink, she’d be a widow easily enough...
All his questions, all the possibilities, would be answered on the other side of the doors he was left to open himself. Inside the entrance, he bellowed, “I’ve come to offer congratulations to Struan Gowry!” Only servants seemed to be about. Not a soldier in sight.
An old man, bent in half from years of cowering came forward. “I beg yer pardon, yer Lairdship, but alas, The Gowry is no longer among the livin’. And wed neither.”
“Not wed? Not Wed?” He grabbed the man and tried to pull him erect to look him in the eye, but the bowed back would not straighten. “Where is the woman?”
The old one winced from the shout near his ear. “Her lady and her man are outside buryin’ her remains beneath the heather outside the north wall.”
“Her remains? Her remains? You mean to say she is dead?” He thought for a moment, not noticing the old man quietly edging away. At least the woman was not in MacPherson’s hands, he consoled himself. “How did she die?” he asked to no one in particular.
