Highland Wolf (Highland Brides #10)(6)

Conall was distracted from his thoughts by Claray fidgeting before him on the saddle. The lass was wriggling about like she had a squirrel up her skirts. She was also sighing over and over again, he noted.

“Lass,” he began with concern.

“I got distracted by little Brodie and forgot to . . . er . . . tend to the business we stopped for,” she blurted, interrupting him before he could ask what was wrong.

For some reason Conall’s lips were sent twitching at the babbled confession. He had no idea why. He should be bloody annoyed. Instead, he was amused. But he flattened his lips out to hide his laughter when she glanced back anxiously.

“I realize ye must be angry, but—”

“I’m no’ angry,” he assured her solemnly, ending whatever else she would have said, and then he urged his horse quickly forward around the next bend and another to leave the men back a ways, before steering his mount to the edge of the trees. Conall had barely brought the animal to a halt before dismounting. He then lifted Claray to the ground and stepped back.

She turned and had hurried several steps away before suddenly stopping. Whirling, she rushed back to shove the rabbit at him. “Could you—? I can no’ hold him and—”

Claray didn’t finish. Conall had automatically taken the rabbit when she shoved it at him. The moment his hands closed around it, she broke off her explanation and hurried off into the woods.

Sighing, Conall stared down at the furry creature and then turned toward Roderick, Payton and Hamish as they caught up to him, the other men close behind.

“She got distracted with the rabbit at our last stop and did no’ take care o’ business,” he growled when they raised their eyebrows in question.

The three men exchanged glances, and then Payton commented, “Well, let us hope she’s no’ distracted by another rabbit this time, then.”

“Aye,” Hamish agreed, looking sorely put upon at the thought.

Alarmed at the suggestion, Conall turned to glance to where Claray had disappeared into the woods.

“Have ye told her that her father sent us to fetch her?” Payton asked after several minutes had passed.

“Nay,” Conall snapped, his gaze sliding from the woods to the bunny he held. He felt foolish and awkward standing there holding the damned thing. It wasn’t full grown, too small to make a meal of, really, but it was soft and warm and trembling something fierce. Rabbits were not known to take stress well, and this one was obviously distressed. It would probably drop dead ere they reached MacFarlane, he thought, and hoped she didn’t blame him for it.

“Ye do no’ think she might be fleeing, then?” Payton asked after several more minutes had passed. When Conall glared at him for the suggestion, the younger man shrugged and pointed out, “She seems to be taking an inordinate amount o’ time.”

“Mayhap she’s got herself lost,” Hamish suggested.

“Here, take this and I’ll go find her,” Conall said with exasperation, crossing to Hamish to pass him the rabbit when the man reluctantly held out his hands. Turning on his heel then, he strode into the woods in search of his errant betrothed. It took him several minutes to find her. Or at least her blue-covered bottom sticking up into the air. The lass was on her knees in the grass, her head down near the ground as she poked a hand into the hollow of a tree, feeling about.

Conall halted abruptly at the sight and then gave his head a shake and strode forward. “What the devil are ye doing, lass? Ye’ll ruin yer gown like that. Get up.”

Claray’s behind dropped at once to rest on her feet as her upper body rose and she glanced over her shoulder. She then turned to scoop up something and twisted to hold out her cupped hands and show him what she held. “Look what I found, Laird Wolf. Is he no’ the sweetest thing?”

Conall paused next to her and peered down at the small ball of fine pale silver down in her hands. Recognizing what she was holding, he immediately closed his eyes and prayed for patience.

“He’s so small I near to stepped on him ere I spotted him,” Claray said now. “There was some red brown fur and a patch of blood near him. His poor mother must have been moving him to a new nest when she was attacked and carried off. I was just trying to find her nest to see if he had any little brothers and sisters left behind too. There appears to be a nest of grass and leaves in this hollow, but ’tis empty. It must be the old nest. I considered looking for the new one, but fear ’twould be impossible to find. It could be anywhere and we really do no’ have the time to search properly, so I suppose we’ll ha’e to leave them,” she said sadly.

“And that one too,” Conall growled.

“What?” she asked with surprise, raising a frown his way.

“’Tis vermin, lass,” Conall said shortly. “Just drop it there and let us go.”

“’Tis a stoat kit,” Claray said, scowling right back.

“Aye. Vermin,” he repeated with irritation.

“But ’tis just a babe, m’laird. It’s only got one eye open yet, so ’tis no more than five weeks old. ’Twill die if left on its own,” she protested.

“’Tis vermin,” Conall said for the third time with exasperation. “Besides, stoats as young as that one can no’ stay warm on their own. ’Twill probably die anyway.”