Silver Flame

by Hannah Howell

Genres: Historical Fiction; Historical Romance; Medieval Romance; Scottish & Highlander

Synopsis

No one captures the windswept romance of the Scottish Highlands like New York Times bestselling author Hannah Howell. In this dazzling novel, a beautiful young woman fights to regain her birthright--and to resist the rugged knight who ignites her deepest desire. For six years, Sine Catriona Brodie has clung to a vow of vengeance. A pickpocket and street performer by trade, Sine bides her time until she can defeat her treacherous kinsmen. Nothing will sway her from her path, not even Gamel Logan--a tall, lean knight whose hungry gaze and heated embrace stir a longing that is both delicious and distracting. From his first glimpse of her at a roadside camp, Gamel knows that Sine, with violet eyes and hair like silken moonlight, is the soul mate he has sought. Yet Sine insists she belongs to another man, though her eager response to his seduction belies her every word. Gamel pledges to help Sine win back her lands from a cunning enemy, but the greater battle will be convincing her to conquer her past and trust in his enduring love. . . Includes an excerpt of Hannah Howell's upcoming Highland romance, Highland Fire!

Release date: May 1, 2008

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 384

Sample

Scotland, 1380

Silently, cautiously, Sine Catriona Brodie led her half brothers, Beldane and Barre, toward the beckoning light of a small fire. She knew it was dangerous to approach a stranger’s camp, but she and the twins were hungry, cold, and afraid. The wood had been their hiding place for far too long, what sustenance they could find all too sparse for a young lass and growing three-year-olds. Sine Catriona could barely recall the last time they had slept with a fire to warm them, peacefully lost in their dreams. For them every shadow was an enemy.

But they could go no farther now. Driven by desperation, Sine Catriona studied the dark form of the man in front of the fire. His shoulder was to her, so she could see little—except that he was tall. Struggling to be brave, she left her brothers hidden in the shrubbery and stepped forward.

“We approach to request food and a place by your fire, kind sir,” she said.

The man turned and stared at her. One of his dark, long fingered hands rested on the hilt of a dagger but she did not immediately construe that as a threat. Whoever the man was he was handsome, gifted with all that was needed to make a woman swoon. Sine Catriona was young, barely twelve, but she knew that much. So too had she learned how much evil beauty could hide. However, he made no threatening move. Her hunger and that of her brothers persuaded her to take a gamble with him.

“Ye are welcome,” he answered in a deep, rich voice. “I have little but I sense that ’tis more than ye have tasted in many a day.”

“We are quite hungry, sir.” She motioned to her brothers to move closer to the fire.

“Twins?” he asked.

The boys nodded shyly. As they sat and introduced all three of themselves by their first names only, the man handed them some bread and cheese.

“No family name?”

“’Twould be best if our family name wasnae given,” Sine Catriona murmured.

“Child, while ye eat allow me to tell ye of myself. I am Farthing Magnus.”

“Farthing?” She frowned. “’Tis an odd name, sir.”

“My mother told me that a farthing was what it cost a mon to make me. My father was weel born. He tried to do weel by me, his bastard son, and trained me to the life of a warrior. ’Twasnae the life for me, I fear, and his legal family was unsettled by my presence. I thanked my father kindly for his generosity and left. Ye see before ye Farthing Magnus—conjurer and thief.”

“A conjurer,” she whispered, duly impressed.

“At your command, m’lady. And a thief.”

“We are no strangers to that sin ourselves.”

“One must needs survive—as long as ’tisnae from one poorer than oneself.”

“Aye for ye could leave a mon with naught to eat and that could weel mean that thievery becomes murder.”

“How old are ye, child?”

“I am twelve, and the lads are three.”

“So verra young to be roaming this wood unprotected. Where are your parents?”

“My beloved father is wrapped in the cold clay, sir. My mother still lives, curse her eyes.”

“Child, I believe ye have a tale to tell. ’Tis a long night that looms before us. I am but one mon, and one who swears that he would do ye no harm.”

“Nay? Not even for gold in your pocket?”

“I admit freely that I am a thief and that my tongue isnae often burdened by the truth, but I do hold dear to a principle or two. I am not a mon to deal in blood money.”

He did not flinch from her direct, probing look. A self-professed thief and liar could easily speak falsely with complete calm, yet Sine Catriona found that she trusted him. She also knew that, if he did prove traitorous, she and her brothers could not be caught and held by just one man.

In a quiet voice she told him of her mother, a woman twisted by greed and envy. She told him of the murders of her father and the twins’ mother, by hired brigands in the wood and of the poisoning of her grandmother—all at the hand of Arabel Brodie and her lover, Malise Brodie, a kinsman her father had once trusted implicitly. Sine Catriona’s father was barely dressed for burial when Arabel and Malise had wed. Sine Catriona spoke of the slow, painful realization that her own mother hated her, resented her youth and beauty, for Arabel’s own loveliness was beginning to fade. Sine Catriona told Farthing of how she had taken the twins and fled into the night when she discovered that she and the boys were to be her mother’s next victims. With their deaths, all the Brodie lands, fortune, and title would go to Arabel and Malise.

“So ye are left to wander in the woods amongst rogues, vagabonds, and wild beasts,” Farthing said.

“Aye. I could think of naught but escape.” Sine Catriona looked at the twins. “They are but wee bairns.” She smiled at Farthing. “Howbeit, we cannae hide in the woods forever. We search for one who would aid us, one who doesnae cower in his boots and has the armed men we need. There has to be such a knight somewhere and I will find him. Howbeit, ’twill mean some wandering. I ken that weel enough.”

“Aye, but I would guess that ye ken verra little of the wandering life.”

“I will learn.”

“That I dinnae doubt at all. ’Twould be best, how-somever, if ye had a teacher, a tutor.”

“And would ye be that tutor?”

“There could be none better.”

She bit her bottom lip, briefly revealing her fine white teeth. “I cannae wander too far afield for here is all that I must regain when the time is right.”

“There is many a place where I might ply my trade along this strip of land separating the Lowlands from the Highlands.”

“We are a danger to all who might aid us.”

“I may not like the thought of living by my sword, but I weel ken how to wield it.”

“The people we flee deal in poisons and daggers thrust from the shadows.”

“And who kens the shadows better than a thief? And that is what I shall teach ye.”

“Then we should like to wander with ye and, when I regain all that is mine by birthright, I shall reward ye weel.”

“I dinnae do this for reward.” Farthing smiled faintly.

“I thought not.” Sine Catriona frowned. “But then, what do ye do this for?”

“Mayhaps I am weary of being alone.”

“Ye will teach us to conjure?”

“Ye shall be my assistants.”

“And ye shall teach us to steal?”

“As none other can, may God forgive me.”

“It sounds much better than cowering in the wood awaiting my mother’s huntsmen.”

He nodded at the twins. “Do ye think that they understand?”

She ruffled each boy’s golden brown curls. “They understand what death is, Farthing Magnus.”

“That is enough for now.”

Stirlingshire, Scotland, 1386

“I told ye it would be unwise to answer that wench’s invitation,” Sine Catriona Brodie complained, clinging to her seat as Farthing Magnus raced their cart down the road, away from a keep that held an amorous lady and a hotly jealous husband.

“So ye were in the right of it this time. How did ye ken it?”

“With every smile she sent ye ere ye crept off to her chambers, her husband’s countenance grew blacker.”

“I must remember to watch the husband as weel as the wife.”

“Wisdom that is late in arriving is better than no wisdom at all.”

Farthing laughed. “How verra wise.”

“So I thought when I heard it. I dinnae believe they follow us.”

Easing the furious gait of their horse, Farthing peered behind them. “Nay, it seems not, but we shall travel on. He could yet turn his fury our way. I should like to get to the fair still hale and whole.”

“Doesnae it trouble ye that the lady may be beaten?” Sine Catriona straightened her cowl, hastily tucking a few stray silvery curls back beneath its folds.

“She was an adulteress.” He grinned when she gave him a look of disgust.

“Did it ne’er occur to ye to save her from her sins by refusing what she offered?” she asked.

“Why should I go hungry when I ken that the meal will just be offered elsewhere?”

“Lecherous dog. Ye didnae even have time to tie all your points. Your chausses sag.”

“At least I wasnae sent afleeing with my arse bared to the wind and moon.”

“That day may yet arrive. Your ardor may yet send you to hell.”

“As ye age, ye grow more pious,” Farthing drawled.

“I hope to save your soul.”

“My soul is past redemption, Catriona. I will ne’er see heaven, but I am resigned.” He gave a heavy sigh.

She made a soft, derisive noise. “If ye are so resigned, why do ye still visit the priests to confess and attempt penance?”

“Drive the cart.” He thrust the reins into her small, delicate hands. “I must rest,” he murmured, and bent to fix his hose.

After tidying his clothes he slouched in his seat, tugged his hat over his face, and wrapped his cloak about himself. Maintaining the air of one nearly asleep, he eyed Sine Catriona from beneath his lowered hat brim. It was a neverending puzzle to him that he did not lust after her.

In the six years they had traveled together she had grown from a lovely girl to a breathtakingly beautiful young woman, ripe for love and marriage. She had a deep, low voice that brought the glint of desire into a man’s eyes. Huge violet eyes dominated her small, oval face, and were encircled by raven lashes so thick and long that many suspected some artifice had been employed on them. Her figure was slender yet had all the curves any man could crave. The crowning glory to her beauty was her hair, its silver-white waves tumbling from her head to her knees. It always seemed a pity to him that she had to keep it hidden, tucked away for fear it would lead her treacherous mother to her. Everything about Sine Catriona was desirable. She exuded an innocent, subtle, and unpracticed sensuality that drew men to her like wasps to hot, sweet cider. Farthing could recognize all of that, yet felt no hint of passion for her.

The only answer to the puzzle was that she had become as close to him as his nearest kin. Despite the fact that he was just ten years her senior, at times he felt as if she was his child. He supposed some of that feeling arose because he had watched her make that almost magical change from child to woman.

Yet again he felt guilty that he had not, could not, help her regain what her murderous kin had stolen from her. He had not even been able to stop Arabel and Malise Brodie from declaring Sine Catriona and the twins dead. They had feigned an elaborate burial and taken hold of all the money, the lands, and the title. What was more, he felt troubled over how he had taught his charges to live—by theft and trickery. Yet, what choice had he? Those were the talents by which he made his own living.

What she needed was a warrior with a force of skilled, armed men at his command. She had said so while still a child and she had been right. She needed a knight who would not cower in his boots before the evil power of the Brodies, one with the coin, power, and force to battle them and win. She especially needed a knight with the wit to believe in the evil of the Brodies and avoid falling victim to their seductive ways. Farthing knew that, for all his cleverness and skill, he was not that man. Nor could he produce such a knight, though they had searched the border region for years, hoping to come upon the right man for the task. He sighed.

“I dinnae think your knight was at the keep we just fled,” he said at last.

“Nay. How foolish I was all those years ago.”

“Only six,” he whispered.

She ignored the soft interruption. “I was foolish to think I but needed to find a strong knight, one who would help us simply because our cause is just. There appear to be few who have what I need.”

“Mayhaps there are simply too many just causes and ye must wait your turn. Dinnae give up yet.”

“Nay, I will continue to search. Howbeit, at times I begin to think I shall be old and bent ere I find him. Ah, but by then the twins will have become men and can fight to gain what is rightfully theirs.”

“Aye, the three of us could easily carve up your enemy.”

She laughed softly, then after a long silence asked, “Am I to drive all night with no one to talk to?”

“Ye talk and I shall grunt at all the appropriate moments.”

“’Tis plain ye spent all your charm upon that wench we just fled, Farthing Magnus.”

“I still possess charm aplenty. I merely need to rest. My charm isnae at its most glorious when I am weary.”

“Farthing?” She looked his way but saw little, her dark companion well bundled up in his equally dark clothes. “Is it fun?”

“Is what fun?”

“Swiving.”

“And where did ye come by that word, my sweet Catriona?”

“From you, my lusty conjurer.”

“Ah, I must be more careful in my speech.”

“Weel? Is it fun?”

“Aye, ’tis fun or I wouldnae risk so much to indulge myself. I ken nothing of how it fares for women, but to a mon, even the most fleeting and the lightest can be fun. I speak now of only the idle tussle, not the mating of true lovers.”

“Love makes it better, does it?”

“Glorious, child. ’Tis love and passion beautifully entwined. ’Tis ferocity yet tenderness. ’Tis all emotion thrown together in the headiest of mixtures. ’Tisnae just what lurks between the legs that is involved, but the heart, the soul, and even the mind. There is naught to compare. ’Tis glory, ’tis paradise, ’tis the Land of Cockaigne, the sweet paradise upon earth.”

“That is what I shall have,” she vowed as she stared down the night-shadowed road.

“Aye,” he agreed in a soft voice, “I do believe ye will. One such as ye can have no less.”

  

Gamel Logan sat eating in the great hall of Duncoille keep, trying to avoid his stepmother’s eyes. But she was too keen.

“Where are ye hieing to?” she asked him.

“A fair in Dunkennley but a day or so ride from here.” Gamel kissed her smooth cheek.

“A fair? To wenching, ye mean,” Edina muttered, and began to break her fast. She was a tiny, voluptuous woman beloved by everyone in the Logan clan.

Gamel just smiled. As he ate and conversed with his father and half brothers, he waited for his stepmother to say what was on her mind. Since his burly father was unusually quiet, he suspected that what troubled Edina had already been thoroughly discussed with her husband. When Gamel finished his meal, he sensed Edina was ready to speak. He wondered idly if she had thought to save his digestion.

“Ye are eight and twenty now, Gamel.” Edina frowned, then nervously worried her full bottom lip with her teeth. “Ye are a belted knight kenned far and wide for possessing a handsome purse. Hasnae it come time for ye to seek a bride?”

“I have been looking for years.”

Before Edina could respond, the children’s nurse bustled into the great hall, explaining that the youngest Logan had taken a tumble and Edina’s presence was needed. Gamel grinned as Edina grumbled with exasperation and left. He looked to his father to finish what Edina had been struggling to tell him.

“Have ye sought out another possible bride then, Father?” he asked.

William Logan grimaced slightly. “Aye. No promises were made, just a meeting arranged. In a week’s time young Margot Delacrosse will arrive with her kin. They will stay a while.” He shrugged his massive shoulders. “What will be, will be. Dinnae ye want a wife and children? But tell us so and we will leave ye be.”

“I want a wife and a brood of children. I want what ye have, Father,” Gamel added in a quiet voice.

“I have been most fortunate.”

Gamel ran a hand through his auburn hair. “’Tis hard to put into words all that I seek in a woman. I want one who can both enflame and comfort, one I can speak with about anything—even of my fears. I can only keep saying that I seek what ye have found.”

Gamel shook his head before continuing. “Therein lies my difficulty. I suspected that what ye and Edina share is rare, but I didnae ken just how rare. Search though I do, it continues to elude me.”

“Mayhaps ye look too hard, son.”

“Only God can say. Mayhaps I will settle for less one day.” He stood up and smiled at his father. “For now I shall content myself with the pleasures of the flesh. A fair promises many a bonny, willing lass.”

“Aye, and ye were blessed with your mother’s fairness of face and her fine green eyes, so lasses will flock to ye. Go on, but be sure to return in time to meet the lass who journeys to visit with us.”

“I will. No search is done until all stones are turned.” He winked at his father. “I but pray the lass ye invited doesnae look as if she crawled out from beneath one.”

Shaking his head, William chuckled. “I think not. Who goes to the fair with ye?”

“Sir Lesley.”

“Ah, aye—your friend Lesley.”

“Do ye tire of his company?”

“Nay. I like the lad. ’Tis just that he has been here for months. Should he not spend some time at his own family’s keep?”

“He will, but not for a wee while yet. Lesley and his father havenae healed the breach between them.”

“It will ne’er be healed if Lesley continues to hide here.”

“I ken it and so does Lesley. He but needs time to prepare himself.”

“I can understand that. Who else travels with ye?”

“My squire, Blane.”

“No more?”

“I go to a fair, not a battle.”

“Be careful nonetheless.”

“May I go too, Father?” asked Ligulf, William’s slim, fourteen-year-old son.

Raising his gaze to the ceiling, William sighed. “Go, and quickly, ere your mother changes my mind.”

Laughing, Ligulf hurried away with Gamel, who wasted no time in preparing to leave. He knew his father suspected Edina might complain, although she would never try to stop Ligulf. Even she admitted to showing a perilous leniency with her children. His haste was in vain, however, for she stepped out of the keep just as they were about to ride out of the bailey. Gamel hid his grin as she handed them a small pack of what she considered to be necessities for any journey.

Edina looked at the slender Ligulf. “So, ye have decided to travel to the fair with Gamel.”

“Aye, Mama. ’Twill be my first time.”

“I ken it,” she drawled as she turned and started back to where William stood. “Just be verra certain that she is clean and healthy.”

“Mama!”

Gamel joined his companions in laughing heartily as they rode out of the bailey. Ligulf blushed furiously, color flooding his fair skin. The youth’s blushes were only beginning to fade by the time Duncoille was out of sight.

“How did she ken it?” Ligulf asked Gamel, and combed his fingers through his dark blond hair.

“She has been through this before, this change from lad to mon. There was me, then two of our brothers.”

“Aye.” Ligulf finally laughed. “She is too clever by half.”

When they reached the small glen where Gamel had chosen to camp for the night, there was little daylight left. The journey had been pleasant and uneventful, but the crude drover’s trail they had used had left them all weary. Gamel was the first to crest the small wooded rise and see that their campsite had already been taken. He paused, his companions doing likewise, and tried to decide what step to take next. They were still fifteen miles or more from Dunkennley and he had no wish to cover the rest of the rough trail in the dark.

His gaze became fixed upon the maid below who was preparing a meal while two young boys wrestled playfully nearby. There was a sensual grace to her every movement, despite the mundane nature of her work. He had the strongest urge to hurry closer to see her face.

He was just about to give in to that urge when she and the boys were joined by a man on horseback. His mount careened into the small campsite and reared, tumbling him to the ground. Thinking only to help, Gamel started down the small rise. His companions hesitated only briefly before following him.

  

“Farthing!” cried Sine Catriona as she rushed to his side.

She was only faintly aware of the four armed men who galloped into camp and dismounted. Gripped by fear, she focused all of her attention on Farthing. She knelt and frantically searched for a wound or break upon his tall, lean frame. None of the uninvited company drew his sword or spoke a threat so she continued to ignore them.

“Farthing, speak to me,” she demanded, her voice tense with concern. “I can find no injury. Can ye not answer me?”

Farthing hiccoughed.

Sine Catriona gaped at the prone man, then started to giggle. She was not sure whether it was from relief or a sense of the absurd. As the smirk on Farthing’s flushed face grew wider, her laughter increased. She fleetingly noted that her laughter was echoed by the strangers who had so recently joined them.

“Ye wretch!” she scolded. “Ye vile fool! I thought ye were dead or broken asunder.”

“Nay.” Farthing struggled to sit up, hindered slightly by his tangled black cloak. “I have been celebrating.”

“S’truth? ’Tis a fact I ne’er would have guessed for myself,” she said with her hands on her hips.

Struggling to fix his obsidian gaze on the four men behind her, he asked, “Who be they?”

“’Tis a fine time to be asking.” She picked up his black hat and handed it to one of the twins, Barre, to put away. “I dinnae ken. If they were a danger to us, ’tis quite dead we would be by now.” She turned to look at the four men. “If ye meant to offer help ye can see that your kindness was wasted.” She frowned briefly at Farthing. “Howbeit, he may soon be in dire need of aid, for I begin to think that doing him an injury would weel please me.”

Gamel felt a constriction in his chest as he gazed into her lovely, wide blue eyes. “We meant to offer a hand,” he said, struggling to speak. “We had also planned to camp here for the night.”

“There is plenty of room.”

“Thank ye, mistress. Allow me to present myself and my companions. I am Sir Gamel and these are my brother, Ligulf, my squire, Blane, and my good friend, Sir Lesley.”

Nodding her head, she replied, “Catriona, Beldane, Barre, and Farthing Magnus. Ye are welcome to share this place with us. There is food to spare. See to your mounts while I see to this fool.” She began to help Farthing to stand up.

By the time they were all settled around the fire Gamel felt more composed. He could not, however, stop watching her. She had the most beautiful blue eyes he had ever seen. Her voice sent his thoughts winging straight to the bedchamber. The way she moved made his loins ache. He wanted her, faster and with more ferocity than he had ever wanted a woman before. He could not cease wondering if she was the one he had searched for so long and hard.

Then his heart clenched in his chest. She was already claimed by the man, Farthing, whose name she had so calmly linked with her own. She and her man had offered the hospitality of their fire and food. To make any attempt to satisfy his want would be an insult he could not inflict even if it took every ounce of willpower he could muster not to. He sat wondering what color her hair was, wishing she would shed that all-encompassing headdress.

Only once did he look at Farthing Magnus. That man sat struggling to regain some sobriety, yet watching him closely. The look in Farthing’s black eyes told Gamel the man could read his desire and saw it as a threat.

Carefully pronouncing each word, Farthing told Sine Catriona, “I was celebrating.”

“So ye have told us. Celebrating what?”

“A number of things. ’Tis hard to recall now.”

She laughed softly. “Ye ken that ye have no head for drink.”

“S’truth.” Farthing ran a hand through his thick raven-black hair. “Howbeit, I couldnae let those dogs know it.”

“Oh, aye, of course not. And of course they didnae see how cup-shotten ye were.”

“I think they may have guessed.” His fine mouth curving downward as he frowned, he added, “Could be why they offered to bind me atop my horse so I wouldnae tumble off.”

As soon as everyone stopped laughing, Ligulf asked, “Do ye travel to the fair?”

“Aye,” replied Sine Catriona. “This mon swaying before ye is Farthing Magnus, master conjurer. Howbeit, he will be unable to perform any of his craft tonight. ’Tis doubtful he could even relieve himself without fumbling,” she muttered.

“That I can do, impertinent wench, and will do immediately—if the lads will but lead me to the bushes.”

As Dane and Ree helped Farthing to his feet, Ree grumbled, “’Tis verra likely we shall have to fix his aim as weel.”

Sine Catriona could not help but join in the laughter. But hers was short-lived, choked off when her eyes met Gamel’s. She fought to break free of the man’s gaze. There was such desire in his rich green eyes that it frightened her, especially when she felt something within her respond strongly and swiftly to it. She was intensely aware of every tall, lean inch of him. The moment Farthing returned to sprawl at her side, she huddled closer to him. She watched Sir Gamel’s fine long-fingered hands clench tightly when Farthing threw his arm about her shoulders.

“Ye have two fine sons, sir,” Gamel remarked.

“Ah.” Farthing smiled at the twins. “Not my lads, although I often think of them as so. They are Catriona’s half brothers.”

“We are bastards, sir,” Dane piped up. “So is Farthing.”

Giving a small bow of his head, Gamel drawled, “There are many of us about.”

Sine Catriona inwardly sighed, her heart sinking as disappointment set in. She had briefly wondered if he could be the knight she had been searching for. He looked strong, capable. However, as a bastard, he would not command a troop of men no matter what his position in his father’s household, not if there were other legitimate sons. Bastards did not often have the strength or the power she needed so badly. If they had, Farthing could have helped her long ago, for his natural father was a wealthy and powerful laird.

A small part of her was glad of Gamel’s lack of suitability. She feared what might flare between them if they were together for very long. Passion was a complication she simply could not afford.

“Your name is an odd one,” Gamel said, looking inquisitively at Farthing.

“’Twas my mother’s choice. She said it was what it cost my father to make me.” Farthing smiled faintly at the shock the men could not fully conceal. “The sting of that eased many years ago.” He yawned, then said, “To bed, my sweet Catriona. Ye as weel, lads. To your blankets,” he ordered the twins, then looked at Gamel. “Ye, kind sirs, are most welcome to sit by the fire as long as ye wish. Ye willnae disturb us.”

“Nay,” Gamel replied. “We will bed down now as weel. We must rise at dawn. If we start out too late we will be forced to spend yet another night in the wood. I hope ye sleep with your sword at your side.”

“Aye, I do,” Farthing said. “These woods are rife with thieves who would cut your throat just to ease their theft of your purse.”

It was not easy but Sine Catriona hid a smile. For a thief like Farthing to speak so disparagingly of thieves was a little amusing. However, she knew that Farthing’s words were heartfelt. He had only scorn for those who could not or would not lighten a purse without hurting the owner. Farthing considered them the worst of all thieves.

She spread their blankets out close to the fire. One brief, sharp glance from Farthing had told her that tonight they would share a blanket. Farthing had obviously seen the look in Sir Gamel’s eyes. Now he would let the man know that she was not free for the taking. It was the simplest of all their ploys. However, she had never found so great a need to use it before.

That fire in the man’s eyes called out to her. It was not simply lust. Sir Gamel looked as if he thought she was his, as if he thought she would and should understand. What troubled her was that a large part of her saw nothing strange in that.

Keeping her back to the men, she took off her headdress, freeing her hair so that she could brush it out. Sleeping in the coverchief would cause more suspicion than the unusual color of her hair. Carefully she slipped out of the short-sleeved brown dress she wore over her linen chemise, then quickly got beneath the blanket. A moment later Farthing, wearing only his hose and shirt, crawled in beside her. She closed her eyes, struggling to feel safe and calm as he tucked her up against him spoon style.

“’Tis a bad night for me to be cup-shotten, though it does begin to fade,” he whispered.

“’Tis rare that ye overimbibe. Ye need no heady wines to help ye enjoy life. Besides, how could ye ken that we would have visitors?”

“And such visitors. The mon stares our way as if I am the trespasser. ’Tis an odd look, more than lust, I see that clearly enough. Dearling, dinnae flinch or act startled. I am going to place my hand upon your breast.”

“Why?” she asked even as she watched his rather beautiful dark hand cup her breast.

“’Tis a sign all men can read.”

Daring a peek at Sir Gamel, she gasped softly. The glance he sent their way was deadly. She had seen that look before—in the eyes of jealous husbands. Turning sharply into Farthing’s arms, she put her back toward the disturbing man. She wondered fleetingly if they had allowed a madman into their midst only to discover that she did not like the idea that those searing gazes might arise from lunacy.

“I swear, Farthing, he looks ready to run ye through.”

“Aye, he does. Dinnae worry. He is far too polite to do so.”

“This is a poor time for jests.”

“Mayhaps. Settle here.” He arranged her comfortably against his chest. “I am going to rest my hand upon your sweet tail now.”

“Another sign?”

“Aye.”

“Is it wise to goad him so?”

“He must be shown that there is naught for him here.”

“S’truth, I dinnae understand this.”

“I ken it, dearling. Go to sleep.”

“Do ye have your sword at the ready?”

“Why, Catriona, I didnae realize ye felt that way about me.”

She pinched him hard enough to make him grunt. “I speak of the one ye stick in men, knave.”

“Ah, that sword. Aye, ’tis in reach. Sleep, lovely. Just pretend those green eyes of his arenae boring into your back.”

“’Tis far easier said than done. I shall be checking closely for holes there in the morning,” she muttered, but tried to relax, to welcome sleep’s hold.

  

Gamel had been unable to tear his gaze from Catriona since the moment she had unbound her hair. He ached to wrap himself in the thick silvery waves that hung nearly to her knees. His need was so strong, so fierce, that he shook with it. All he could think of was that some madness had s. . .