“Aye.”
A giggle erupted from her lips when a tongue soft as fine moss caressed her palm, possessing a heat like the moss had baked in the midday sun. Aonghus took her wrist gently to raise it, then guided her hand across a pelt. “Velvet,” she purred at the feel.
In one swift, seamless motion from him, the blindfold fell away. She found herself staring directly up into a set of bulbous eyes looking the same as the sky before the dawn in an ebony color. The pelt her hand rested upon with Aonghus’s over hers was soft as velvet and gleamed like a rich dark night.
“Oh, Aonghus,” she murmured in awe at the magnificent stallion who stood before them within the stable. The dusted wood surrounding and gnawed boards between the standing row of pens only seemed to greaten the regality belonging to the steed, who stood heads above her.
“You care for him, my lady?” The grin she heard in his voice was now visible and directed toward her.
“Gracious!” She expounded a rush of words: “What is not to savor? I have heard of the chargers that were arriving from Spain for the sieges against King Håkonsson, but never would I have imagined them to be so flawless. He is to be yours?”
Aonghus’s fingers pressed slightly upon hers over the stallion’s granite-like neck to say passionately, “Ours.” Then he explained, “A wedding gift from King Alexander. What you speak is true – our lord king wanted the knights well readied with these fine beasts. However, he chose this particular steed for your knight in the battles to come.”
Her fingers graced over the mop of mane, thick and coarse and beautiful. “He is perfection,” she murmured, her voice catching from emotion.
“Not quite.” Aonghus paused her, and she raised her brows at him. “He lacks a title. I charge you with finding the one which will suit him best.”
A weight bore onto her at the challenge. “He is a laoch.” She gave the Gaelic word for warrior and hero, her eyes darting between the pair. The stallion seemed to approve of her consideration and licked her palm once more. How sweet!
Aonghus ruffled the forelock hairs, a massive wavy thatch all the way down to the stallion’s muzzle. “Laoch he shall be known as,” he replied, thoughtful, and asked, “This is your wish?”
A smile touched her lips. “Laoch, aye, ’tis wonderful,” she agreed and eagerly asked, “May we travel and feel the fields under his hooves this eve?”
Laoch knickered with a forceful strength, blowing her wimple’s veil back.Such spirit!
“Believe that was an….aye.” Aonghus grinned and went to fetch the saddle off the far rack. “I had considered he would take us to the waterfall from your night-glance.”Aye.
***
If only the ride could have been longer. Lord Kollungr still loomed, being a threat over her. He would be a damned Scotsman before any harm came to his Cluaran.
The breeze upon her cheeks, she had said to him, was as refreshing as if she had a splash from the River Forth over her features, but a forlorn air hung after walking the grounds near the waterfall. “Nae, Aonghus, this is the place, but I harbor nae other details regarding the unseen archer from the night-glance – ugh!”
Removing the saddle from Laoch, who was enjoying fluffy hay in the wooden manger at the front of his pen, Aonghus saw her eyes looking over all the tails belonging to the Spanish steeds, whose muzzles were facing the opposite way from the walkway on the barn’s left side.
At least a bright moonbeam flowed in at the right angle through an open upper widow near the hay loft. It would offer the necessary light for his lady to find her footing toward him while he hung his saddle and sword with scabbard upon a rough timber peg at a concealed nook behind the stall’s end opposite from the main entryway.
Almost time for another surprise. His blood quickened.
“They are so lovely, Aonghus.”
“Aye, they were bred by Spanish Carthusian monks, I heard a Lowlander state,” he explained and turned back to face her while she fussed to remove the wimple’s layers of linen off her head and neck.
“Truly lovely, unlike, ugh, this wretched wimple! You must endeavor to sneak me back into our chambers,” she murmured, playful. “I cannot be seen in such a lack of propriety at court, but the wimple feels a tormentor at times.”
At his pause, her eyes met his while she laid the linen over a nearby beam, her glorious mane streaming down her narrow back. Completely stunning. He could drop them to the floor right now and bury himself in her…
“Sir Aonghus MacCade,” she interrupted his desireful thoughts, raising her left brow up, “you harborthelook.” Was his passionate want for her so easy to read?
He tucked her gift quickly behind his back; he had left it on the saddle peg for after their ride. “Which ‘look’ would thisbe?” he questioned, mischievously. She also seemed to bringthistrait out in him, and how hesavoredit.
She took a step toward him. “’Tis the same as earlier before the unveiling of Laoch.”
“You are your namesake, my Cluaran –sharp,” he grinned. How he loved her mind behind those thistle-colored eyes! Aye, telling her his feelings brought a rapture all its own. He yearned to give her a pleasure the same as she had him last eve at her touch. An inward dark grin had appeared earlier when he figured a possible way to accomplish the feat; he only needed the right moment to strike.
“What are you seekin’ to hide behind that broad back, Sir Aonghus?”This was the moment.
“A gift,” he answered, “my lady,” and he bowed to bring his fingers from behind his back, showing her the surprise.
