Tam watched him for a moment. “Clan is a Gaelic word which means children.” His eyes twinkled. “And as for nobility, ye can ask any Scot and he can trace his ancestry back to a Scots king.”
“But the poverty…” Stephen began, then stopped, afraid he’d offended Tam.
Tam’s jaw hardened. “The English and the soil God gave us have made us poor. But ye’d best learn that in Scotland a man’s worth is based on what he is inside and not the gold he has in his pocket.”
“Thank you for the advice. I’ll remember it.” He urged his horse forward until he was beside Bronwyn. She gave only a brief look up at him, then turned away to continue listening to an old woman’s talk of some new cloth dyes.
One by one the people began to quieten as they stared up at him. His clothes were very different. Most of the Scotsmen wore nothing on their legs, neither shoes nor hose, while some wore the short hose like Tam’s.
But Stephen’s eyes were on the women. They didn’t have the pale, protected complexions of an English lady but a golden tan from their days out-of-doors. Their eyes sparkled, and their glorious hair hung free to their small, belted waists.
Stephen swung down from his horse, took Bronwyn’s hand tightly in his left one, and extended his right. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Stephen Montgomery.”
“An Englishman!” a man near Stephen said, his voice virulent with hatred.
“Aye, an Englishman!” Stephen said with emphasis, his blue eyes hard as he held the Scotsman’s.
“Here!” Tam said. “Leave him be. He attacked me when he thought I meant to harm Bronwyn.”
Several people smiled at the absurdity of this statement. It was obvious who’d won, since Tam weighed at least sixty pounds more than the slim Stephen.
“He won,” Tam said slowly. “He near broke my nose, then took a knife to my throat.”
The people were silent for a moment, as if they didn’t believe Tam.
“Welcome, Stephen,” one of the pretty young women said as she shook his outstretched hand.
Stephen blinked several times at being called by his first name, then he smiled and began shaking more hands.
•••
“It won’t be so easy with my men,” Bronwyn was saying as they rode side by side down the road that connected the peninsula to the mainland. The road was so narrow that only two could ride together. Stephen gave a nervous look at the sheer wall to his left. One wrong move and he could be over the side. Bronwyn didn’t seem to notice their danger, since she’d traveled the narrow road all her life.
“My men are not so easily won as my women,” she said haughtily. She looked at him, saw the way he kept glancing down toward the sea. She smiled and reined her horse sharply toward his.
Stephen’s horse shied away from Bronwyn’s; then when it felt one foot step into the nothing beside the road, it panicked and reared. Stephen fought desperately for a moment to bring the horse under control and keep it from falling off the road and into the nothingness to the side.
“Damn you!” Stephen yelled when he once again had control of the horse.
Bronwyn laughed at him as she looked back over her shoulder. “Are our Scots’ ways too fierce for you?” she taunted.
Stephen dug his spurs into his horse’s side. Bronwyn saw him coming at her but didn’t react fast enough. Stephen grabbed her about the waist and pulled her into the saddle before him.
“Release me!” she demanded. “My men are watching!”
“Good! Then they saw you try to make a fool of me. Or were you hoping I’d fall over the side?”
“And have King Henry’s troops down on us? No, I don’t wish your death on Scots’ soil.”
Stephen gasped at her honesty. “Perhaps I asked for that.” He put a finger to her lips when she started to speak. “But I didn’t ask to be made to look like a fool, so you’ll pay for it. How many other men have ridden into Larenston with the MacArran across their saddle?”
“We have brought back many dead, usually killed by—”
He stopped her words with a kiss.
In spite of herself Bronwyn clung to him, her arms going about his neck, her lips fastening hungrily on his. He pulled her close to him, his hands caressing her back. He could feel her skin, warm through the linen of her shirt. He decided he liked the Scots fashion. The heavy English fabrics hid the feel of a woman’s skin.
Stephen was the first to come out of the trance. He felt they were being watched. He opened his eyes, lifted his head slightly, his lips still on Bronwyn’s. He hadn’t realized that his horse had kept moving up the trail toward the gatehouses. Several men surrounded them, all solemn, serious men, their faces closed, showing no emotion.
