Amanda Scott (5 page)

The riders rode two by two and were too few to be a raiding party.

She wished that the moon would dive behind another cloud; but perversely now, it shone brightly on the riders and the surrounding
landscape, revealing that the leaders’ horses had strayed from the track. To her horror, she realized that they were riding
straight downhill now and would pass within a few feet of her hiding place, but until another cloud hid the moon, she dared
not move.

She could hear voices now but could not make out what they were saying, because the wind’s song through the trees had grown
louder. The leaves around her danced and rustled, and the wind was cold against her cheeks.

They were drawing nearer, too near. Tension filled her. She felt as if she should shut her eyes lest her gaze attract someone
else’s, but no sooner did she shut them than they popped open again. She had to see.

The two riders in front gazed straight ahead. Whoever was talking, it was not either of them. One rode slightly ahead of the
other, and Molly was certain that he was the leader. His profile against the moonlit landscape was well etched, proud. He
looked powerful and dangerous, and the way he held himself spoke of great confidence. Broad-shouldered and tall in the saddle,
he wore no helmet, and his windblown hair gleamed darkly in the moonlight. His horse was larger than the one beside it, and
both animals looked strangely familiar. Did she know them?

Her fascinated gaze shifted back to the leader as a gust of wind greater than the others roared across the hillside making
the bush that concealed her seem to part in two. The lead horses were no more than six feet away, the moon was bright, and
when the leader’s head turned slightly, his gaze collided with hers.

To Fin it seemed as if the girl’s face had magically appeared in a whirl of color, forming before his eyes out of the black
night. He had been paying little heed to the route his mount chose, caring only about reaching the foot of the promontory
before heading back to the beach where they had left the coble, to be sure it was secure where they’d left it.

He reined in at once without taking his eyes from her. Despite the bright silvery moon overhead, he could see only her pale
oval face and fear-rounded eyes. The face was enough, though. Full, soft lips, flawless skin, and huge black-fringed eyes.
He wanted her to stand up. His imagination created a slender yet curvaceous, naked body to match the lovely face. His loins
stirred. It was long since he had enjoyed a beautiful woman.

Raising his free hand as a signal to the others to halt, he said in a deep voice that carried with terrifying clarity to Molly’s
ears, “Well now, what have we here?”

Leaping to her feet, she turned to run, but the big horse he rode leaped after her, and she knew that he would easily catch
her. If she waited until he ran her down, she might be hurt and her dignity certainly would suffer. Therefore, she stopped
and turned, straightening her shoulders and meeting his gaze boldly.

His dark eyes gleamed, and the way his lips formed a half smile made him look hungry, even lustful. Responding tension made
her dampen her own suddenly dry lips. She clutched her cloak tighter across her breasts, surprised by the tingling in their
tips as she did so.

“Why, look at her, Patrick,” he said. “She’s a little beauty.”

Molly heard the other man chuckle, and annoyance stirred beneath her fear.

“Let me pass,” she said firmly, taking a step forward.

The man who had spoken drew his horse across her path. “I thought this expedition would prove a complete waste of time,” he
said, “but that may not be the case, after all. Possibly, you can amuse me, lass.”

“I shall do no such thing,” Molly said indignantly, trying to ignore her body’s quivering response to his blatant hunger.
“What manner of man would make such an impertinent suggestion to me?”

He grinned and said, “Why, ’tis myself who speaks to you and no other, so ’tis a fine man, indeed.”

His voice was low-pitched, and the sound of it vibrated right into her, but the sensation eased when more chuckles from his
men greeted his sally.

He ignored them, saying curiously, “How is it that you speak Scot instead of Gaelic, lass. Hereabouts most folks of your class
speak the latter.”

“I speak whatever is spoken to me,” she retorted. “I have always done so, and I rarely pay attention to what language it is.
Moreover, since our laird’s lady comes from Edinburgh, many at Dunakin speak both tongues.”

The man he had called Patrick said with another chuckle, “She’s a saucy one, Fin. I like a wench with spirit.”

The one called Fin laughed. “You like anything in skirts, my lad. I’m of a much more discriminating nature, myself, but I
believe that she might please me.”

“Well, unless you intend to share her, what do you expect the rest of us to do whilst you amuse yourself?” Patrick demanded
in a less respectful tone. “And, too, you’ll delay us considerably unless you mean to take your pleasure quickly.”

“I’ve no cause for haste,” Fin replied. “If what we’ve seen is aught to judge by, making for Dunvegan now means fifty miles
of riding across this island in treacherous moonlight. ’Twould be far wiser to make camp hereabouts, and then I can amuse
myself with the lass until morning. What’s your name, lassie?”

“I won’t tell you, and you will do no such thing,” Molly snapped, ruthlessly ignoring the havoc his attitude, looks, and voice
were wreaking with her senses. “How dare you even think of trying to take me to your bed!”

“I dare what I like, lassie, and do as I please, so take care how you speak to me unless you want to learn quickly just how
much I will dare with you.”

Her body’s reaction to his threat startled her, for the feeling was unlike any she had ever felt before. Muscles tightened
in places where she had not known she had muscles, and jolts of heat flashed through her. At the same time, she wanted to
slap him for his impertinence, but she was not a fool, and he was out of reach in any case. In frustration, she nibbled her
lower lip as she tried to think how to escape.

“I see that you do have some sense,” he said. “Now, I’ll ask you again. What is your name?”

She glowered. “Fin, before you decide to cross the backbone of Skye in broad daylight, perhaps you should consider whether
you want to explain our journey to Donald the Grim,” Patrick said, making her think for a startling moment that even without
knowing her name they knew who she was and had the sense to fear her guardian.

But Fin dismissed the suggestion instantly. “Why should I care a whit about Donald?” he demanded.

“Because,” Patrick said, “if you think we can ride for hours across Skye in daylight without his learning of our presence
here, you’re daft. Moreover, ’tis as likely as not that MacLeod will refuse to admit us when we get there.”

“He’ll admit us. He respected my father, and when he sees the writ I carry, he’ll have no choice unless he wants to anger
the King. Donald will not bother us if we camp near Kyleakin, and my bed will be warmer for some company.”

He grinned again at Molly. “You’ve lovely hair, lass. It gleams like molten gold in the moonlight.”

Trying to ignore a second surge of heat through her body at the unexpected compliment, she told herself he did not mean it,
that her hood had merely slipped and he was just an unmannerly rogue being overly familiar. She was certainly not frightened
of him—or the least little bit attracted to him. He was horrid.

“I shall leave you now, sir,” she said, striving for a note of dignity and reaching back to pull her hood forward again.

“Nay, lass,” he said, bending toward her. “First give me a kiss, and then…”

As he spoke, he reached to catch hold of her upraised arm, but his gloved fingers no more than brushed her elbow when his
horse suddenly reared. Caught off balance and off guard, he flew from the saddle and crashed to the ground, his head striking
it with a sickening thud.

His body lay in a twisted heap, without movement.

The big horse, calm now, turned its head and looked curiously at the still form of its erstwhile rider.

M
olly gaped in dismay at the fallen man as the one called Patrick flung himself from his mount and hurried to kneel beside
him.

“Witch! The lass must be a witch!” The words flew from mouth to mouth, whispers at first, then muttering.

Another man followed Patrick but kept his eyes on Molly as he said, “It be true, Sir Patrick. The lass must ha’ cast a spell
over that horse to make him rear so.”

Sir
Patrick? Molly stared. If Patrick was a knight, then what was his master?

“Don’t be daft, Tam,” Sir Patrick muttered as he shook the injured man’s shoulder. “Mackinnon’s lads warned us this horse
had a temper as wicked as our laird’s. Just because he thinks he can ride anything that… Fin, speak to me!”

No response.

“They did say the beast were unpredictable,” Tam said, “but he recognized his match, for the master did say he were meek as
a lamb! So there could be no other cause for him rearing like that. The thunder stopped long since, and there were naught
else t’ fright him but the lass there.” He paused, but when no reply was forthcoming, he bent nearer to Sir Patrick, adding,
“Be he dead, then?”

Molly shivered. Rogue or not, she did not want the horrid man to die.

“He breathes,” Sir Patrick said, “but he’s got a lump on his head and he does not stir or open his eyes.”

“Don’t sit gaping at him then, you cloth-heads,” Molly said, speaking sharply in her relief. “You there, you two,” she said,
indicating two of the muttering riders. “Go into those woods and cut two saplings of a size a bit longer than your idiot master.
Have you rope or cording?” she demanded of the nearer of the two.

“Aye, mistress,” he replied, responding automatically to the note of authority in her voice.

Sir Patrick looked over his shoulder at her. “What would you have us do with saplings, mistress?”

“You must tie his mantle to them in such a way that you can carry him on it back to Dunakin. He may be badly hurt, but the
castle has a healer who can help him. I will ride his horse if you like.”

Sir Patrick frowned. “The beast seems temperamental, mistress. I’d not advise you to attempt it.”

“Animals do not fear me,” Molly said.

“Even so, I’d advise against it,” he said. “Our men already believe you to be a witch. You speak Scot when they expected you
to speak only Gaelic, and they think you caused their master’s fall. If you now manage to ride a horse that could throw a
rider of his skill, they will be certain of it.”

“I see. Very well, then, but if I follow your advice, will you follow mine?”

“Aye, if you think Mackinnon will take us in. I should perhaps tell you that his welcome earlier was none too warm.”

“I will not believe he denied you hospitality, sir, for no Highlander would do such a discourteous thing,” she said, noting
with satisfaction that the two men she had sent for saplings were already returning.

“We did not request hospitality,” he replied. “Mackinnon gave us supper and lent us these horses, but his manner was not such
that my master chose to sleep under his roof. When we are away from home, we prefer to sleep under the stars.”

She glanced up. The wind still blew, but there had been no more gusts as fierce as the one that had revealed her hiding place.
The clouds were rapidly dispersing, the moon was bright, and a sea of stars glittered overhead.

“Who are you?” she asked quietly, realizing after the words were out that he might demand similar information from her and
not certain she wanted to provide it.

However, if he heard her question, he gave no sign, saying only, “I’ll help them rig that carrier. It should not take long.”

Moments later, the stretcher was ready to receive its occupant. “Lift him carefully,” Molly said when all five moved to help.
“Dunakin’s healer can mend broken bones but only if you do not shift them about too much.”

“I felt nothing that appeared to be broken,” Sir Patrick said, “but you may be sure that we will take care. Shall I have one
of my men escort you to your home whilst we see to our master?”