Highlander's Prize by Mary Wine

he stared into her eyes. He was not blind to her fears; his heart wasn’t hardened by arrogance and his assumption that she should serve his desires because it was his right.
    She liked that knowledge too much. Felt it dissolving the distrust she was trying so hard to maintain and leaving her wondering why it mattered if she liked him.
    He stirred something inside her…
    Heat rose to her cheeks. Broen looked at her, and she turned away to hide the stain. Her emotions would lead her to ruin if she didn’t force herself back to being disciplined. Fascination had led more than one person to despair, for the world was very unforgiving. Broen was a Highlander, and she was English. They were both duty-bound to dislike each other.
    Another ripple of sensation went down her back in defiance. She bit her lip harder in reprimand.
    The next rise showed them a small town. The newer houses rose two stories and sat nestled against a rocky section of land with well-worn tracks from carts. Up on the high ground was Raven’s Perch. It was an imposing structure of three towers, two built in front of the tallest. They were surrounded by an impressive curtain wall that extended a half circle, beyond which was a sheer drop to the ocean. In days gone by, the rocky section of land would have held another wall to form inner and outer baileys. Clarrisa looked again at the tallest tower and noticed the stone was of a lighter color. It had been built at a different time and most likely from the wall that had once enclosed the town.
    Riders met them in the center of the rocky ground—more Highlanders, wearing their swords across their backs as the spring breeze pulled at the edges of their kilts. They were serious, but their leader offered his hand to Broen. The two men clasped each other’s forearms before the men surrounding them lost their somber expressions.
    “So ye managed it, did ye?” The leader of the welcome party stared at her. He kneed his stallion forward until he was closer. “There’s a tale there, to be sure. I do nae think James let her go easily.”
    This Highlander studied her much the same way his king had, as if she were a mare. Clarrisa bit her lip, trying to keep her opinion to herself, but failed. “And you Scots think yourselves so different from the English.”
    The leader of the welcoming clan was dark haired with midnight black eyes. His chin was covered in dark stubble, giving him a rakish look. Surprise registered on his face before he leaned forward to glare at her. “Ye do nae see a difference, lass? Now, that’s the first time I’ve met a blind Englishwoman. Cannae ye see me knees, or should I let me kilt ride up a bit higher to test yer courage?”
    Clarrisa softened her expression, calling upon years of experience appearing meek when she was nothing of the sort. “Men thinking themselves so superior to women that they simply talk of them as though they are not even present… Well, that is something my English kin do very well.” Her eyes swept the group of retainers listening so intently behind him. “I see more similarities than differences.”
    She could feel the tension in the air and Broen glaring at her, but she maintained her position, refusing to duck her chin.
    “I’m Faolan Chisholms. Me uncle is the Earl of Sutherland. Does that please ye?”
    Clarrisa shook her head slowly. “No, it simply offers me another example of how much you have in common with the English nobility. They are all quick to tell anyone who they are related to, all that much better to attempt to frighten them into submission.”
    Faolan’s men didn’t care for her tone. They frowned at her, some scowling. Faolan did neither. The man considered her with a stony expression while fingering the reins resting in his hands.
    “Well, it seems we’ll have plenty to discuss over supper, for I’ve got a lot of relatives. Some of them are a little less in favor with the church than others, because they were nae born under the