with the Fairy Queen, going off to live in Elfland, deep in the Eildon Hills in the Scottish borders. Malcolm’s own marriage was certain to be a passionless disappointment, just one of many marriages arranged for political reasons—because he had once predicted victory in battle for a now-dead king.
“The frown ye wear makes ye look downright menacing,” Nathair said, his sleekly muscled horse antsy to move again, snorting and pawing at the sodden ground. “Our laird need nae fear marriage as long as the wench is comely and sees to the laird’s e’ery need, as yer bonny sister sees so expertly to mine.”
“Ye tread on dangerous ground, my friend,” Malcolm said, but a smile threatened to crest his lips. “Dunna speak so of Andreana. If I didna ken how much ye loved and cherished her, ye’d find the point of my sword at yer throat.”
“E’er the protective brother. But I do love her madly. Ye ken I am loyal to two things—a good woman and a good war. And soon Andreana will give birth to my first child. But let us talk of the Douglas wench, who has been commanded by a king to marry the Maclean and spread her legs whene’er….”
“Yer nae vera observant soldiers, are ye?”
Both men looked up, following the sound of a voice high above them in a tree. A girl sat in the tree, holding a bow and arrow, and the arrow was trained on Malcolm.
“And ye talk rudely of yer laird’s bride-to-be.” She cast her glance in the direction of the men approaching over the hill. “Which one is he? Which one is yer laird?”
Malcolm studied her face. There was determination and mischief in her deep green eyes and her dark auburn hair flowed down her back in a single braid. The sun caught threads of gold in the silken mass. On closer inspection, he saw she was not a girl but a woman, dressed oddly in trews and a belted tunic, leather boots on her small feet. She was some sort of servant. But what was she doing in a tree with a weapon of war?
Her quiver was no poor instrument. It was a well-made bag of linen stretched with a frame and secured at the neck with laces. The bow was sturdy, made of yew and strung with hemp. There was a flash of silver and he noted a ring on her finger, also curious for a servant.
“What lady allows her female servant the privilege of hunting?” Nathair challenged. “Or mayhap the hunting is a ruse, and ye seek another kind of pleasure? A tumble in the woods with one of the Maclean men? After all, yer hair is nae covered.”
“I dunna seek anything so vulgar as lying with a Maclean . Blonde oaf, do ye e’er see a man wear a cap when he hunts? My lady doesna care if my hair is nae covered and she allows me to hunt because I am just as good as a man with bow and arrow. Would ye like to find out how accurate my aim is?”
Nathair laughed outright. “Yer lady Sorcha Douglas has some foolish notions, lass.”
Both men, upon seeing she was female, relaxed their guards. Sorcha tested the tension of the string. She sighted the blonde-haired man and drew a breath. “I could easily put an arrow in yer arrogant hides, and that would be most displeasing to yer laird, would it nae?”
“Aye,” Malcolm said. “That would be most displeasing to our…laird. Most displeasing, indeed. In fact, he would no doubt feel compelled to make ye sew up any wound ye inflicted.” He challenged the sprite with his intense amber eyes and she repositioned the bow so the arrow was once again trained on him.
“Tell me, sprite, ha’e ye e’er pulled an arrow shaft from a man’s bare, bleeding buttocks and sewn up the wound?” He laughed at the blush that rose to her cheeks. “Maids are more used to mending worn garments by the fire, are they nae? Perhaps a ratty
“The frown ye wear makes ye look downright menacing,” Nathair said, his sleekly muscled horse antsy to move again, snorting and pawing at the sodden ground. “Our laird need nae fear marriage as long as the wench is comely and sees to the laird’s e’ery need, as yer bonny sister sees so expertly to mine.”
“Ye tread on dangerous ground, my friend,” Malcolm said, but a smile threatened to crest his lips. “Dunna speak so of Andreana. If I didna ken how much ye loved and cherished her, ye’d find the point of my sword at yer throat.”
“E’er the protective brother. But I do love her madly. Ye ken I am loyal to two things—a good woman and a good war. And soon Andreana will give birth to my first child. But let us talk of the Douglas wench, who has been commanded by a king to marry the Maclean and spread her legs whene’er….”
“Yer nae vera observant soldiers, are ye?”
Both men looked up, following the sound of a voice high above them in a tree. A girl sat in the tree, holding a bow and arrow, and the arrow was trained on Malcolm.
“And ye talk rudely of yer laird’s bride-to-be.” She cast her glance in the direction of the men approaching over the hill. “Which one is he? Which one is yer laird?”
Malcolm studied her face. There was determination and mischief in her deep green eyes and her dark auburn hair flowed down her back in a single braid. The sun caught threads of gold in the silken mass. On closer inspection, he saw she was not a girl but a woman, dressed oddly in trews and a belted tunic, leather boots on her small feet. She was some sort of servant. But what was she doing in a tree with a weapon of war?
Her quiver was no poor instrument. It was a well-made bag of linen stretched with a frame and secured at the neck with laces. The bow was sturdy, made of yew and strung with hemp. There was a flash of silver and he noted a ring on her finger, also curious for a servant.
“What lady allows her female servant the privilege of hunting?” Nathair challenged. “Or mayhap the hunting is a ruse, and ye seek another kind of pleasure? A tumble in the woods with one of the Maclean men? After all, yer hair is nae covered.”
“I dunna seek anything so vulgar as lying with a Maclean . Blonde oaf, do ye e’er see a man wear a cap when he hunts? My lady doesna care if my hair is nae covered and she allows me to hunt because I am just as good as a man with bow and arrow. Would ye like to find out how accurate my aim is?”
Nathair laughed outright. “Yer lady Sorcha Douglas has some foolish notions, lass.”
Both men, upon seeing she was female, relaxed their guards. Sorcha tested the tension of the string. She sighted the blonde-haired man and drew a breath. “I could easily put an arrow in yer arrogant hides, and that would be most displeasing to yer laird, would it nae?”
“Aye,” Malcolm said. “That would be most displeasing to our…laird. Most displeasing, indeed. In fact, he would no doubt feel compelled to make ye sew up any wound ye inflicted.” He challenged the sprite with his intense amber eyes and she repositioned the bow so the arrow was once again trained on him.
“Tell me, sprite, ha’e ye e’er pulled an arrow shaft from a man’s bare, bleeding buttocks and sewn up the wound?” He laughed at the blush that rose to her cheeks. “Maids are more used to mending worn garments by the fire, are they nae? Perhaps a ratty
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