Highlander's Prize by Mary Wine Page B

to it.
    The cider cask arrived, and another cheer went up. This one was louder, with the men pounding their mugs on the tabletops. Faolan had reached the head table. He pressed his hands on its surface and waited for his men to finish expressing their appreciation. Faolan considered her as his captains lined up shoulder to shoulder behind him. Broen stood beside him, the feathers in their bonnets all pointing upward to denote their rank. The two lairds had all three feathers raised; their captains each had one raised and the other two lowered.
    “I’ll bid ye a good night, lass.” Faolan pointed at two of his retainers, and the men pulled on their bonnets before starting toward her.
    “I hope you choke on your cider,” she answered sweetly. “And wake up in a privy.”
    There were several gasps from the women, but Faolan grinned at her. “Ye really need to stop teasing me so brazenly in front of me men, lass. I’m sorely tempted to tame ye.”
    “Another trait you have in common with the English—thinking women are so impressed with any man’s effort in her bed to ever become tame.”
    The women giggled now, and it was clear many of them agreed with her.
    Instead of becoming irritated, Faolan grinned. “Ah, but ye see, lass, being a Scotsman means I’ll be arriving in yer bedchamber to prove I am no’ just spouting empty promises. By morning, ye’ll know the difference between me and those English who sent ye up here a virgin.”
    Heat blazed across her cheeks. The hall erupted into laughter, the tables being pounded once more. Faolan slapped Broen on the back and roared with his amusement. The retainers set to the task of escorting her from the hall battled to maintain stern faces, but their eyes twinkled with mirth.
    Clarrisa began to lower herself. It was a habit that had been instilled in her as a child, but she froze halfway down and straightened back up. Broen raised an eyebrow at her audacity and almost looked as though he admired her daring. It would be insane to think he respected her rudeness. Foolish as well, for her fate rested in his hands. Or perhaps his friend’s—she wasn’t sure, for it was Faolan’s men who flanked her now and his holding in which she was secured. Not that it mattered to her. One Highlander laird or another, it made little difference. She refused to allow herself to think of Broen or his promise that he would not murder her. He hadn’t, so the man had kept his word. She could expect nothing else from him.
    Maybe he’d handed her over to a man who would spill her blood. Such was a common way of dealing with offended honor among men.
    She walked slowly, frustrating her escort, but they seemed loath to touch her. Her feet shuffled on the stone floor, and she turned her head to look out of the few openings in the stone walls as they passed. Most were archer’s slits—thin cross-shaped places where there was no stone. The night air blew in, and she filled her lungs with it, fearing it might be the last fresh air she breathed.
    The young English princes had gone into the Tower of London and never been seen again. She shivered, saying a quick prayer for their souls. They’d only been boys, but the Lancasters had convinced their mother to allow the boys into their care.
    The retainers took her up two flights of stone steps. The sounds from the hall diminished until all she heard was the wind whispering through the arrow slits.
    “Here, lass. The chamber is sound and clean enough.” The door hinges opened easily, proving the chamber was kept in good repair. The iron hinges were huge and would have squealed without attention. At least the floor wasn’t covered in rushes. It was solid stone but appeared to have been recently swept.
    “Now, do nae be making a fuss. Ye heard me laird. Inside with ye.”
    “I know who to blame for my circumstances.” Clarrisa crossed into the room and was sure the air was colder inside. The tiny hearth in the room was dark and cold. “My own