“To think I came back for ye, ye churl, that I let Hamish save your worthless life.”She shook her head, adding in a murmur, “I should have let ye fall.”
That felt like a punch in the gut.
Suddenly, from across the field, the laird of Dunlop sang out, “Welcome, Sir Hew!”
Hew dragged his gaze to the laird and managed to give him a weak wave in return.
“Shite,” Carenza muttered under her breath.
Hew’s brows popped up.He assumed the delicate flower was incapable of cursing.
“What’s this?”the laird asked as he loped up, nodding at the coo.“A sacrifice for Samhain?”
Hew froze.A sacrifice?Of course.Why else would a guest bring an animal to a harvest celebration?No wonder Carenza had been reduced to nasty expletives and trying to shoo him away.
“Oh.Nay.Nay.”He glanced at Carenza, who waited for his explanation with her lip caught under her teeth.“’Tis…a gift.”
“A gift?”the laird echoed.
“Aye.”Hew licked his lips, preparing to make up yet another sketchy story for which he’d owe penance.“’Tis a Rivenloch tradition.At Samhain, a visiting guest is expected to bring the gift of a single coo to the lady of the household,” he explained, adding quickly, “a coo that must be kept and ne’er slaughtered—to appease the gods and bring good luck in the coming year.”
Carenza was staring at him as if he’d grown an extra head.She clearly didn’t believe him.
But her father did.And that was all that mattered.
“Is that so?”the laird remarked.
“Aye.”
“How interestin’.”
“Aye, ’tis been so for as long as I can remember.”He wondered how hard his clan would laugh when he told them about this ancient Rivenloch tradition.
“Well then, it appears this is a lucky coo indeed,” the laird said, grinning at Carenza, “and we are equally lucky to be blessed by your presence today, Sir Hew.Aren’t we, Carenza?”
Carenza hardly knew what to say.How her father could believe such a blatant fable she didn’t know.But he’d swallowed the warrior’s lie as readily as a puffin gulping down herring.
As for Sir Hew, his talent for prevarication was remarkable and more than a little unsettling.He would have to spend years in confession if he had any hope of becoming a man of the cloth.
More than anything, however, she was grateful to him for saving her beloved Hamish.He had kept his word, after all.And now that the matter was settled, she could smooth her ruffled feathers and be the polite hostess her father wished her to be.
“We are blessed andhonoredto have ye with us, Sir Hew,” she said, placing a humble hand on her bosom.“And I cannot thank ye enough for the gift.I will treasure it forever.”
Her father nodded in approval.
But the Rivenloch knave winked at her.
Her cheeks grew hot.She averted her eyes, training them on the road ahead, hoping her father wouldn’t notice how flushed she’d become.
He didn’t notice.Instead, he initiated a boring subject.“So, Sir Hew, tell us about the Lowlands.Are ye constantly battlin’ with the English?”
Sir Hew replied, but Carenza wasn’t much interested in the conversation, so she was left to her thoughts.
The warrior really was devilishly daring.It was one thing to sneak around in the middle of the night in a disguise, reiving coos.It was quite another to tell an outrageous, barefaced falsehood to a laird.And he’d done it without even blinking.
But it wasn’t only his boldness that left her blushing.It was also the glimmer of mischief in his eyes when he winked at her.His sly, one-sided, conspiratorial smile.The breathy growl of his voice.The way his freshly washed tawny hair curled around his ears.How his leine cleaved to every impressive muscle.Even the spicy scent of cinnamon that lingered on his skin.
It truly was a shame the man didn’t mean to wed.
