Highland Storm by Tanya Anne Crosby

sensed his own men were inclined to be. Every last one of them did the man’s bidding without a word of complaint, despite that they seemed leery of this place. She could see the apprehension writ upon their bodies and in the way they peered over their shoulders at the surrounding woodlands, starting when anyone came near. It was almost comical to watch—grown men afeared of their own shadows.
    In fact, Lianae had the sense that, given their druthers, not a one of them would remain in this place, but even the man who’d challenged the woad-covered leader no longer seemed inclined to protest. Instead, he kept himself apart, brooding all alone by the fire, watching it burn. Whittling furiously at a long limb, he tossed his shavings into the pit, and every great once in a while looked up to study his commander with narrowed eyes.
    There was tension between the two men. Lianae filed the information away, to be used later should the need arise.
    But, time and again, her gaze was drawn to the braided one, feeling his regard as surely as she felt the charm stones calling to her from beneath the brambles and the snow.
    She’d dropped a few where he’d seized her into his arms—strong arms, wider about than the trunk of a small tree. He was strong, but quick, and he’d lifted her with little effort—something she’d never seen any man do—not even her father when she was three.
    To this extent, she counted his strength as a blessing, for as yet, no one had dared approach her. So she continued searching for her stones, staying near the spot where she’d dropped them. Her feet were half numb, but she could still feel the soft, round pebbles beneath her toes. Time was of the essence; for now, the snow was barely half an inch deep. If it continued to fall at this rate, by morning, there would be two feet or more, and then her stones would all be lost. Limping along, she discovered two of Uhtreda’s stones and snuck them into the pocket that was sewn into the hem of her gown. She continued to search, stooping now and again to lift up a bit of refuse, merely to discard it, lest they suspect she was hoarding something else. If they should happen to learn what treasure she possessed, there was no guarantee they would allow her to keep them, and Lianae didn’t believe she’d been gifted the stones only to lose them quite so easily. Fortunately, most of the men paid her little mind… save for him .
    Trying not to think about him —or the Earl’s men who were still out there—Lianae mentally recounted the stones she’d already recovered—three in all—less than half the number that were originally in the purse. A few remained by the wall where he’d put an arrow through the purse.
    At one point, she watched him saunter over, pluck out his damnable arrow and then stand by the brambles, inspecting his fletching. She held her breath as he then stooped to pick up something from the ground—presumably the remnants of Lianae’s purse. He eyed her pointedly and then replaced the arrow into his quiver—mayhap to re-use the fletching later—and then tucked the scrap of her purse into his belt. But then afterward, he didn’t bother to search the ground at his feet, and Lianae let out the breath she’d been holding as he made his way over to attend his mare.
    For long moments, she watched him brush the animal’s flank with a loving hand. Moving forward, he stroked the mare’s muzzle, and then seemed to whisper in her ear. Mesmerized by his gentleness with the beast, Lianae gave up looking for her stones and sat atop the steps of a ruined hall to inspect her feet, trying to determine in her mind’s eye where the remainder of her stones might be.
    How many did she pick up before she ran? She hadn’t had the chance to count them yet. Mayhap she had them all by now and the rest would be over beneath the brambles, where the king’s men placed their tarp.
    But she told herself not to worry. Even if they should happen upon one of