Read Online Taming a Wild Scot: A Claimed by the Highlander Novel by Rowan Keats - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Rowan Keats
Ads: Link
misconstrue.
“Aye. Very clear.”
He waved her off. “Go.”
With her satchel clutched to her chest, Ana beat a quick path to the door.
• • •
A thousand paces from the camp, Niall heard a familiar sharp whistle. He’d been spotted by one of his men, but there was no sign of anyone in the trees around him. He responded with a light whistle of his own, and an instant later, a hooded figure limped out from behind a gray tree trunk.
Leod.
“So?” the other man asked, a broad grin splitting his thin face. “Were you successful? Did ya sweet-talk the lass into lifting her skirts?”
Niall scowled. “Aiden talks too much.”
“That would be a no, then.”
Niall slowed as Leod came abreast of him. Gouged in the calf by a wild boar tusk a sennight ago, the warrior could not yet keep apace. “My goal was to get inside the manor, you cur, not inside the lass.”
Leod laughed. “Lord, she must be ugly.”
An image of Ana rose to mind, the same one he’d held in his thoughts for months—the sight of her perfect oval face, large blue eyes, and glorious dark red hair cascading down her back as she clung to a sapling in the pale light of a waning moon. She’d been far too thin then, but still incredibly beautiful. The desire to see that hair unbound again—to weave his fingers through it—scorched a molten path through his veins. “Nay.”
“We spend months in the woods, far from the pretty young milkmaids in Dunstoras, and all you deign to share is
nay
? Surely you can do better than that?”
Sharing had never been Niall’s wont. “Nay.”
“Wretch.” Leod hobbled quietly alongside for few moments, then pointed to Niall’s face. “You might want to visit the burn afore entering the camp.”
“Why?”
“That blood’s not likely to please young Jamie.”
Niall halted abruptly. “Aiden left Jamie behind?”
Leod snorted. “Aye. He wasn’t about to take the lad to Lochurkie now, was he?”
Gods be damned
. It had been Aiden who’d insisted on bringing Jamie to Duthes. The lad had always been the timid sort, but since the deaths of his mother and younger brother, he’d become fearful of his own shadow. The disappearance of his da had not helped matters. Wulf had stormed out of the castle the night of the murders, grief-stricken and howling for vengeance, never to be seen again. They’d combed the woods for days afterward and found no trace.
“Leaving him with me was not the better option,” Niall said.
“But you be his kin.”
“Only in blood,” Niall said, marching toward the stately elm that marked his camp. “He knows me not. A bastard cousin is rarely invited to sup with the family. The lad’s knees shake when I but look at him.”
“Mayhap, but the laird has named him your page.”
“I don’t need a page.”
They ducked under a low sweep of pine bough and entered the clearing where the Black Warriors had set up camp.
Ivarr was seated on a fallen log, sharpening his sword, and Cormac was stirring a pot over the fire. Niall spotted his young cousin right off—over by the horses, a curry brush in hand. Golden-haired like his mum, a sturdy form like his da. The lad was watching him, but the moment he realized Niall’s gaze had found him, he shrank behind Niall’s massive black destrier.
“Jamie,” Niall called.
The lad peered from under the horse’s neck, half-hidden by the long mane.
He waved the boy over.
Jamie tossed the brush into a bucket and slowly crossed the clearing to stand before Niall. His eyes held bleak shadows—far bleaker than a lad of ten and two ought to know—and they widened as he spied the smears of blood on Niall’s face and clothing.
“Fear not,” Niall said. “None of it is mine.”
“D-did you kill a man?”
Niall nodded. “A thief who tried to skewer me.”
The lad turned green and his bottom lip began to quiver. Not a moment later, he emptied his spleen all over Niall’s boots—an odorous brown coating of what
“Aye. Very clear.”
He waved her off. “Go.”
With her satchel clutched to her chest, Ana beat a quick path to the door.
• • •
A thousand paces from the camp, Niall heard a familiar sharp whistle. He’d been spotted by one of his men, but there was no sign of anyone in the trees around him. He responded with a light whistle of his own, and an instant later, a hooded figure limped out from behind a gray tree trunk.
Leod.
“So?” the other man asked, a broad grin splitting his thin face. “Were you successful? Did ya sweet-talk the lass into lifting her skirts?”
Niall scowled. “Aiden talks too much.”
“That would be a no, then.”
Niall slowed as Leod came abreast of him. Gouged in the calf by a wild boar tusk a sennight ago, the warrior could not yet keep apace. “My goal was to get inside the manor, you cur, not inside the lass.”
Leod laughed. “Lord, she must be ugly.”
An image of Ana rose to mind, the same one he’d held in his thoughts for months—the sight of her perfect oval face, large blue eyes, and glorious dark red hair cascading down her back as she clung to a sapling in the pale light of a waning moon. She’d been far too thin then, but still incredibly beautiful. The desire to see that hair unbound again—to weave his fingers through it—scorched a molten path through his veins. “Nay.”
“We spend months in the woods, far from the pretty young milkmaids in Dunstoras, and all you deign to share is
nay
? Surely you can do better than that?”
Sharing had never been Niall’s wont. “Nay.”
“Wretch.” Leod hobbled quietly alongside for few moments, then pointed to Niall’s face. “You might want to visit the burn afore entering the camp.”
“Why?”
“That blood’s not likely to please young Jamie.”
Niall halted abruptly. “Aiden left Jamie behind?”
Leod snorted. “Aye. He wasn’t about to take the lad to Lochurkie now, was he?”
Gods be damned
. It had been Aiden who’d insisted on bringing Jamie to Duthes. The lad had always been the timid sort, but since the deaths of his mother and younger brother, he’d become fearful of his own shadow. The disappearance of his da had not helped matters. Wulf had stormed out of the castle the night of the murders, grief-stricken and howling for vengeance, never to be seen again. They’d combed the woods for days afterward and found no trace.
“Leaving him with me was not the better option,” Niall said.
“But you be his kin.”
“Only in blood,” Niall said, marching toward the stately elm that marked his camp. “He knows me not. A bastard cousin is rarely invited to sup with the family. The lad’s knees shake when I but look at him.”
“Mayhap, but the laird has named him your page.”
“I don’t need a page.”
They ducked under a low sweep of pine bough and entered the clearing where the Black Warriors had set up camp.
Ivarr was seated on a fallen log, sharpening his sword, and Cormac was stirring a pot over the fire. Niall spotted his young cousin right off—over by the horses, a curry brush in hand. Golden-haired like his mum, a sturdy form like his da. The lad was watching him, but the moment he realized Niall’s gaze had found him, he shrank behind Niall’s massive black destrier.
“Jamie,” Niall called.
The lad peered from under the horse’s neck, half-hidden by the long mane.
He waved the boy over.
Jamie tossed the brush into a bucket and slowly crossed the clearing to stand before Niall. His eyes held bleak shadows—far bleaker than a lad of ten and two ought to know—and they widened as he spied the smears of blood on Niall’s face and clothing.
“Fear not,” Niall said. “None of it is mine.”
“D-did you kill a man?”
Niall nodded. “A thief who tried to skewer me.”
The lad turned green and his bottom lip began to quiver. Not a moment later, he emptied his spleen all over Niall’s boots—an odorous brown coating of what
Similar Books
