Hero in the Highlands by Suzanne Enoch

and baby eaters, so why nae that?”
    â€œI only asked if she had a name.” He knew they were fairly close to Lattimer Castle, but this woman would clearly be safe from the part of the curse that said death waited for English allies. He had the distinct impression that she wouldn’t bat an eye if he went headfirst into the muck and stayed there. Gabriel sent her a brief, assessing look that upped the quotient of his lust even if it didn’t give him any additional insight into her character, then went back to tightening the knot. “That should do it. Sergeant, get back around the tree there and use it for leverage. And you”—and he jabbed a finger at her—“toss some stones and branches in here between the cow and the bank, so she’ll have some purchase for her feet.”
    â€œI would have done that before, if I’d had some decent help,” she grumbled, but went to do as he suggested, wading back in up to her knees to place the debris. Slender and delicate as she appeared, clearly she wasn’t a timid female, and that was for damned certain. Most of the women who followed the military camps had an edge of roughness to them, a toughness that he imagined came with knowing that the lad with whom they spent an hour might the next day end up dead in a ditch. In her he didn’t sense that hardness, but rather something that teased at him even when he wasn’t looking in her direction. Something … light.
    â€œThat man you were with. The one who ran away when I arrived. Was that your husband?”
    She snorted. “If he was, I’d be a widow by sunset.”
    With him pushing from behind and the horse pulling from the front, the sucking mud reluctantly gave way, and Fiona had to admit—to herself—that this man didn’t seem to be a complete idiot. And the way he moved, as if he were completely unaware of the splendid figure he cut, was in itself far more compelling than she wanted to acknowledge. His appearance didn’t mean anything, of course. The Bible said Lucifer had been a handsome angel, after all, and look what he’d become.
    The heifer lowed as she swung slowly around and began lunging halfheartedly toward firmer ground. She must have been towing a hundred pounds of mud along with her, but once she felt hard soil beneath her hoofs she lifted her head and surged forward. The Sassenach slapped her on the rump and sent her up the bank.
    For a moment Fiona wondered if she’d be the next one to get her arse slapped. He’d already put muddy handprints on her bosom. The soldier—an officer, by his epaulets—though, only plowed back to where she stood knee-deep in the mud. “Now let’s get you out of here,” he said, and offered an arm.
    Ha. She’d gaped at him enough already, and she was not going to grab onto him so she could make a bigger fool of herself. Damn all Englishmen, anyway, thinking they could waltz in and do … everything better than anyone else, simply because they’d been born south of Hadrian’s Wall. Gathering her sodden skirts in her hands, Fiona slogged around him and up the bank. “I didnae ask ye fer help,” she stated again, shoving heavy mud from the front of her gown before striding over to pull the rope off the heifer.
    â€œYou needed my help, whether you asked for it, or not,” he returned, from closer behind her than she expected. “And now that it’s done, I think it’s only fair that you return the favor firstly by giving me your name, and secondly by pointing me in the direction of Lattimer Castle.”
    â€œLattimer?” she repeated, her voice gulping the word. “What do the likes of ye bright red Sassenach want with old Lattimer?” She forced a grin. If he thought her some dim female who didn’t know better than to go slogging about in mud, then she’d be one. For the moment. “Though ye’re nae so bright