CHAPTER THREE
It was soon very clear to Brutus – he had to keep that name firmly in his mind, to keep from falling into the old habits of his former life – that time and her impending marriage hadn’t changed Reyna’s nature one bit.
She was angry at him, angrier than she’d ever been at Blake Sinclair, and even facing the fate she’d dreaded as a young lass hadn’t dampened her spirit. The years had certainly not tamed her tongue or her wits, and she made full use of them as they rode. He was glad of the arm he was using to hold her in place in front of him. He was very sure that without that restraint she’d have either slipped a knife between his ribs or jumped from his horse and made a run for it at the first opportunity, despite her words to her father.
As it was, she was not at all shy about asking questions, or letting him know exactly what she thought of him, at least once she got over the shock of being manhandled onto his horse without so much as a by-yer-leave. “Tessa told me o’ yer reputation. Is it true?”
He shrugged. “Parts o’ it.”
“Which parts?”
He shrugged again. “Whichever parts ye like.”
She scowled up at him. “Ye ken ye’re famed throughout the Highlands fer yer temper, and also yer skill? Are ye really such a great warrior, or are ye nae more than the boggle in the night tae scare little children?”
“I’m aware o’ how I’m seen. But I am what I am, and make o’ that what ye will.” he was tempted to defend himself to her, but knew that if he did, he’d surely give himself away. It was difficult enough to avoid saying something foolish in their present circumstances.
Her lip curled. “Make o’ it what I will? And what then, am I tae make o’ a man who was rude enough tae toss me up intae his saddle like a sack o’ grain and drag me away from me kinfolk, without even giving me the option of a carriage, or even a mount o’ me own, fer a two-day ride?”
He knew it was dangerous to engage in any sort of argument or discussion with her, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Being in her presence was a heady feeling and provoking her was like having a fifth glass of potent scotch – he knew it was a foolish move that would come back to haunt him later, but the burn and the heat that followed were worth it, and far better than the icy silence that was the alternative. “Ye can make o’ it that I’m a warrior loyal tae me laird. ‘Twas he that commanded I bring yewith all haste, and carriages are slower than a rider. Likewise, two riders on separate horses are oft slower than one rider, or two riders on one horse.”
“Isnae as comfortable, and mayhap nae as safe.”
Blake smirked at her. “Well, if that’s what yer worried about… I’d say ye’re fair spoiled, and it’s glad I am that I’ve got ye safe in hand, if yer riding skills are nae up tae a journey like this.”
The accusation of being spoiled was a deliberate attempt to needle her, and from the heat that flared in her eyes, it had worked. She hit him on the arm with one delicate fist. “I’m nae spoiled, and I can ride well enough, and mayhap better than ye! But I think ‘tis a poor start tae our life taegether that me husband-tae-be cannae even see tae me comfort, or consider it when making plans tae bring me tae his keep fer the first time!”
Blake grimaced. As little as he liked to think about it, she wasn’t wrong in her words. And he knew quite well that she was neither spoiled, nor a poor rider, but the fact that Oran Murray hadn’t made much effort to concern himself with those facts did not speak well of the relationship the two were going to have as a wedded couple.
Then again, he’d known for a long time what sort of man Laird Oran Murray was, and he was well aware that Reyna had disliked the man for far longer.
At length, he tipped his head to regard her. “Ye’ll tak’ it as ye will, but dinnae pretend that ye’ve nae idea what sort o’ man yer newbetrothed is. I’m sure ye’ve heard the rumors about his temper and his attitude toward women.”
She shivered and looked away from him. He almost regretted unnerving her so, but it was better that she be on her guard, rather than permitting herself to think that Laird Oran was anything other than what he was – cold and ruthless.
A second later, he was yanked from those thoughts, and nearly from his saddle as she tried to wrench herself free. “Stop!”
He pulled the horse to a stop, more because he was afraid of unseating them both than because he intended to listen to her. “What the devil are we stopping fer? Ye ken we’ve a long way tae ride.”
“I ken but let me down. Those flowers are perfect for healing and strengthening teas, and I’ve nae any in me stores!” She pointed at a collection of plants a little way off the road.
“Ye can get healing herbs and flowers later, or elsewhere. Tis nae a concern fer the moment, when the laird has bid us make all haste.”
He started to lift his hand to coax the horse back into motion, but she grabbed his wrist as fiercely as she was able to and twisted to glare up at him. “Ye’ll stop and let me down so I can get me herbs, or I’ll find a way tae break free and jump, and I dinnae care what the end result is. Ye decide if Laird Murray will be more angered by a small delay tae gather herbs, or a longer one because his bride-tae-be fell off yer horse and injured herself.”
He scowled, but she was right, and the gleam in her eyes said she knew it. He supposed he could tie her to the saddle, then keep going, but he knew she’d not make it an easy task for him, and the delay would probably be longer than it would take for her to gather her flowers.
With a heavy sigh, he released her. “Go on then. But dinnae stray far, or tak’ long.”
“’Twill be less than half a candle-mark.” She hopped down, using his arm to steady her. Once she was safely on the ground, a bundle of sachets and a basket from her bags in hand, he swung down as well.
To her credit, she made no attempt to break free or run away. She simply marched straight to the flowers she’d indicated and began harvesting.
Blake watched her, a soft, fond smile tugging at his mouth, since she couldn’t see it. It was good to see she’d never changed in this regard. Ten years, and she was still the same passionate herbalist he’d known, the woman he’d affectionately called “Little witch.”
He hadn’t intended to speak the words aloud, but it had been so long – ten lonely years with nothing but the memories and wistful dreams of their shared days in the meadow to cling to – that the sight pulled his youthful nickname for her from his lips before he could even think to stop it. He spoke softly, and for a brief moment he thought she was too far away to hear the words, and his momentary weakness would do no harm. Then Reynastiffened. Blake went cold as she straightened and turned slowly to face him, her eyes wide and the small trimming blades near-forgotten in her hands. “What did ye say?”
The ride with Brutus Murray was easily one of the most uncomfortable Reyna had ever endured in her life. His bulk crowded too close to her in the saddle for her to feel at ease, and his arm felt like a trap where it circled her waist.
