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Authors: Jackie Ivie
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being upbraided by his sire. She sounded exactly like a governess. In the whispered cool tone it felt even more effective.
“You—you—” He was unable to finish. He didn’t know what the rest of it was.
“This continual use of profanity around me. It’s ungentlemanly. . . and unseemly. It’s not furthering your proposition. . . such as it is.”
“I-I. I—”
Anything he attempted would be another curse. They filled his mind. Thayne settled with closing his mouth and watching the hovering mist that obscured where the loch met the mountain they’d soon be climbing. Women! He was beset with women trouble! That’s what chivalry reaped—a whole lot of women trouble. He counted more than two hundred heartbeats, until they slowed and took some of his ire with them. He bent his head to hers again.
“You see that drum ahead?” he asked her.
“Drum?”
“The top of the hill. Just ahead. You see?”
She nodded.
“That’s the time you have.”
“T-t-time?”
Her stammer had a shudder that matched it. That could be a good thing, Thayne decided. If it got her seeing sense.
“Dunn-Fyne will call a halt soon. For rest. And food. Ale. And then we climb. A path follows the drum of that hill. And on the other side is a meadow. Surrounded on three sides by trees and rock. Protected. For camp. Anything farther and he’s tempting ambush.”
“Am . . . bush?”
“We’re that near MacGowan land, lass. That near! I can near smell it! Dunn-Fyne kens it as do the others.”
“Why stop, then?”
“You doona’ listen to anything, do you? He continues on and it’s risking ambush. There’s na’ much in cover for a span. MacGowan clan is immense. We hold many leagues of land. And what we claim, we keep.”
“I don’t understand.”
Thayne ground his teeth together. He could feel and hear it. “You’ve got until we reach that meadow to decide. You already ken what’ll happen if you choose wrong.”
“You’ll . . . all die.”
Thayne flicked a glance to her. “Nae,” he replied finally. “I’ll use force. ’Tis exactly as he’d do, only I’ll use a lot more violence to it and hope it works.”
“What? Why?”
“To make certain there’s blood! Jes—!” Thayne bit the rest of the curse off.
“B-blood?”
She looked shocked. She had her eyes wide with it and her lips open for air.
“Make the choice. ’Tis easy! I’m nae braggart, but I’ve been known as considerate. You may even find pleasure. Most women do.”
She stiffened.
“Come along. Decide. You wish me angered, too?”
“I don’t know why you’re angry. I’m the one being forced. My lone choice is which man.”
“Nae, Amalie. Your lone choice is whether I’ll use force!”
She gasped, either at his words or how he said it. Thayne didn’t particularly care. Dunn-Fyne had stopped his horse some distance ahead to let his men pass by in single-file. Thayne watched as each man reached water’s edge and dismounted, letting reins dangle as mounts got watered and men relieved themselves. Not one of them sought privacy. He could tell it bothered her as she sucked for air then swiveled to plant her face into his chest.
Oh, dearest God!
Amalie kept her eyes tightly shut against further assault as her heart beat so stridently it hurt. She’d been warned. She’d been rewarned. She’d been naïve. Even marriage to the Duke of Rochester was better! She might have to put up with his fat moist hands touching her and listen to vacant conversation since he had the mental capacity of a child, but at least she’d be protected! Cosseted! Secure in her position. Safe! She’d never have to watch a pack of bearded, uncouth men acting little better than the horses they rode!
Amalie shuddered in place with distaste and fright. And defeat. She was ice-cold. She’d been warned about how uncivilized the Highlands were. How castles and lands were held by chieftains acting like kings . . . making laws and dispensing justice.
“You—you—” He was unable to finish. He didn’t know what the rest of it was.
“This continual use of profanity around me. It’s ungentlemanly. . . and unseemly. It’s not furthering your proposition. . . such as it is.”
“I-I. I—”
Anything he attempted would be another curse. They filled his mind. Thayne settled with closing his mouth and watching the hovering mist that obscured where the loch met the mountain they’d soon be climbing. Women! He was beset with women trouble! That’s what chivalry reaped—a whole lot of women trouble. He counted more than two hundred heartbeats, until they slowed and took some of his ire with them. He bent his head to hers again.
“You see that drum ahead?” he asked her.
“Drum?”
“The top of the hill. Just ahead. You see?”
She nodded.
“That’s the time you have.”
“T-t-time?”
Her stammer had a shudder that matched it. That could be a good thing, Thayne decided. If it got her seeing sense.
“Dunn-Fyne will call a halt soon. For rest. And food. Ale. And then we climb. A path follows the drum of that hill. And on the other side is a meadow. Surrounded on three sides by trees and rock. Protected. For camp. Anything farther and he’s tempting ambush.”
“Am . . . bush?”
“We’re that near MacGowan land, lass. That near! I can near smell it! Dunn-Fyne kens it as do the others.”
“Why stop, then?”
“You doona’ listen to anything, do you? He continues on and it’s risking ambush. There’s na’ much in cover for a span. MacGowan clan is immense. We hold many leagues of land. And what we claim, we keep.”
“I don’t understand.”
Thayne ground his teeth together. He could feel and hear it. “You’ve got until we reach that meadow to decide. You already ken what’ll happen if you choose wrong.”
“You’ll . . . all die.”
Thayne flicked a glance to her. “Nae,” he replied finally. “I’ll use force. ’Tis exactly as he’d do, only I’ll use a lot more violence to it and hope it works.”
“What? Why?”
“To make certain there’s blood! Jes—!” Thayne bit the rest of the curse off.
“B-blood?”
She looked shocked. She had her eyes wide with it and her lips open for air.
“Make the choice. ’Tis easy! I’m nae braggart, but I’ve been known as considerate. You may even find pleasure. Most women do.”
She stiffened.
“Come along. Decide. You wish me angered, too?”
“I don’t know why you’re angry. I’m the one being forced. My lone choice is which man.”
“Nae, Amalie. Your lone choice is whether I’ll use force!”
She gasped, either at his words or how he said it. Thayne didn’t particularly care. Dunn-Fyne had stopped his horse some distance ahead to let his men pass by in single-file. Thayne watched as each man reached water’s edge and dismounted, letting reins dangle as mounts got watered and men relieved themselves. Not one of them sought privacy. He could tell it bothered her as she sucked for air then swiveled to plant her face into his chest.
Oh, dearest God!
Amalie kept her eyes tightly shut against further assault as her heart beat so stridently it hurt. She’d been warned. She’d been rewarned. She’d been naïve. Even marriage to the Duke of Rochester was better! She might have to put up with his fat moist hands touching her and listen to vacant conversation since he had the mental capacity of a child, but at least she’d be protected! Cosseted! Secure in her position. Safe! She’d never have to watch a pack of bearded, uncouth men acting little better than the horses they rode!
Amalie shuddered in place with distaste and fright. And defeat. She was ice-cold. She’d been warned about how uncivilized the Highlands were. How castles and lands were held by chieftains acting like kings . . . making laws and dispensing justice.
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