her confusion. She didn’t like it. She didn’t like it one bit. “ Lacy is a lot of woman. It takes as much energy to mount her as it does to run a league’s distance. Maybe more.”
Now, she was gasping. “Do you think of nothing else?”
She had his confusion now. “Of course I think of other things. Blood. War. Drink. Food. But love is at the forefront, lad. It was for me when I was your age, and it still is. Don’t tell me you don’t hanker, too?”
“Of course I hanker. I just have better taste in women.”
That got him hooting again. They were almost back at his camp, Morgan noted, hoping the conversation wouldn’t last beyond their reaching it. It was a forlorn hope, she realized as he dug through a sack and tossed her a length of white cotton.
“ Lacy may not be the most desirous of lasses, but she makes up for it with gumption. You need help tying that?”
Morgan turned her back on him, lifted her kilt and started winding the material about herself. “If I needed it, I’d ask.”
“You are shy,” he said. ‘‘Either that, or you’re woefully under-size.”
Her face was flaming again . “I’m shy,” she answered.
That got her another burst of amusement. She was rapidly tiring of being his entertainment. “Why doona’ we ride the horse, Morgan?” she asked, hoping to divert the subject.
“ Because we’re going to look like all other Scot’s. Down-trodden by the English, with little more than the clothing on our backs, and the humility of our bowed heads.”
“I thought the FitzHughs were in bed with the Sassenach .”
“ My brother is. He’s the idea the clan will be safe that way. He will na’ listen to anyone. He lays the dignity of FitzHugh at the feet of the English trash, and wonders why he’s na’ looked in the eye, anymore.”
“And you d oona’ believe the same?”
“I detest everything about the English. Especially their laws, but we Scotsmen curse ourselves rather than our true enemy. We spill our own blood, instead of theirs. You carry any weapon beside that sling?”
Morgan lifted her left arm, surprised he’d figured out what the leather straps about her lower arm were, and disgusted at herself for letting her sleeves ride up as she finished with her loin-wrap. “You have my dirks,” she replied.
“Aye. Until I’m assured of your loyalty, they’ll be safer with me.”
“Nay, you’ll be safer with them there .”
“Change of words, same meaning. You ready ?”
Morgan adjusted the front of her kilt over the loin-thing. It actually made her look like she had a bit more substance where she needed it, too.
“Aye, ” she replied.
“Good. Follow me .”
He was already taking his large strides from her. Morgan broke into a jog behind him. He was but five inches taller, but had the walk of a much larger man. Either that, or she’d no inkling of how a grown man could walk.
“So tell me, Morgan lad ,” he turned his head sideways to ask as they left the trees and started across a knee-high field of grass, “...just what sort of lass are you looking to make a man out of you?”
She closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath and looked at his back. “One with a bit of shape to her. ”
“The MacPhee lasses have shape. They have handfuls of the stuff .”
“They’re like sows, with teats to match. ”
“You canna ’ lie, Morgan. I saw where you were looking.”
He did? she wondered. He saw, and he had it wrong?
“And Lacy has a strong pair. Ripe-feeling. Just the kind— ”
“I like a lass with some leanness to her. I would na’ want to fall off her,” Morgan interrupted him, before she had to hear more of Lacy’s charms.
He chuckled and turned his head back again. ‘‘Describe your lass, ” he said.
Morgan rolled her eyes. He truly didn’t think of anything else. The lads she been leading hadn’t been so one-minded, or if they were, it was a well-kept secret. Then again, she rarely was forced to keep company with
Now, she was gasping. “Do you think of nothing else?”
She had his confusion now. “Of course I think of other things. Blood. War. Drink. Food. But love is at the forefront, lad. It was for me when I was your age, and it still is. Don’t tell me you don’t hanker, too?”
“Of course I hanker. I just have better taste in women.”
That got him hooting again. They were almost back at his camp, Morgan noted, hoping the conversation wouldn’t last beyond their reaching it. It was a forlorn hope, she realized as he dug through a sack and tossed her a length of white cotton.
“ Lacy may not be the most desirous of lasses, but she makes up for it with gumption. You need help tying that?”
Morgan turned her back on him, lifted her kilt and started winding the material about herself. “If I needed it, I’d ask.”
“You are shy,” he said. ‘‘Either that, or you’re woefully under-size.”
Her face was flaming again . “I’m shy,” she answered.
That got her another burst of amusement. She was rapidly tiring of being his entertainment. “Why doona’ we ride the horse, Morgan?” she asked, hoping to divert the subject.
“ Because we’re going to look like all other Scot’s. Down-trodden by the English, with little more than the clothing on our backs, and the humility of our bowed heads.”
“I thought the FitzHughs were in bed with the Sassenach .”
“ My brother is. He’s the idea the clan will be safe that way. He will na’ listen to anyone. He lays the dignity of FitzHugh at the feet of the English trash, and wonders why he’s na’ looked in the eye, anymore.”
“And you d oona’ believe the same?”
“I detest everything about the English. Especially their laws, but we Scotsmen curse ourselves rather than our true enemy. We spill our own blood, instead of theirs. You carry any weapon beside that sling?”
Morgan lifted her left arm, surprised he’d figured out what the leather straps about her lower arm were, and disgusted at herself for letting her sleeves ride up as she finished with her loin-wrap. “You have my dirks,” she replied.
“Aye. Until I’m assured of your loyalty, they’ll be safer with me.”
“Nay, you’ll be safer with them there .”
“Change of words, same meaning. You ready ?”
Morgan adjusted the front of her kilt over the loin-thing. It actually made her look like she had a bit more substance where she needed it, too.
“Aye, ” she replied.
“Good. Follow me .”
He was already taking his large strides from her. Morgan broke into a jog behind him. He was but five inches taller, but had the walk of a much larger man. Either that, or she’d no inkling of how a grown man could walk.
“So tell me, Morgan lad ,” he turned his head sideways to ask as they left the trees and started across a knee-high field of grass, “...just what sort of lass are you looking to make a man out of you?”
She closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath and looked at his back. “One with a bit of shape to her. ”
“The MacPhee lasses have shape. They have handfuls of the stuff .”
“They’re like sows, with teats to match. ”
“You canna ’ lie, Morgan. I saw where you were looking.”
He did? she wondered. He saw, and he had it wrong?
“And Lacy has a strong pair. Ripe-feeling. Just the kind— ”
“I like a lass with some leanness to her. I would na’ want to fall off her,” Morgan interrupted him, before she had to hear more of Lacy’s charms.
He chuckled and turned his head back again. ‘‘Describe your lass, ” he said.
Morgan rolled her eyes. He truly didn’t think of anything else. The lads she been leading hadn’t been so one-minded, or if they were, it was a well-kept secret. Then again, she rarely was forced to keep company with
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