“I tried.” She huffed out a breath. “He didna believe I could best one of his favored warriors.”
Stellan leaned back to study her. “I mightna either, save that ye are here.” Travel-worn and weary, she was still lovely. Something about her made him want to put his hands on her again. He clenched his jaw and laid them on his lap instead.
She made a moue of her mouth. “I had nay choice but to leave,” she said and bit into a chunk of dried meat, then went about chewing it, effectively halting her side of the conversation.
Stellan knew she’d never make Inverness or Sterling with nothing for protection or supplies but her hawk. She’d be safe at Dunrobin, and could live there in comfort until such time as she revealed more about herself, until someone sent for her from MacKay, or until they could send her onward with an escort. Stellan knew he was taking a dangerous step— MacKay could say he stole the lass —but her plaintive tale gained his sympathy and his cooperation.
“Ye will come with us to Dunrobin,” he told her. “Ye will be safe there and welcome for as long as ye wish to stay.”
“I dinna expect that?—”
“’Twould be best if ye didna appear to be a lass as we travel,” he told her, cutting short her objection. She should be as familiar with Highland hospitality as he, and know that she could count on Sutherland aid.
She turned those moss-green eyes on him, one eyebrow arched in… what? Query? Or disbelief? It didn’t matter. He wanted to lose himself in her gaze.
“Aye?”
Her question broke his concentration on the color of her eyes. Moss green, yes, but with flecks of brown like fallen bits of bark on a mossy rock.
“What should I appear to be?”
He realized she was teasing when the corner of her mouth crooked up.
“A sprite would do, I suppose,” he said, going along with her jest. “Though I think ye are too tall to be convincing. Perhaps a tree, then?”
She snorted. “With a hawk perched on a limb, aye?” She held her hawk out to one side, her arm extended.
“That looks tiring. Suppose we simply lend ye some clothes and ye can look like a lad. Tuck yer hair up in a bonnet and from a distance, nary a man will be the wiser.”
She nodded her agreement.
“How did ye come by having Valkyrie with ye?”
“The usual way. I found an egg in a nest up a tree. I used to be quite good at climbing when I was a lass.” Her expression grew solemn, even sad.
Stellan assumed it was because proper young lasses were not allowed to indulge in activities like climbing trees.
“I raised her from the egg,” she told him between bites of food, and with little encouragement from him, told him how the MacKay hawk master had taught her to train Valkyrie, and how they had bonded.
Stellan enjoyed how when she spoke about something she clearly loved, she became more animated.
“She is one of the best hunters among MacKay’s mews.”
He started to ask her who she really was, when Tormund brought a set of clothes for her to change into. She took the spare clothes with polite thanks, and walked behind some undergrowth to change.
Her limp seemed less pronounced already, giving Stellan hope that she’d soon lose it altogether.
When she returned, he handed her a man’s bonnet to hide her hair. They might be unlucky enough to happen upon MacKay men foolish enough to be heading south, looking for her on Sutherland land.
She twisted her hair into a loose braid, tucked the thick strand into the bonnet and pulled it onto her head.
Stellan hid his disappointment. He could think of several fantasies involving that hair, but it was hidden now, out of sight and touch. “I think ye will do,” he told her, though she’d had to roll up her sleeves to reveal her hands. And the leggings were similarly shortened to keep her from tripping over them. From a distance, she’d look like a lad in an older, larger brother’s clothes. Up close, she was all lass, and Stellan was having a hard time pulling his gaze away from her form that the clothes revealed. God help him if she turned around.
Tormund joined them and nodded. “Ye could be a ghillie, helping with the hunt. ’Tis good, Stellan.”
Mariota smiled at Tormund’s comment. “’Tis? Good. Are these yer clothes? My thanks.”
“One of the other lad’s,” Stellan said, unreasonably jealous of the smile she’d turned on Tormund. “He’ll get them back when we get ye settled at Dunrobin.”
