in her gut like sour ale.
“Are you nervous?” Christina asked as they descended the steps from the keep. “You have no reason to be. The laird seems gruff, and he can be stern when crossed, but he’s fair and very evenhanded with our clan.”
The part that Christina left out was that Mairin wasn’t part of the McCabe clan, which meant that any policies about fair and evenhanded didn’t apply. But she had saved Crispen, and it was obvious that the laird loved his son. She held on to that thought as they rounded the corner into the courtyard.
Mairin’s eyes widened at the site of so many men training. The clash of swords and shields nearly deafened her, and the afternoon sun striking the metal made her squint and wince. She blinked and focused her gaze away from the reflections dancing through the air. When she realized what she was seeing instead, she gasped.
Her hand fluttered to her chest, and her vision went abit blurry. It wasn’t until her tortured lungs begged for mercy that she realized she was holding her breath. She sucked in a mouthful of air, but that didn’t help her light-headedness.
The laird was sparring with another soldier in only his boots and trews. His bare chest gleamed with a sheen of sweat, and a trickle of blood slid down his side.
Oh merciful heavens.
She watched in fascination, unable to make herself tear her gaze away, no matter that it was surely a sin to ogle in this fashion.
The laird was broad shouldered. His massive chest sported several scars. A man didn’t get to be his age without acquiring battle scars. Badges of honor to highlanders. A man without them was considered weak and without courage.
His hair clung damply to his back and his braids swung about him as he pivoted in the dirt to parry another thrust by his opponent. His muscles strained and bulged as he swung the heavy sword about his head and slashed downward. At the last moment, his opponent threw up his shield, but he still buckled under the blow.
The younger man went sprawling, his own sword clattering to the ground. He did have the presence of mind to cover himself with the shield as he lay there panting softly.
The laird frowned but extended his hand down to the younger soldier. “You lasted longer this time, Heath, but you’re still allowing emotion to rule your actions. Until you learn to control that temper of yours, you’ll prove an easy mark in battle.”
Heath scowled and didn’t look appreciative of his laird’s criticism. He ignored Ewan’s outstretched hand and scrambled to his feet, his face red with anger.
It was then that the laird looked up and saw Mairin standing there with Christina. His eyes narrowed andshe felt pinned by the force of his stare. He motioned for his tunic, which Alaric tossed to him from the side. After hastily pulling it over his bare chest, he motioned for Mairin to come forward.
Feeling strangely disappointed that he’d put the tunic back on, she edged closer, all but dragging her heels in the dirt. It was silly. She was a grown woman, but in front of this man, she felt like an errant child about to be called to task.
Guilty conscience. A good confession would clear that up.
“Come walk with me, lass. We have much to discuss.”
She swallowed and snuck a peek at Christina, who performed a curtsy in the laird’s direction before turning and heading back the way they’d come.
His teeth flashed into a grin. “Come,” he said again. “I don’t bite.”
The flash of humor caught her unawares and she smiled broadly, quite unaware of its effect on the men who saw it.
“Very well, Laird. Since you’ve offered me such reassurance, I’ll take the risk and accompany you.”
They walked from the courtyard and took a path that led up the hillside that overlooked the loch. At the top, the laird stopped and stared out over the water.
“My son says I have much to thank you for.”
She folded her hands in front of her, gathering a bit of the material of her
“Are you nervous?” Christina asked as they descended the steps from the keep. “You have no reason to be. The laird seems gruff, and he can be stern when crossed, but he’s fair and very evenhanded with our clan.”
The part that Christina left out was that Mairin wasn’t part of the McCabe clan, which meant that any policies about fair and evenhanded didn’t apply. But she had saved Crispen, and it was obvious that the laird loved his son. She held on to that thought as they rounded the corner into the courtyard.
Mairin’s eyes widened at the site of so many men training. The clash of swords and shields nearly deafened her, and the afternoon sun striking the metal made her squint and wince. She blinked and focused her gaze away from the reflections dancing through the air. When she realized what she was seeing instead, she gasped.
Her hand fluttered to her chest, and her vision went abit blurry. It wasn’t until her tortured lungs begged for mercy that she realized she was holding her breath. She sucked in a mouthful of air, but that didn’t help her light-headedness.
The laird was sparring with another soldier in only his boots and trews. His bare chest gleamed with a sheen of sweat, and a trickle of blood slid down his side.
Oh merciful heavens.
She watched in fascination, unable to make herself tear her gaze away, no matter that it was surely a sin to ogle in this fashion.
The laird was broad shouldered. His massive chest sported several scars. A man didn’t get to be his age without acquiring battle scars. Badges of honor to highlanders. A man without them was considered weak and without courage.
His hair clung damply to his back and his braids swung about him as he pivoted in the dirt to parry another thrust by his opponent. His muscles strained and bulged as he swung the heavy sword about his head and slashed downward. At the last moment, his opponent threw up his shield, but he still buckled under the blow.
The younger man went sprawling, his own sword clattering to the ground. He did have the presence of mind to cover himself with the shield as he lay there panting softly.
The laird frowned but extended his hand down to the younger soldier. “You lasted longer this time, Heath, but you’re still allowing emotion to rule your actions. Until you learn to control that temper of yours, you’ll prove an easy mark in battle.”
Heath scowled and didn’t look appreciative of his laird’s criticism. He ignored Ewan’s outstretched hand and scrambled to his feet, his face red with anger.
It was then that the laird looked up and saw Mairin standing there with Christina. His eyes narrowed andshe felt pinned by the force of his stare. He motioned for his tunic, which Alaric tossed to him from the side. After hastily pulling it over his bare chest, he motioned for Mairin to come forward.
Feeling strangely disappointed that he’d put the tunic back on, she edged closer, all but dragging her heels in the dirt. It was silly. She was a grown woman, but in front of this man, she felt like an errant child about to be called to task.
Guilty conscience. A good confession would clear that up.
“Come walk with me, lass. We have much to discuss.”
She swallowed and snuck a peek at Christina, who performed a curtsy in the laird’s direction before turning and heading back the way they’d come.
His teeth flashed into a grin. “Come,” he said again. “I don’t bite.”
The flash of humor caught her unawares and she smiled broadly, quite unaware of its effect on the men who saw it.
“Very well, Laird. Since you’ve offered me such reassurance, I’ll take the risk and accompany you.”
They walked from the courtyard and took a path that led up the hillside that overlooked the loch. At the top, the laird stopped and stared out over the water.
“My son says I have much to thank you for.”
She folded her hands in front of her, gathering a bit of the material of her
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