Chieftain by Arnette Lamb

to Drummond. “Nay.”
    Worry made her anxious, and the horse sensed her mood, sidestepping and tossing its tail. She seemed oblivious to her mount’s distress. “Put him down, Drummond.”
    The command snapped the last thread of Drummond’s frayed patience. Being sassed by an ill-mannered child was one thing, taking orders from a woman was something else. “Nay. I promised him a ride to the burn.”
    Having his position defended made Alasdair bold; he folded his arms across his chest and stared at Longfellow’s flapping ears. “We’re on manly business, Mother.”
    Strands of golden hair whipped about her face, but she paid no attention. Her skirt rode high on her leg, exposing her knee, but she didn’t seem to care. Her anxious gaze flitted from her son to her husband. Beyond her distress, Drummond sensed fear. But of what? Did she think he couldn’t protect the lad?
    “No harm will come to this insolent child,” he said. “At least no accident will befall him.”
    “If you give him to me, you will not be troubled with his safety or his headstrong nature.”
    “Headstrong?” Drummond laughed. “You have a gift for understatement.”
    Through gritted teeth, she said, “And you have none at all. Give me my son.”
    My son, as in my tenants, my keep, and my land. The possessiveness of it fueled his anger. If she wanted a battle of wills he would gladly oblige her, for Drummond had no intention of losing. With a sturdy stick, he lightly tapped the elephant’s withers. Longfellow started forward again. “We’ll return before dark.”
    “Wait!” The stiffness went out of her, and she gave Drummond the most insincere smile he’d ever seen. “Since neither of you will come down, it must be because you’re having fun.” She slid off the horse. There was no saddle. “So, I’m coming up.”
    “Hurrah!” Alasdair patted a spot on the carpet in front of him. “Sit here, Mother. You can see all the way to Loch Linton.”
    As Drummond watched her horse canter back toward the keep, he wondered where she’d learned to ride so well and so daringly. He also toyed with the notion of reprimanding her for it. But Alasdair was tugging on his shirt and demanding that they stop and help her up.
    Resigned, Drummond halted the elephant, then released the rope ladder and watched her climb aboard. Longfellow swung his massive head toward her and sent his trunk to take a whiff. As Drummond expected, the beast returned to his favorite pastime: eating grass.
    When she reached the top, Drummond grasped her waist and put her across his lap. She squirmed in a way that melted his anger and hardened his loins. He held her tighter.
    “What are you doing?” she protested, clutching his arm.
    Her hair caught the wind, and the loose strands felt like silk against Drummond’s face. The pleasing fragrance of heather wafted around him. He had to clear his throat to speak. “You’ll block Alasdair’s view, so I’m putting you between us.”
    She surveyed the carpet. The handles were out of her reach. “What will I hold on to?”
    Drummond returned the fake smile she’d given him moments before. “Me.”
    “I’d rather sit there—between your legs.”
    His smile turned genuine and his mind made a lusty picture of her words. “Be my guest. You can even bounce up and down if you like.”
    She sent him a confused frown before moving off his lap and situating herself between his knees. He considered pulling her back and wedging her pretty bottom against his manliness, but decided against tormenting himself. Instead, he stared at her wind tossed hair and wondered what she would say if he offered to tidy it.
    When Longfellow started down the road again, she said, “Where did you get the elephant?”
    “He got it from the king,” said Alasdair. “Longfellow took a liking to Father, and when he left Londontown Longfellow missed him so much he butted down the gates. The king made Father come back and fetch Longfellow. Now he’s