at the very start,” she interrupted. “You could not possibly have caught up on the road.”
“As I told ye, lass, ye should not judge a thing on its looks alone.”
“You cut through the woods,” she reasoned.
He stared at her for a few seconds, then shifted his eyes away. “And what if I did?”
“The woods are thick and treacherous. Even
Fille
could not traverse them at such a pace.”
He shrugged his gargantuan shoulders. “So ye are not so fine a judge of horseflesh as ye think yerself to be. Indeed—”
“You left him,” she said, incredulous but certain. “You turned him loose and cut through the underbrush afoot.” And he’d caught her. Good Lord, what kind of man could run down a blooded steed?
His brows lowered even more, a feat that seemed impossible, but she barely noticed.
“Who are you?” she asked.
He shifted slightly, his booted feet stirring centuries of undisturbed leaves. “Do ye disremember, lass? We’ve already met. I be Sir Killian of Hiltsglen and ye the greedy—”
“And why do you speak like that?”
He narrowed his eyes. The scar that bisected his eyebrow and nose had turned pale against his swarthy features.
“There is naught wrong with me speech,” he assured her.
“
Naught
wrong?” she countered. “You talk like a suit of old armor.”
“Men of the Highlands…” He paused and canted his head at her. His hair had come loose during his pursuit of her and hung nearly to the incredible width of his shoulders. “
True
men do not leave a maid to ride alone into danger.”
She stared at him, her mind racing like a child’s top. “So I was right,” she murmured, awe melding with a quiver of fear. “You caught up to me on foot.”
He didn’t answer.
“Because…” she said, and found that she could not, despite everything, control the tiny smile that lifted her lips. “Your gelding is no match for my mare.”
Still, he only stared.
“Admit it,” she said, and laughed out loud. “I was right.”
“Aye,” he said, and, turning away, marched over to
Fille
, who watched them with flickering ears. “Yer a wily one, ye are,” he said, and, gently stroking the mare’s neck, led her away.
“And don’t you forget it. I know… Wait a moment. What are you doing?” she called and stepped forward, but pain shot through her knee and she winced. “Where are you going with my horse?”
“Think on it,” he said, not deigning to do so much as glance over his shoulder. “A bright lass like ye is certain to sort it out,” he said, and, striding onto the road, disappeared from sight.
Chapter 6
T he mare snorted and danced sideways, swinging her haunches across the rutted road like a bonny dancer. Tucking her elegant head, she rolled dark eyes at Killian and champed the copper mouthpiece as if she scolded him.
“Well then,” Killian rumbled, anger still roiling deep in his chest. “She should have been more careful with herself… and with ye. A spirited lass such as yerself should be coddled.”
The mare shook her head, rattling the bit and prancing.
” ‘Tisn’t me own fault she took a fall,” Killian told her. “I warned her to be cautious. She has a firm seat and a soft hand, that I grant. But she’s too stubborn by half. Stubborn and prideful.”
The steed lifted her perfect forelimbs higher and flagged her kohl black tail.
“Na unlike yerself,” he admitted, and straightened her heavy forelock with his free hand.
She flicked back her dark-tipped ears and bobbed her head. He scowled.
“And meself also, I suspect, but that does na mean she should risk ye on this road.”
The mare glanced away, rolling her eyes toward the north. Briarburn was there, just around the bend, the ancient house crafted of chiseled stone, the stables just as old and equally venerable. It was a bonny spot, set against a backdrop of old forest and sweeping green fields.
Killian had seen it before. That he knew, though he could not remember when. The
“As I told ye, lass, ye should not judge a thing on its looks alone.”
“You cut through the woods,” she reasoned.
He stared at her for a few seconds, then shifted his eyes away. “And what if I did?”
“The woods are thick and treacherous. Even
Fille
could not traverse them at such a pace.”
He shrugged his gargantuan shoulders. “So ye are not so fine a judge of horseflesh as ye think yerself to be. Indeed—”
“You left him,” she said, incredulous but certain. “You turned him loose and cut through the underbrush afoot.” And he’d caught her. Good Lord, what kind of man could run down a blooded steed?
His brows lowered even more, a feat that seemed impossible, but she barely noticed.
“Who are you?” she asked.
He shifted slightly, his booted feet stirring centuries of undisturbed leaves. “Do ye disremember, lass? We’ve already met. I be Sir Killian of Hiltsglen and ye the greedy—”
“And why do you speak like that?”
He narrowed his eyes. The scar that bisected his eyebrow and nose had turned pale against his swarthy features.
“There is naught wrong with me speech,” he assured her.
“
Naught
wrong?” she countered. “You talk like a suit of old armor.”
“Men of the Highlands…” He paused and canted his head at her. His hair had come loose during his pursuit of her and hung nearly to the incredible width of his shoulders. “
True
men do not leave a maid to ride alone into danger.”
She stared at him, her mind racing like a child’s top. “So I was right,” she murmured, awe melding with a quiver of fear. “You caught up to me on foot.”
He didn’t answer.
“Because…” she said, and found that she could not, despite everything, control the tiny smile that lifted her lips. “Your gelding is no match for my mare.”
Still, he only stared.
“Admit it,” she said, and laughed out loud. “I was right.”
“Aye,” he said, and, turning away, marched over to
Fille
, who watched them with flickering ears. “Yer a wily one, ye are,” he said, and, gently stroking the mare’s neck, led her away.
“And don’t you forget it. I know… Wait a moment. What are you doing?” she called and stepped forward, but pain shot through her knee and she winced. “Where are you going with my horse?”
“Think on it,” he said, not deigning to do so much as glance over his shoulder. “A bright lass like ye is certain to sort it out,” he said, and, striding onto the road, disappeared from sight.
Chapter 6
T he mare snorted and danced sideways, swinging her haunches across the rutted road like a bonny dancer. Tucking her elegant head, she rolled dark eyes at Killian and champed the copper mouthpiece as if she scolded him.
“Well then,” Killian rumbled, anger still roiling deep in his chest. “She should have been more careful with herself… and with ye. A spirited lass such as yerself should be coddled.”
The mare shook her head, rattling the bit and prancing.
” ‘Tisn’t me own fault she took a fall,” Killian told her. “I warned her to be cautious. She has a firm seat and a soft hand, that I grant. But she’s too stubborn by half. Stubborn and prideful.”
The steed lifted her perfect forelimbs higher and flagged her kohl black tail.
“Na unlike yerself,” he admitted, and straightened her heavy forelock with his free hand.
She flicked back her dark-tipped ears and bobbed her head. He scowled.
“And meself also, I suspect, but that does na mean she should risk ye on this road.”
The mare glanced away, rolling her eyes toward the north. Briarburn was there, just around the bend, the ancient house crafted of chiseled stone, the stables just as old and equally venerable. It was a bonny spot, set against a backdrop of old forest and sweeping green fields.
Killian had seen it before. That he knew, though he could not remember when. The
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