“Aonghus,” she demanded, “slow.”
“Nae,” he countered before pulling stronger.
“You are gruff beyond measure,” she protested, then began to dig in her heels, sliding in the ravine. “I shall not be treated in such a manner as this, you overgrown arse!”
“Do you prefer the Northmen’s grand treatment, lassie?” he challenged. Wait, had he just heard a tiny catch in her breath, almost resembling a sob being stifled, over skidding stones? Hell! Too much time on his own had once again jagged his edges in traveling to search for Sturan MacNaller.
The axe and sword resting in its scabbard were upon his back. He paused to spin about; her breath definitely caught when he scooped her easily up into his arms to carry her the remainder of the way down the treacherous slope. She was a bitty thing. He met the wide-eyed look being cast at him. “Does this meet your grand standard regarding manners?” he asked, rougher than intended.
“Aye,” she said softly, “much appreciated.”
Her wrists tightened about his neck; at the action, she tucked her cool cheek under his chin.Bonny indeed.Feeling the weight from her in his arms, he took a deep inhale; hell, she even smelled good too. Earth and flowers and rain were in his arms; his palms became heavier on all within his grasp when she took another breath to nestle closer.Remember, no trusting, or is being daft suddenly a strong skill?
The days were numbered till Scottish blood would cover the beaches from King Håkonsson’s invading fleet. Even if fatehad decided to take a sharp turn here, this warm, tempting bundle couldnotbecome a distraction.
Rounding the corner, he found the cavern just as he had left it a day prior: bare and unseen from the valley below, a perfect hiding place, which he had called on more than once in his service to the knight he served in King Alexander’s guard. He settled the lass onto her soles. Intriguing– her hands seemed to linger on his bruised collarbone. It appeared he didn’t need to worry for her bolting. He took a step back, meeting her innocent expression. He gathered the dried twigs he had left in the cavern’s rear; there would be no fire, but they would serve another purpose now the weather had turned dry and crisp.
“Lass, you remain here?” The words were more an order than question before he tore briefly back up the hidden path to place the thick twigs along the ridgeline.
Odd.His feet’s eagerness sailed like the wind back down the incline, wanting to return to her side. He discovered her avidly pacing. Nerves maybe? No, it was most likely to keep warm. Her cloak was drenched. Tearing off his mantle, he went to lay the drier woolen gently over her shoulders from behind. She must have been deep in thought. At his touch she gasped, cowered, and leapt forward, resembling a skittish doe. The mantle hit the cavern floor. His brow furrowed; what the hell had they done to her?
“Pardon,” she gushed, then dove hastily to fetch the item. It was as if she were afraid that to move slowly would incur his wrath.“Aonghus, thank you for the spark of kindness.” Her sentiment spoke to the fact there were not many kindnesses given.
“I may carry an air of gruffness, but I shall not ever harm a lass,” he assured her. Hell, look at how surprised she was atthe declaration. If his blood could boil at the magnitude she had suffered, it would. “You care to begin on how you harbor the knowledge of my name, Cluaran?” he asked, solemn.
The silver from moonlight gleamed around the cavern’s edge where they stood. She held a moment to study him intently. Somehow his shoulders grew taller; whatever gave her pause, it carried a heavy consideration. This seemed to indicate what she was about to share would hold truth; nevertheless, hemustremain guarded, runaway or not. She had traveled with Håkonsson’s men-at-arms; she could be a means for the opposing king’s concealed purpose. Håkonsson’s spies, called ‘guests’ or ‘gestir,’ were everywhere in the current landscape. Was she one?
The hair flipped about her shoulders when she spun on her heel and began pacing the cavern again, mumbling as if counseling with herself. This went on for minutes before he settled onto a boulder. All right, it seemed she was going to continue taking her time making up her mind about something weighing strong upon herself. His gaze strayed lowerto the sway of those hips under the soaked woolen layers.She truly is lovely or bonny or divine; aye, she is all of them!No wonder the Northmen were so taken with her. Had they hurt her? A fist formed by his side.
The hips stopped swaying; he looked up to meet her eyes, which narrowed slightly when finding he was blatantly staring her backside.
“Ahem.” His throat cleared naturally; reaching up, he touched the place where her teeth had bitten his flesh. Still throbbing – the same as the sudden male urges which had awakened at the first glimpse of her.Had these urges born from male instinct risen before? Of course, but what was it about her which made her different from all the other lassies whosought his embrace? She seemed to look through him with those striking dark thistle-colored orbs right at the start. Lovely may be her features, but she also was definitely sharp as a Highlands thistle.
She extended her hand in full greeting, calling to dismiss the hours spent in one another’s company to start fresh.Another thing unique as she.
“Keirah MacThistlen,” she began in a formal tone, “stolen from a Highlands abbey a long time past at the hands of Lord Karlson Kollungr. The Northman took me as a thrall to Bjørgvin seeking to gain his favor before King Håkonsson, by demanding my instinct in senses at his beck and call in any want or whim to his fancy.”
Aonghus’s brows rose. “A thrall in the year of our Lord twelve hundred and sixty-three?” he asked, doubtful.There is no such thing.
She raised her chin. “Aye.” Her gaze spoke truth to her declaration. “You are perchance considering behind those eyes, Aonghus, that thralls are unfavored among the Northmen, not the treasure they once were at the height of raids belonging to Ragnar Lothbrok. However, Lord Kollungr deemed it necessary to claim his prize when I swore my oath to King Alexander and refused to go with him willingly.”
He stood then and shook her hand. Years as a thrall in servitude. Thralls were to answer their Northman masters’ demands in the bedchamber or otherwise, without question. His hand not holding hers turned numb by the fist tightening.Lord Kollungr the Northern shite troll.
“Aonghus MacCade,” he introduced himself, “loyal servant to King Alexander and Scotland to my soul. I am a mercenary by trade to the crown.”
“Aonghus.” Her hand stayed in his while she continued to explain. “The fleet I sailed with here returning to Scottish soil, which King Håkonsson commands, holds one hundred and twenty of his finest vessels.”
He lowered his eyes to hide his surprise at the sheer numbers; this was unknown yet to the king. Not for long.Her breathing was steady and strong.Aye, she is speaking the truth.He looked back up.
“Keirah, what was the whim or fancy Lord Kollungr sought by your hand?”
“My clan’s origins offers certain elements into my grasp, the foremost being I am a fate-seer, more commonly referred to as one who carries second sight.”
She couldn’t possibly be; why was she now lying to him?
Chapter 3
She observed his brows as they flew upward. “A fate-seer? Surely you jest?”
