Lady Miracle by Susan King Page A

sounding amused, “but I can feel the sting of it.”
    “I said you have the breath of a camel and the heart of a snake,” she hissed.
    ” Tcha, ” he said, and strode on. She thought he laughed.
    “I told you she makes me quake,” his friend said.
    Diarmid began to lope, an easy running stride that pushed his shoulder into her midsection and forced the breath rhythmically out of her.
    Within moments she felt herself lifted onto a saddle and seated sideways, her knee resting on the saddle pommel. The horse shifted beneath her as Diarmid secured her to the saddle with ties around her waist. Nearby, another horse shuffled and snorted as Diarmid mounted into the saddle.
    When the other man yanked away part of the plaid, she gasped in fresh, cold air. Her horse stepped forward, led by the second man, who held the reins and walked ahead.
    Twisting to look over her shoulder, she saw that they had descended the long slope and now crossed the valley. The eerie brilliance of the moonlit sky revealed the glittering river and steep hillsides that soared to each side.
    Diarmid rode beside her, his profile clean and strong in the moonglow. She glared at him.
    “I am not merchant’s goods to be stolen away!” she snapped.
    His glance was sharp. “And I am no thief.”
    “No thief, but a lunatic!”
    The man who walked chuckled. ” Ach , that’s the physician’s word on you, Dunsheen,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ve told him the same myself, I have, Mistress Physician.”
    “And you are no better, for helping him,” she said pointedly.
    He looked hurt, tugged at the reins and walked on.
    ” Ach , go light on Mungo,” Diarmid said. “He only did what I asked.”
    “You asked him to help steal me away like a sack of meal?”
    “Well, some of it was his idea,” he admitted.
    “Is he your brother?” she asked, watching Mungo’s long back and strong legs as he loped ahead of her horse, reins in hand.
    “A cousin, and a good friend.”
    “And a gille-ruith whenever he needs one,” Mungo added.
    She glanced at Diarmid. “Your runner? Are you a chieftain of the Campbells, to have your own ghillie?”
    “A laird in Clan Diarmid, which some call Clan Campbell,” he explained. “Mungo’s MacArthur kin have long been ghillies for the lairds of Dunsheen. He carries messages for me, and accompanies me when I travel.”
    “Then this is his horse I ride,” she said.
    “No matter, Mistress,” Mungo called back to her. “I can run the way to Dunsheen, and be no worse for it.”
    “How far is that?” she asked Diarmid.
    “The width of Scotland and north. Loch Sheen lies along the western coast near the Firth of Lorne.”
    “But such a journey could take days,” she said. She knew the area only because Gavin had once drawn a map to show her the location of Glas Eilean, which lay off the Isle of Isla in the lower Hebrides, near islands held mostly by MacDonalds and Campbells.
    “Mungo and I travel quickly,” Diarmid said. “I hope you are a sturdy rider.”
    Alarmed by the prospect of traveling across the Highlands with them, she glanced over her shoulder. The dark silhouette of the hospital on the hill was fading. Her sojourn there, as frustrating as it had been, was finished—and her future was wholly uncertain with the Highlanders.
    “I want you to take me to Kilglassie in Galloway,” she said, trying to sound firm. “My brother will reward you well.”
    Diarmid hardly blinked an eye. “I did not collect you to trade you for gold. You’ll come with me to Dunsheen. That is my price for rescuing you.”
    “Rescuing—but I was not in danger!”
    “You were and did not know it,” he answered smoothly.
    She fought rising panic, the result of fatigue and her mounting apprehension. “But I cannot go with you to Dunsheen.”
    He glanced at her. “Have you another commitment?”
    “You do not have my consent to do this!”
    “You have been rescued or escorted, whichever you prefer, not stolen. I