Angel of Skye by May McGoldrick

“You measure up.”
    Fiona stared up at the bird. Lord Macpherson might represent absolute worldly authority on this island, but even so, she was unwilling to allow him the last word. Nonetheless, she could not go on with this.
    She needed to get back to the Priory. Fiona looked around for her bag and saw it lying beneath the front hoof of the great black beast.
    Alec watched as she moved to Ebon and shoved with two hands at the shoulder of the massive charger. The horse’s ears flicked back, and the animal lifted his hoof as the woman snatched her satchel from the ground. She looked inside and stamped her foot before whirling on him. Clearly she was ready to say something to him, and Alec waited with interest. But instead of words, the woman dumped the shattered contents of her bag at his feet. Then, without further ceremony, she turned away from him, throwing the bag over her shoulder.
    “Good day, m’lord,” she said dismissively, striding toward the woods on the far side of the meadow.
    Fiona couldn’t help but smile as she moved through the grass. Of all the qualities David had mentioned in his description of the new laird to the prioress—and to Fiona—he had not brought up his incredible arrogance. The man was nearly impossible, but she, in this encounter at least, had more than matched him. The prioress, though, would surely be shocked if she knew Fiona had even met the laird—never mind the tone she had used with him. Fiona knew that, even though she had never met him, the prioress thought Lord Macpherson a gem. Day in and day out for the past few months, Fiona and the prioress had heard David go on and on about the virtues of this man.
    “It is a good thing David never mentioned humility,” she murmured to herself. “Humility is still a virtue, I believe.”
    “Then why don’t you practice it?” Fiona jumped at the sound of the voice over her shoulder. Stopping and turning abruptly, she found herself looking directly at the massive chest of the giant, who nimbly halted just short of barreling her over. The falcon was still on one wrist, the black charger trailing along in the grass.
    Her next words caught in her throat. She had not expected to find him following her. Now his close presence stunned her into silence. She felt her heart begin to race at the excitement his nearness evoked in her, and this continuing response confused her momentarily. After all, she had encountered many men in her years at the Priory—she had never been cloistered. The Priory had always been shelter to travelers and those in need of protection from the fierce MacLeod clan chief. And she had for years brought what comfort she could to the men, women, and children of the leper community hidden away in the forests of Skye. But with all of that, never had a man’s closeness caused such a reaction in her. In truth, though, she had also never been so close to a warrior, to a laird.
    Fiona shook her head to clear it of these unwarranted notions and backed away uncertainly.
    “Why are you following me, m’lord?” she asked huskily, looking at the ground between them.
    Alec watched her for a long moment before answering.
    “Two reasons,” he responded finally, trying to draw her eyes upward to him. “First, I told you that I would accompany you to your destination...unless you would care to accompany me to Dunvegan. And second, I wanted to return these.”
    Fiona hesitated, then looked up quickly. Lord Macpherson was holding the rosary beads in his outstretched hand. She reached up and took them from him, but not before he snatched her hand, turning it and holding it palm up for the briefest of moments.
    For a fleeting moment Alec got a glimpse of a beautiful face and uncertain eyes that glanced up at him. Then, as her head lowered, he considered the perfect white hand that had taken the beads from him. They were not the callused working hands they should have been. He smiled. Whoever she was, she was no peasant. Almost in