drawing Torrian’s attention away from Davina. “Tell me more about the Grants. Surely, they must be weakening. I agree with the Buchan. Alex Grant is quite old.”
“Aye, he is older,” Logan said, “but he still works daily in the lists. His size has not changed. He delights in challenging his three sons and his brothers and their sons. Swordplay is their entertainment. His nephew, Loki, is just a wee bit shy of his height and was given the lairdship of the old Comming land. He’s forming a reputation for himself as the strongest swordsman in the land, second only to the Grant. I was there when he fought Blackett.”
“Being a good swordsman does not mean you are the best leader,” MacNiven pointed out.
“Loki Grant also managed to get himself free of manacles when he was chained in Blackett’s dungeon,” Logan continued, “ and he walked past all of the man’s guards with his knife to Blackett’s throat. None of them dared to go against him. He’s almost as tall and easily as broad as Alex Grant. Do not doubt him.”
“With the right number of warriors, anyone can be defeated,” MacNiven said.
Torrian pursed his lips in thought. A moment later, he said, “You sound as though you plan to go on the offense. Who exactly is it you wish to defeat?”
MacNiven covered quickly. “Nay, not me. Do not be ridiculous. I’m happy leading my clan.”
Torrian had a difficult time believing Ranulf MacNiven. He sounded more like a man intent on getting as much information as possible on the people he planned to attack. He’d backed off too quickly for Torrian to accept his explanation. He doubted he would be happy leading his clan for long. He made a mental note to speak to his uncle later about the MacNiven. Was he top of their list of those suspected of stirring up trouble?
Davina leaned against Torrian again, this time rubbing her breast against his arm. “Must we talk of fighting? Is there not something else I can interest you in, my lord?”
Torrian stared back at Davina. Aye, she was a beauty, her long dark hair hanging loosely in waves over her shoulders, her brown eyes glittering with something that looked a lot like mischief. And he knew her breasts were full since she’d not only shown him, but given him the feel of one as well.
Torrian found himself thinking more and more about blonde hair and blue eyes—or to be exact, one blue and one green.
***
Heather had finally decided that Nellie had healed enough for them to return to their cave. Certain that Torrian would be betrothed when they returned, she thought it best for them to leave. The Ramsays had been very generous, and she did not wish to take advantage of their kindness.
Outside the Ramsay stables, Heather mounted the horse and then reached down to take Nellie from Gwyneth’s raised arms. Gwyneth’s daughters Brigid and Sorcha were riding together, as were Jennet and Bethia, Brenna and Quade’s two daughters. The wee ones were not allowed to ride on their own, though Gwyneth preferred to ride alone in case she needed to use her bow and arrow. Her daughters had strict instructions to run into the forest if aught happened. Three Ramsay guards led the way, and five followed them.
“You are verra kind to travel with us, my lady,” Heather said to Gwyneth as they left the gates.
“Please, do not call me any kind of lady. Do you not see what I’m wearing?” She glanced down at her tunic and leggings, at the warm plaid wrapped around her. “Call me Gwyneth.”
Heather laughed. “Many thanks for the new tunic and leggings, Gwyneth. You are more than generous.”
“And now I can look just like my mama in my new tunic,” Nellie added brightly. Both were now dressed in matching green tunics and brown leggings—a vast improvement over their ragged clothes. She patted her mother’s arm as they cantered through the meadow, and once again, Heather allowed herself to bask in the relief that she was hale.
Heather had stayed two more
“Aye, he is older,” Logan said, “but he still works daily in the lists. His size has not changed. He delights in challenging his three sons and his brothers and their sons. Swordplay is their entertainment. His nephew, Loki, is just a wee bit shy of his height and was given the lairdship of the old Comming land. He’s forming a reputation for himself as the strongest swordsman in the land, second only to the Grant. I was there when he fought Blackett.”
“Being a good swordsman does not mean you are the best leader,” MacNiven pointed out.
“Loki Grant also managed to get himself free of manacles when he was chained in Blackett’s dungeon,” Logan continued, “ and he walked past all of the man’s guards with his knife to Blackett’s throat. None of them dared to go against him. He’s almost as tall and easily as broad as Alex Grant. Do not doubt him.”
“With the right number of warriors, anyone can be defeated,” MacNiven said.
Torrian pursed his lips in thought. A moment later, he said, “You sound as though you plan to go on the offense. Who exactly is it you wish to defeat?”
MacNiven covered quickly. “Nay, not me. Do not be ridiculous. I’m happy leading my clan.”
Torrian had a difficult time believing Ranulf MacNiven. He sounded more like a man intent on getting as much information as possible on the people he planned to attack. He’d backed off too quickly for Torrian to accept his explanation. He doubted he would be happy leading his clan for long. He made a mental note to speak to his uncle later about the MacNiven. Was he top of their list of those suspected of stirring up trouble?
Davina leaned against Torrian again, this time rubbing her breast against his arm. “Must we talk of fighting? Is there not something else I can interest you in, my lord?”
Torrian stared back at Davina. Aye, she was a beauty, her long dark hair hanging loosely in waves over her shoulders, her brown eyes glittering with something that looked a lot like mischief. And he knew her breasts were full since she’d not only shown him, but given him the feel of one as well.
Torrian found himself thinking more and more about blonde hair and blue eyes—or to be exact, one blue and one green.
***
Heather had finally decided that Nellie had healed enough for them to return to their cave. Certain that Torrian would be betrothed when they returned, she thought it best for them to leave. The Ramsays had been very generous, and she did not wish to take advantage of their kindness.
Outside the Ramsay stables, Heather mounted the horse and then reached down to take Nellie from Gwyneth’s raised arms. Gwyneth’s daughters Brigid and Sorcha were riding together, as were Jennet and Bethia, Brenna and Quade’s two daughters. The wee ones were not allowed to ride on their own, though Gwyneth preferred to ride alone in case she needed to use her bow and arrow. Her daughters had strict instructions to run into the forest if aught happened. Three Ramsay guards led the way, and five followed them.
“You are verra kind to travel with us, my lady,” Heather said to Gwyneth as they left the gates.
“Please, do not call me any kind of lady. Do you not see what I’m wearing?” She glanced down at her tunic and leggings, at the warm plaid wrapped around her. “Call me Gwyneth.”
Heather laughed. “Many thanks for the new tunic and leggings, Gwyneth. You are more than generous.”
“And now I can look just like my mama in my new tunic,” Nellie added brightly. Both were now dressed in matching green tunics and brown leggings—a vast improvement over their ragged clothes. She patted her mother’s arm as they cantered through the meadow, and once again, Heather allowed herself to bask in the relief that she was hale.
Heather had stayed two more
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