His Bonnie Bride by Hannah Howell (best mobile ebook reader .TXT) 📗

For a moment they simply stood and watched the people of Caraidland watch them. Although somewhat used to stares because of their unusual hair color and catlike eyes, it was, nonetheless, unnerving. These people were, after all, the ancient enemies of the Eldons. It was difficult to guess what thoughts lay behind those steady looks.

"Ye may hold my hand if ye are feeling a wee bit afraid," Phelan said quietly.

Biting back a smile when she recognized yet another of Phelan's attempts to behave as the child he was, yet not lose face, Storm said, "Why, thank you, Phelan. I believe I am feeling a bit faint of heart."

She held out her hand and he clasped it with his, which was not all that much smaller. Storm saw a brief flash of approval in Angus's solemn face. It puzzled her that she should feel pleased.

"They are not like the Northmen, are they?" Phelan asked with a hard-won casualness.

"No, of course not. Where did ye hear tales of those men?"

"From my grandfather. The Northmen oft raided the coast of Erin. They were a savage lot."

"Aye, they were that. These people are not like that. They are not all that different from the men at Hagaleah. We have raided each other and fought each other since the first Eldon set up housekeeping along the border. Ye must not believe all the tales ye are told."

Nodding, Phelan was content for a moment, but then his eyes widened and his agitation grew very apparent. "They may be men like those at Hagaleah, but e'en your father's men—when they catch a woman—with a woman they ..." A glance at Angus's suddenly unreadable face did not aid Phelan at all.

A chill snaked up Storm's spine, but she calmly said, "I would rather not discuss that, Phelan."

Phelan's concern was not so easily quelled. "But ye cannot be blind to the dangers, cousin. Ye must ..."

"I am not blind, but that does not mean I must constantly stare at them either. Acushla, a woman unguarded is ever at risk. I was not safe in my own home. Sir Hugh was not reading me poetry, was he? Let us leave the subject. Allow me my temporary ignorance, for it eases my soul. There is naught we can do about it."

Again they fell silent. Storm struggled to heed her own words while Phelan wished himself a man full grown who might give Storm more of the protection she would need. Though only nine, he was far from ignorant of the way of a man with a woman. He could read the look in the men's eyes, especially in the one named Tavis. That man wanted what Sir Hugh had sought, and he could take it as he pleased.

"Oh, look there, Phelan," Storm cried, honestly surprised but also seeking something to lighten the sad look upon the boy's face. "Is that not the mare called Cornelia? The one so carefully shipped to us from Sussex?"

"Aye, it is," Phelan exclaimed, a grin splitting his face. "I recognize those white markings."

Starting to laugh, even as she wondered how she could, Storm said, "Oh Lord, Lady Mary's personal mount. I wish I was there to see her face when she discovers that the mare was taken. She will be livid. T'will be glorious. Such a pity to miss it."

"Can ye see it?" Phelan began to laugh as helplessly as Storm. "The lady standing about with her gilded saddle and nary a mount to display it upon. I could almost pity that pretty groom of hers come discovery."

" 'Tis sweet justice, is it not?" Storm gasped and was struck by another seizure of hilarity.

Tavis arrived and looked to Angus for an explanation of the prisoners' good humor. Prisoners were not known to do much laughing. As he waited, his own mouth twitched with laughter, for the open, unaffected laugh Storm possessed was infectious. Angus, a rather stolid man not given to laughter, looked very near to joining the cousins in their uninhibited amusement.

"Seems we hae taen Lady Mary's personal mount," Angus explained with a smile.

A grin split Tavis's face. "Have we now." He looked at the two cousins whose remarkable eyes were still bright from laughter only just halted. "Ye are still a wretched wee lass," he told Storm.

"I know. Still, 'tis funny to think of m'lady with her elegant saddle and her personal groom, who was chosen for his beauty and dressed so fine, but no horse. She had the mare brought up from Sussex. She will only ride Sussex mares."

Shaking his head over such wasteful eccentricity, Tavis took her by the arm. With Phelan hovering close by, he led her into the tower house that their laird called home. As they walked, Tavis marveled that she could look so fresh after the long night and the rough trip. It was a strength he would not have attributed to an Englishwoman.

It was a good strong building that they entered, one which Storm felt could withstand most anything if by some miracle an enemy breeched the outside walls. From what she could see as they made their way to the hall, the MacLagans were not without funds. Here was no simple border landholder but a family of power and prestige. Her nose and eyes also told her that ventilation was very good, something not often the case even in the best of fortified residences. She became reluctantly impressed as she was led along the corridor.

The hall filled up quickly when they arrived. After a brief glance around, noting such things as tapestries of excellent quality, rugs from the East and other signs of well-being, she looked at the people seated at the massive head table. She quickly recognized Sholto MacLagan and the laird, although he did not look well, but wondered who the relatively young woman was who looked so imperial and lovely. Phelan's hand slid into hers as Tavis and Iain went to greet their father, leaving Angus