Highland Hellion (Highland Weddings #3)(5)

Yet no one came down the row of stalls to investigate. She realized it was the monthly court, and everyone who wasn’t on duty had gone to the great hall to hear the cases being brought before the laird for judgment. It was often a fine evening of amusement. Men fought for the most ridiculous reasons. Women too, but it would be the laird’s daughter-by-marriage who ruled on those cases.

There were two young lads left with the horses, but they were busy enjoying their supper by the fire, far away from the stalls and the straw.

Temptation rose inside her like music building during the market fair. At first, it was only a soft melody, but it quickly became a lively beat as one drew closer. Her heart was accelerating, fed by the way her horse was stamping at the ground.

And the fact that no one was about to judge her.

Did she dare?

Was she foolish to ignore the opportunity? Honestly, she hadn’t known the hours of a day could be so long. Today had felt endless, and now, with the last of the light fading, it felt like freedom came on the wings of the night.

Do ye want to be known as a hellion?

Robert’s words rose from her memory and gave her resolve a firm kick in the backside.

What she wasn’t going to do was squander her unexpected moment of freedom. She turned and looked around again. No one was anywhere near. She smiled as she tugged a shirt off a peg where it had been left by the men who worked in the stable when they changed into their better clothing for the night’s court. It was too large, but she was used to making do. She pleated up a kilt and lay down to buckle it around her waist. A jerkin and bonnet completed her look.

Well, she’d like to have a sword, but such an item was expensive and not likely to be left behind. She’d have to make do with the dagger Marcus had gifted her with. It was a good one, and he’d made sure she knew how to use it. She pulled it out of her garter and happily stuck it through her belt before saddling the horse.

The night beckoned to her with warm air and enough clouds to keep the moonlight low. It was just a ride. A few hours to restore her spirit before she had to resume the role Fate had decided was hers.

Hellion?

Perhaps.

*

“Sure yer sire won’t be tanning yer backside for ye?”

Rolfe McTavish turned his head slightly to the side and sent his captain a half grin. “Only because I did no’ invite him along.”

Adwin chuckled. “Aye, he’d likely do that, sure enough.”

Rolfe reached across the space between the horses and playfully punched his captain in the shoulder. “Let’s get to it before our chance to have fun at the MacPhersons’ expense is wasted.”

“Aye,” Adwin agreed. “What with the Earl of Morton insisting we no’ feud anymore, we get few enough opportunities.”

Several of the McTavish retainers listening spat on the ground at the mention of the king’s regent, the Earl of Morton. The man wanted peace and unity in Scotland, and while Rolfe didn’t disagree with that notion, he wasn’t going to embrace the earl’s methods of forcing marriages on the Highlanders and trying to insist that all the lairds’ sons be raised at court. Morton could go piss himself if he thought Rolfe would let any child of his be taken to that den of serpents.

Not that he even had a wife, but it was the principle of the thing. He grinned as the clouds shifted, darkening the moon. Morton wasn’t the first man to try to suppress the Highlanders.

But he would be another one disappointed when he learned the northern Scots would not bend to his will.

They were Highlanders.

*

Katherine rode farther than she’d intended.

But she was still on MacPherson land when she pulled the horse up. The animal wanted more, but Katherine slipped from its back and rubbed it soothingly. She must not allow it to become lathered. It was still too cold for that to be a wise thing.

Maybe she didn’t know how to turn bread well, but she knew how to treat a horse. She pulled the bit from its mouth to give it a few moments of ease while she walked it toward a flowing river and let it lower its head to drink.

The wind rustled the leaves of the trees as the clouds shifted and blackened the night. It wasn’t darkness that made her nape tingle; no, it was something else. She started to turn, realizing she’d made a grave error in facing the river while the sound of the water might cover the steps of anyone nearby.

The realization came too late. She felt a hard blow land on her head and pain nearly split her in two. She struggled to hold back unconsciousness as she raised her hands to defend herself, but she was slow and clumsy. Her captors laughed as they pulled her away from her horse and looped a length of rope around her. It bound her arms to her chest, and they gleefully added two more loops before tying it off.

“Now that’s a fine prize, to be sure,” one of them declared. “Yer sire is going to blister yer arse, lad, once he pays yer ransom.”

“Wager Marcus MacPherson will take a turn at that too, since ye’re one of his lads.”

There was a course round of amusement at her expense, while the man holding the end of the rope tugged on it and pulled her along with him. She ducked her chin and stumbled after him.

“Look what we have here.”

Someone kicked her in the backside. It sent her sprawling, and with her arms bound, she tasted the dirt as she went rolling.

“Hold.”