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Authors: Patricia McAllister
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husband?”
“Precisely.” Merry refused to be embarrassed over what might appear such a frivolous female notion. When Ranald laughed and agreed they might retire to Auchmull first, she felt instead a flush of triumph. For the first time since their paths had crossed, she and the Scottish wolf were seeing eye to eye.
Chapter Six
RAN GAZED AT THE redheaded woman curled in his tartan, where she slept on the damp ground. Firelight flickered across her features, burnishing her hair to living fire and sculpting alabaster angles from her cheekbones. A stray wisp of fiery hair clung to one cheek, adding an oddly poignant reminder of a sleeping bairn. Ran looked away, before he might find himself regarding Merry Tanner as anything but the self-centered little Sassenach bitch she was. Hell, not only had she demanded his tartan, but she insisted he stay awake, tend the fire, and kept watch for brigands as well.
Not that he could sleep. Ran leaned back against the large boulder, his gaze drifting to the night sky instead. He remembered bits and pieces from his lessons as a lad at Edzell, and the mighty bull winked the red eye of Aldebaran at him as if confirming his memories. If only real life was as logical, as comforting as the old myths and legends. Ran had evolved into somewhat of a legend himself by now, and the stories of the fierce Wolf of Badanloch were ominous enough that Mistress Tanner should have run screaming into the wood whilst she had the chance. He chuckled softly at the thought, sparing a glance for the tousled-haired lass. At times she reminded him of an auburn-tressed elf, with her sharp little features and small frame. Her temper, however, was as fierce as any Highlander’s, he suspected. He had yet to test it fully.
They were several days’ ride yet from the border, and Auchmull. It amazed him still she had agreed so readily to the journey, but then it was obvious she was anxious to lay eyes upon her betrothed. No cost too high, no journey too far for the cause of true love, Ran thought bitterly. He felt his gaze drifting once more from the stars and found his attention focused on the sleeping woman. Wickham’s woman. Sweet Jesu, here was his chance.
The idea had only flirted with him before, but Ran felt it solidifying by the moment. Meredith Tanner was completely dependent upon him for her survival. He had shared his water, the better portion of Hertha’s Forfar Bridies, and now the warmth of a Highland tartan. Her reputation, if not her entire family’s, rested in his hands. He could shame this lass, and Wickham by association. If a moment’s conscience flared, Ran shrugged it aside. He had no personal quarrel with the Tanners. Mayhap a fine match would be lost, but in the end he would save this redheaded vixen untold years of agony.
Meredith Tanner was not displeasing to look upon. Not a ravishing beauty by any means, but fair enough and sweetly curved in all the right places. His gaze traveled downward, where her hips lay hidden beneath the colorful tartan. It was hard to judge through a damned farthingale, but they seemed sleek enough for bed sport yet broad enough for bearing a man’s bairns.
As if sensing his perusal, Merry’s eyes suddenly snapped open. By firelight her irises were iridescent silvery green. She did not seem alarmed, but rather confused by her surroundings. She sat up awkwardly on one hip, blinking at Ran somewhat dazedly.
“How long did I sleep?” she asked.
“Several hours. ’Tis almost dawn.” He cleared his husky throat and gestured at the faint blush on the horizon. “Hungry?”
Merry nodded. “Parched, too.” She ran a hand over her disheveled hair as if to magically restore her coiffure, but already the blazing locks had slipped to her waist and the ends defiantly curled there from the lingering humidity.
Ran rose and retrieved a soft leather water bag from Uar’s saddle, returned and handed it to her without a word. She nodded gratefully, uncorking
“Precisely.” Merry refused to be embarrassed over what might appear such a frivolous female notion. When Ranald laughed and agreed they might retire to Auchmull first, she felt instead a flush of triumph. For the first time since their paths had crossed, she and the Scottish wolf were seeing eye to eye.
Chapter Six
RAN GAZED AT THE redheaded woman curled in his tartan, where she slept on the damp ground. Firelight flickered across her features, burnishing her hair to living fire and sculpting alabaster angles from her cheekbones. A stray wisp of fiery hair clung to one cheek, adding an oddly poignant reminder of a sleeping bairn. Ran looked away, before he might find himself regarding Merry Tanner as anything but the self-centered little Sassenach bitch she was. Hell, not only had she demanded his tartan, but she insisted he stay awake, tend the fire, and kept watch for brigands as well.
Not that he could sleep. Ran leaned back against the large boulder, his gaze drifting to the night sky instead. He remembered bits and pieces from his lessons as a lad at Edzell, and the mighty bull winked the red eye of Aldebaran at him as if confirming his memories. If only real life was as logical, as comforting as the old myths and legends. Ran had evolved into somewhat of a legend himself by now, and the stories of the fierce Wolf of Badanloch were ominous enough that Mistress Tanner should have run screaming into the wood whilst she had the chance. He chuckled softly at the thought, sparing a glance for the tousled-haired lass. At times she reminded him of an auburn-tressed elf, with her sharp little features and small frame. Her temper, however, was as fierce as any Highlander’s, he suspected. He had yet to test it fully.
They were several days’ ride yet from the border, and Auchmull. It amazed him still she had agreed so readily to the journey, but then it was obvious she was anxious to lay eyes upon her betrothed. No cost too high, no journey too far for the cause of true love, Ran thought bitterly. He felt his gaze drifting once more from the stars and found his attention focused on the sleeping woman. Wickham’s woman. Sweet Jesu, here was his chance.
The idea had only flirted with him before, but Ran felt it solidifying by the moment. Meredith Tanner was completely dependent upon him for her survival. He had shared his water, the better portion of Hertha’s Forfar Bridies, and now the warmth of a Highland tartan. Her reputation, if not her entire family’s, rested in his hands. He could shame this lass, and Wickham by association. If a moment’s conscience flared, Ran shrugged it aside. He had no personal quarrel with the Tanners. Mayhap a fine match would be lost, but in the end he would save this redheaded vixen untold years of agony.
Meredith Tanner was not displeasing to look upon. Not a ravishing beauty by any means, but fair enough and sweetly curved in all the right places. His gaze traveled downward, where her hips lay hidden beneath the colorful tartan. It was hard to judge through a damned farthingale, but they seemed sleek enough for bed sport yet broad enough for bearing a man’s bairns.
As if sensing his perusal, Merry’s eyes suddenly snapped open. By firelight her irises were iridescent silvery green. She did not seem alarmed, but rather confused by her surroundings. She sat up awkwardly on one hip, blinking at Ran somewhat dazedly.
“How long did I sleep?” she asked.
“Several hours. ’Tis almost dawn.” He cleared his husky throat and gestured at the faint blush on the horizon. “Hungry?”
Merry nodded. “Parched, too.” She ran a hand over her disheveled hair as if to magically restore her coiffure, but already the blazing locks had slipped to her waist and the ends defiantly curled there from the lingering humidity.
Ran rose and retrieved a soft leather water bag from Uar’s saddle, returned and handed it to her without a word. She nodded gratefully, uncorking
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