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Authors: Samantha Holt
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happy to fight for the rest of yer life?”
Blane didn’t know how to answer. He’d only been thinking of one fight—the one where he took revenge against the English for what they’d done to his village. What he was going to do afterward with most of his kind dead, he knew not.
“Mayhap ye should think not on yer next fight but on yer next victory. Ye could have that here. With my Ceana.”
He shook his head. As much as he admired her, as much as he desired her, he hardly knew her. And he wasn’t sure he could ever be the man she needed. “I cannae have anything with Ceana. She’s a fine lass. Too fine for me, I fear.”
“Och, why must men be so mule-headed?”
Chuckling, he patted the back of her hand. “I know not. ‘Tis the way we are born, I suppose.” He did a quick scan of the room. Still no sign of her. “Where is Ceana?”
“Down by the stables most likely. She’ll be helping to muck out.”
“Do ye no’ have stable hands for that?”
“Aye, a few, but not enough and Ceana has something to prove. A little like ye, Blane.”
Unwilling to let the woman draw him deeper and dig into his fears more, he bid her good day and made for the stables. A light spatter of rain moved over the land, making his shirt stick to his skin as he walked.
He had nothing to prove. The day he’d been gone from the village and returned to find most of them dead or dying had taken away any pride he had left. Now it was blood he needed.
Drips of rain trickled down his face and into his open collar. He pulled his plaid tight around him and ducked into the shadows of the stable. Dalma was stabled at the end. He searched the gloom for Ceana and spotted her not far from his mount, shovelling old straw into a bucket. Fear made his throat squeeze tight.
Blane strode over. “What are ye doing?” he demanded.
She jolted and spun in his direction, sending straw everywhere. Dalma skittered a little and the knot in his throat tightened.
“Blane, ye frightened me.”
“I thought ye’d hear me.”
“I couldnae while I was shovelling.” She put down the shovel and rested upon it. A hesitant smile came across her mouth. “I cannae see ye that well in here,” she said.
“Ye shouldnae be doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“This.” He gestured around and folded his arms again, unsure if she even saw the movement. “Especially by Dalma.” A hand to her arm, he tried to draw her away but she fought him.
“One of the lads caught the fever and died. They cannae do it all alone so I must help.”
“Dalma is ornery. Have ye even seen how big she is? She could crush ye in a moment.”
Her gaze narrowed in his direction. “Aye, I saw well enough how big she is when ye rode in on her. And I’m no’ a fool. I can hear where she is at all times. I have been living without sight my whole life, Blane. It might mean I need yer sword arm but I dinnae need ye to order me about.” Ceana looked over her shoulder in the direction of his mount and reached to rest a hand upon her flank. “She doesnae mind me.”
His heart bounded in his chest. He waited for Dalma to turn and nip her or worse. The mount remained blessedly still but he knew what that horse was like. She’d been hard to break in and only listened to him. Many a stable hand had received a nip or a shove. But with Ceana, it could be so much worse. Her lack of sight left her so vulnerable.
Blane snatched the shovel from her, making her gasp. Those dark spots of colour were back on her cheeks. He didn’t care. Let her be angry with him. He’d rather that than see her trampled by his own horse.
“Go inside and eat. I’ll finish here.”
“I’m no’ hungry.” She reached for the shovel but he moved it easily out of her way. Ceana released a huff and put both hands to her hips. “Blane, give me that.”
“Nay. Go eat. Yer too damn scrawny.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Ye had no complaints last eve.”
Jaw tight, he pushed a breath through his
Blane didn’t know how to answer. He’d only been thinking of one fight—the one where he took revenge against the English for what they’d done to his village. What he was going to do afterward with most of his kind dead, he knew not.
“Mayhap ye should think not on yer next fight but on yer next victory. Ye could have that here. With my Ceana.”
He shook his head. As much as he admired her, as much as he desired her, he hardly knew her. And he wasn’t sure he could ever be the man she needed. “I cannae have anything with Ceana. She’s a fine lass. Too fine for me, I fear.”
“Och, why must men be so mule-headed?”
Chuckling, he patted the back of her hand. “I know not. ‘Tis the way we are born, I suppose.” He did a quick scan of the room. Still no sign of her. “Where is Ceana?”
“Down by the stables most likely. She’ll be helping to muck out.”
“Do ye no’ have stable hands for that?”
“Aye, a few, but not enough and Ceana has something to prove. A little like ye, Blane.”
Unwilling to let the woman draw him deeper and dig into his fears more, he bid her good day and made for the stables. A light spatter of rain moved over the land, making his shirt stick to his skin as he walked.
He had nothing to prove. The day he’d been gone from the village and returned to find most of them dead or dying had taken away any pride he had left. Now it was blood he needed.
Drips of rain trickled down his face and into his open collar. He pulled his plaid tight around him and ducked into the shadows of the stable. Dalma was stabled at the end. He searched the gloom for Ceana and spotted her not far from his mount, shovelling old straw into a bucket. Fear made his throat squeeze tight.
Blane strode over. “What are ye doing?” he demanded.
She jolted and spun in his direction, sending straw everywhere. Dalma skittered a little and the knot in his throat tightened.
“Blane, ye frightened me.”
“I thought ye’d hear me.”
“I couldnae while I was shovelling.” She put down the shovel and rested upon it. A hesitant smile came across her mouth. “I cannae see ye that well in here,” she said.
“Ye shouldnae be doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“This.” He gestured around and folded his arms again, unsure if she even saw the movement. “Especially by Dalma.” A hand to her arm, he tried to draw her away but she fought him.
“One of the lads caught the fever and died. They cannae do it all alone so I must help.”
“Dalma is ornery. Have ye even seen how big she is? She could crush ye in a moment.”
Her gaze narrowed in his direction. “Aye, I saw well enough how big she is when ye rode in on her. And I’m no’ a fool. I can hear where she is at all times. I have been living without sight my whole life, Blane. It might mean I need yer sword arm but I dinnae need ye to order me about.” Ceana looked over her shoulder in the direction of his mount and reached to rest a hand upon her flank. “She doesnae mind me.”
His heart bounded in his chest. He waited for Dalma to turn and nip her or worse. The mount remained blessedly still but he knew what that horse was like. She’d been hard to break in and only listened to him. Many a stable hand had received a nip or a shove. But with Ceana, it could be so much worse. Her lack of sight left her so vulnerable.
Blane snatched the shovel from her, making her gasp. Those dark spots of colour were back on her cheeks. He didn’t care. Let her be angry with him. He’d rather that than see her trampled by his own horse.
“Go inside and eat. I’ll finish here.”
“I’m no’ hungry.” She reached for the shovel but he moved it easily out of her way. Ceana released a huff and put both hands to her hips. “Blane, give me that.”
“Nay. Go eat. Yer too damn scrawny.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Ye had no complaints last eve.”
Jaw tight, he pushed a breath through his
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