met, and MacDuff is my lovely auld ram.”
“And your sumpter?” When she frowned, he said, “The second horse you had in the barn.”
Oh merciful saints! He meant Greer’s mount. How could he know there were two? “Ah, you mean Mother’s mare, Maisey. She’s with the smithy now.”
“Odd, I would never have thought you so sentimental…that you’d name beasts.”
Genny arched an eyebrow. “Well, I would never have thought you so unsentimental that you would not name them.”
MacKinnon’s laughing bark, deep and rich, echoed through the canopy, startling not only her but a pair of mourning doves from their perch. “ Touché , m’lady.”
The forest abruptly ended, and they entered a glen awash in sunshine, every frost-coated blade and branch gleaming as if coated in glass. Enchanted by the sight, Genny murmured, “How lovely.”
“Aye. Reminds me of a glen at home.”
Not knowing if she should already know of his home, she said, “Do tell me more.”
He eyed her in speculative fashion for a moment, then took off his helm and ran a hand through his black mane. “I was born on Skye, a lovelier place you’re unlikely to find. I was the youngest of four sons but am now the only one. My eldest brother was called…”
As he spoke, he often gestured and occasionally laughed. She suspected his tale was of a time and place he rarely spoke of, and felt privileged that he’d chosen to share his memories with her. When he spoke of his lost siblings, her thoughts turned to Greer and their awkward parting. How often they’d hugged and laughed in play, and now her twin was gone, mayhap forever. The thought brought burning to the back of her eyes.
Hoping to distract herself, she again focused her attention on MacKinnon and the threat he posed.
His hair, now flowing free in thick waves across his armor-clad shoulders, flashed blue like raven feathers with the simple turn of his head. And his eyes, framed by thick black lashes, weren’t black as she’d first thought in the shadows of her home but were, in truth, a dark sable brown. She smiled, wondering if MacKinnon knew that he and his stallion had the same coloring.
His features, which she’d first thought too sharp and found menacing, appeared somehow softer in sunlight, or mayhap it was only the faint stubble that now lined his square jaw. Nay, ’twas the fact that he was no longer scowling but appeared relaxed. And look at that… His nose had been broken. She decided the slight crook only added character to his handsome countenance.
“A bodle for your thoughts, m’lady.”
“I find you—” Genny coughed to cover her near blunder. The saint’s preserve her! Cursed with frank speech since infancy, she’d nearly blurted that she thought him most handsome. Bad enough she spoke her mind too often at home. To do so now would mean her death.
She really had to pay more heed.
Genny cleared her throat and tried again. “I was thinking you’d make a fine bard.”
The armor plates on his shoulders clinked with his chuckle. “You’re the first to think such.”
Praying she remembered Greer’s information correctly, she said, “Sir Lyle likely thinks so as well.”
“Ah, mayhap, since he instigated most of our mayhem.”
She grinned. Another hurdle crossed.
At the end of the glen, they entered a copse of thick pine where the land dropped off sharply and the path they’d been travelling split into two. MacKinnon took the lead and turned left. Frowning, Genny brought her palfrey to a halt and studied the short shadows cast betwixt trees and the rolling hills in the distance. Shielding her eyes, she then glanced at the sun. “MacKinnon?”
Riding a several yards ahead, he pulled up and turned in his saddle to look back at her. “Aye?”
“You’ve turned the wrong way, m’lord. The sun moves to the west, so we must take that path”—she pointed to her right—“in order to reach Edinburgh.”
“I’ve matters to attend in Glasgow, so
“And your sumpter?” When she frowned, he said, “The second horse you had in the barn.”
Oh merciful saints! He meant Greer’s mount. How could he know there were two? “Ah, you mean Mother’s mare, Maisey. She’s with the smithy now.”
“Odd, I would never have thought you so sentimental…that you’d name beasts.”
Genny arched an eyebrow. “Well, I would never have thought you so unsentimental that you would not name them.”
MacKinnon’s laughing bark, deep and rich, echoed through the canopy, startling not only her but a pair of mourning doves from their perch. “ Touché , m’lady.”
The forest abruptly ended, and they entered a glen awash in sunshine, every frost-coated blade and branch gleaming as if coated in glass. Enchanted by the sight, Genny murmured, “How lovely.”
“Aye. Reminds me of a glen at home.”
Not knowing if she should already know of his home, she said, “Do tell me more.”
He eyed her in speculative fashion for a moment, then took off his helm and ran a hand through his black mane. “I was born on Skye, a lovelier place you’re unlikely to find. I was the youngest of four sons but am now the only one. My eldest brother was called…”
As he spoke, he often gestured and occasionally laughed. She suspected his tale was of a time and place he rarely spoke of, and felt privileged that he’d chosen to share his memories with her. When he spoke of his lost siblings, her thoughts turned to Greer and their awkward parting. How often they’d hugged and laughed in play, and now her twin was gone, mayhap forever. The thought brought burning to the back of her eyes.
Hoping to distract herself, she again focused her attention on MacKinnon and the threat he posed.
His hair, now flowing free in thick waves across his armor-clad shoulders, flashed blue like raven feathers with the simple turn of his head. And his eyes, framed by thick black lashes, weren’t black as she’d first thought in the shadows of her home but were, in truth, a dark sable brown. She smiled, wondering if MacKinnon knew that he and his stallion had the same coloring.
His features, which she’d first thought too sharp and found menacing, appeared somehow softer in sunlight, or mayhap it was only the faint stubble that now lined his square jaw. Nay, ’twas the fact that he was no longer scowling but appeared relaxed. And look at that… His nose had been broken. She decided the slight crook only added character to his handsome countenance.
“A bodle for your thoughts, m’lady.”
“I find you—” Genny coughed to cover her near blunder. The saint’s preserve her! Cursed with frank speech since infancy, she’d nearly blurted that she thought him most handsome. Bad enough she spoke her mind too often at home. To do so now would mean her death.
She really had to pay more heed.
Genny cleared her throat and tried again. “I was thinking you’d make a fine bard.”
The armor plates on his shoulders clinked with his chuckle. “You’re the first to think such.”
Praying she remembered Greer’s information correctly, she said, “Sir Lyle likely thinks so as well.”
“Ah, mayhap, since he instigated most of our mayhem.”
She grinned. Another hurdle crossed.
At the end of the glen, they entered a copse of thick pine where the land dropped off sharply and the path they’d been travelling split into two. MacKinnon took the lead and turned left. Frowning, Genny brought her palfrey to a halt and studied the short shadows cast betwixt trees and the rolling hills in the distance. Shielding her eyes, she then glanced at the sun. “MacKinnon?”
Riding a several yards ahead, he pulled up and turned in his saddle to look back at her. “Aye?”
“You’ve turned the wrong way, m’lord. The sun moves to the west, so we must take that path”—she pointed to her right—“in order to reach Edinburgh.”
“I’ve matters to attend in Glasgow, so
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