3
Why does it have to take so blasted long to prepare a wedding?
For some reason, Finn had thought this errand would be a reasonably easy one. After all, there was very little to it. He only needed to make sure the lass arrived safely at her destination. Of course, this was the simplest view of things. The ride was a longish one, through some rather rough territory which made him wonder why the parents were so willing to send such a comely lass so far from home. This, though, was none of his business. He did not ask, nor did anyone think to tell him. Not that the inhabitants of O’Donnell Castle were in any hurry to talk to him. Most kept their distance, which suited Finn fairly well. Especially given how the delay of a few days—to gather supplies and a trousseau—somehow became a fortnight.
Finn was thankful the laird was used to his ways, else he might have been forced to stay within the castle walls instead of bedding down in the stable with his horse. The loft was at least open enough for him not to feel unduly trapped so long as the window at the end was kept open. Generally, it was being used for ventilation and throwing the hay through when preparing for winter, which meant his space grew smaller every day as the farm lads packed the stable tight for the coming cold months.
The days were growing shorter as well, being past midsummer. He worried about this, wondering if the delays would keep them there until the ride north became all but impossible. It would not be unusual to have some difficult weather in the Highlands come fall.
Tired of waiting on the dithering girl who apparently could not leave home unless every detail was attended to, Finn finally begged to be allowed to go on the hunt, to help bring meat to the table, at least, while he waited. His horse seemed as relieved as he was to escape the confines of the castle grounds. They clattered down the lane with more noise than he normally would allow, feeling boisterous enough to shout his enjoyment to the wind, which tore his hair from the leather strap that normally held it. He was as wild as his mount, unfettered by the boundaries man set for him as he rode, leaving behind farm and croft, only slowing when he reached the wilder hills beyond.
“Whoa, ease up,” he ordered the horse, pulling the animal down to a slower pace, one which would not startle the game as they left the main trail and followed the deer path that led to the ridge.
The animal whickered in response but stepped more carefully all the same. Around him, birds called. In the distance, water crashed over rocks, coming down from on high. He drew the horse up, listening to ascertain the direction of the stream, thinking he might have better luck at finding dinner where the animals watered. In one fluid motion, he took the bow from his back and fitted an arrow to it, guiding the horse with legs alone through the trees.
Finn was not one to use a bow often, though he was as skilled with it as he was with any weapon. When it came to fighting, he preferred to face his foe in close combat, not one to hide on the ramparts or behind a line of shields, picking off his opponent from a distance. For this particular task, though, the arrow generally served best. He would do the laird honor by bringing venison to the table if he could, for as much as he hated to admit it, he owed the laird still. He would not rest until he had paid that particular debt.
But a deer will nae be enough,he thought even as he murmured a command to the horse, bidding it to stop.I owe far more than a stag can ever repay.
It was this reasoning which had brought him here on this errand. While he had no such debt he owed Jamie Buchanan other than what honor dictated, Laird Stuart O’Donnell himself was another matter entirely.
Finn peered through the trees, patient, the arrow nocked, the bow still ready in his hands. The horse beneath him stood rock steady as he waited. He considered the matter of this debt as he waited.
Truly, this favor was not a painful one to perform. To the glancing gaze, the laird’s daughter might seem to be a blate lass—homely and biddable. But Finn had spent his life assessing people, and he knew Erica O’Donnell hid the fighting spirit of her ancestors within her. Some folks might call her deep chestnut hair and sweet nut-brown eyes passably comely, but to Finn, the girl’s features were elusively tantalizing, as if her lips held secrets and her eyes held warmth and laughter in their depths. The way she’d stumbled in front of him had given him the impression of a young horse, coltish and uncertain. It gave her an air of still being very young, though obviously she was of marriageable age. It had been all he could do to keep from laughing when she nearly fell at his feet. He’d been forced to screw his face into the most unpleasant expressions to keep from laying a deep insult upon the O’Donnell family.
Not that she’d helped matters much. Her attempt at a dignified welcome in the hall later, with leaves in her hair and mud still smeared across her forehead, had given her the look of a woodland creature herself. He wondered if she perhaps followed the old ways, some part of her a druid still, or something bewitched by the faeries. His mother would have loved her, maybe even offered to read the girl’s palm for free.
He snorted at this, knowing he was the one who was bewitched. His sudden movement startled the horse, and he nearly loosed the arrow. He cursed himself for his clumsiness, the horse making a noise of protest which to his ears sounded like laughter. Finn frowned, struggling to right the bow as movement caught at the corner of his eye. His head came up, eyes narrowing. His prey was approaching the banks of the stream where the water ran quietest.
It was a sign, a portent that things would turn out better than he supposed, for this was not just any deer who had chanced upon this spot but was a stag mighty in proportion, enough to feed the castle well. Finn carefully sighted his prey and nocked the arrow for a second time. He only had to release the string. The animal only needed to move just a little bit further out from the trees for a clear shot…
The deer took a step, moving cautiously now, ears twitching.
Finn barely breathed.
Another step. Then another. And—
CRACK!
A stick broke nearby, and a horse whinnied—not his animal but one nearby. The deer’s head snapped up, and the next thing Finn knew, the beast was in motion, leaping up and over the gorse and disappearing back into the forest. Finn loosed the arrow after it, knowing it was lost, watching in dismay as the point struck the bole of an old elm and quivered there.
“My lady, is there some reason ye are so far from the castle without an escort?” Finn didn’t bother turning around, instead nudging his horse forward out of trees.
“I certainly do have an escort!”
Erica was altogether too fascinating and even more distracting in person. He should have guessed she would follow him. She was a curious sort who had to have her nose in everything. He’d seen that already since his arrival. The very fact she’d had to be in the courtyard front and center when he’d arrived had told him as much.
Finn spared her only the briefest of glances as he dismounted and went to fetch his arrow, grimacing when he saw the fletching was spoiled. To be fair, she wasn’t quite alone, though the wide-eyed woman riding alongside her was hardly an armed guard. His lips tightened as he mounted again and pointed his horse back toward the road.
“And I suppose yer father is in full approval of this excursion?”
“Well…”
“My lady, I warned ye—”
“Hush, Trudy!” Erica’s words were clipped, her entire body rigid as he drew up alongside her.
“Let me ask ye this at least, if I might, my lady.”
