Chapter Six #2
“Ye are going to wear a furrow in the stones if ye aren’t careful,” observed Mal.
He was standing a few feet away with the horses, arms crossed over his broad chest, an eyebrow raised in amusement. Arran bit back an angry retort. Snapping at his cousin was unlikely to make the lass appear any quicker.
“Too bad for the stones,” he muttered.
With a sigh, he stopped pacing and ran a hand through his hair.
His eyes felt grainy and his limbs heavy from lack of sleep.
He hadn’t slept well, although this was nothing new.
It seemed he’d not had a decent night’s sleep from the moment his father and brother had died and the lairdship had fallen to him.
Yet he felt more out of sorts than usual this morning, full of impatience and irritability, when he ought to be full of hope and enthusiasm.
After all, hadn’t he gone into the future and found a MacFinnan spellweaver?
Hadn’t he convinced her to come back here with him and fix the magic that would save them?
He’d done everything Lir had asked of him and now, surely, there was cause for optimism?
So why did he feel so surly this morning?
Jenna MacFinnan’s face flashed into his mind. In truth, much of his sleepless night had been spent thinking about her, no matter his efforts not to. There was something about her…
Of course there is, he told himself. She’s going to restore the magic and save Skye, so of course you would be thinking about her.
Aye, that must be it. It was most definitely not that lustrous hair of hers, or those deep, intelligent eyes, or that fiery temper, or the way she stood up to him like nobody else did. It was most definitely none of that.
He glanced at the sky. The sun had crested the horizon, a brilliant red orb in a cloudless sky that promised a glorious day to come. And the lass was missing it. He’d been up for two hours already. What was keeping her?
He growled under his breath and was just about to march back into the keep to find her when the door opened and Ingrid came to stand on the top steps, followed a moment later by Jenna. The two women paused and looked out into the bailey, taking in the fresh morning air.
Arran stopped in his tracks. Jenna hadn’t seen him yet, and she and Ingrid shared a word or two and then a soft laugh.
The sound of it sent a strange ripple of…
something… right through Arran’s body. It was as beautiful as the trilling of a robin on a winter’s day.
She was, he noticed with satisfaction, wearing the dress he’d sent up for her.
Just as Rosaline had said it would, the dress fitted Jenna perfectly, accentuating all her feminine curves and the deep burgundy color only highlighted her glossy black tresses.
“Shut yer mouth, my laird,” Mal said sardonically. “Or ye may catch flies.”
Arran cleared his throat and gave his cousin an annoyed glance.
Jenna and Ingrid came down the steps and Arran went to meet them. “Glad ye could join us.” He winced as the words came out sharper than intended and sounded slightly sarcastic. “I… er… trust ye slept well?”
Jenna pulled at the neck of the dress as though uncomfortable. “Fine. I slept just fine. Thanks for asking.” Her tone was stilted and formal and, was Arran imagining it, or did she look a little pale?
“Well, if ye are ready, we had better be going. We have a lot of ground to cover today.”
He led Jenna over to where the horses were waiting. Bran, his huge black gelding, pranced and snorted as Arran approached, wanting attention. Arran reached up and patted him on his sleek neck.
“Easy, boy,” he murmured. “Ye’ll be getting a run soon, I promise.”
He moved over to the smaller white mare, Sunflower, that Mal had been holding. Taking the reins, he led the horse over to where Jenna stood, eyeing the horses suspiciously.
“Can ye mount unaided, or should I have a mounting block brought?” he asked.
“Eh?”
“I said, can ye mount unaided, or should I—”
“I heard what you said. But it sounded like you expect me to ride that thing.”
Arran glanced at Sunflower. The docile mare was drowsing, head hanging down while she waited patiently. “Aye, I expect ye to ride ‘this thing,’ whose name is Sunflower, by the way. How else do ye expect to tour the island today?”
Jenna glanced at Sunflower. “Um. I don’t know how to ride. I thought that was pretty obvious yesterday.”
“I thought that was just because ye were disorientated from the trip through time.”
“Nope. Disorientation had nothing to do with it. Before yesterday, I’d never ridden a horse in my life.”
Exasperation rose up in him. “Then why did ye agree to come riding with me today? In case ye havenae noticed, this isnae yer time, and here we get around by our feet or by horse.”
“Yeah, I noticed!” she snapped back. “But I thought you might have a carriage or cart or something I can ride in.”
“Lass, if we took a cart to tour the island, we wouldnae be back at Dun Tabor before harvest!”
“Well, how was I supposed to know that?”
She glared at him and Arran glared right back.
From the corner of his eye he saw Mal, Ingrid, and the rest of his men watching this exchange with wide-eyed fascination.
It wasn’t often they heard somebody speak to their laird in such a fashion, but this infuriating lass from the future had no fear of him and was not intimidated by his rank in the least.
It was irritating and refreshing in equal measure. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm his annoyance.
“Then ye will have to ride with me,” he said in as polite a voice as he could manage.
She hesitated. “With… you?”
“Aye. Bran is easily strong enough to take the pair of us.”
Jenna looked up at the enormous gelding, and her face paled. “On that?”
Despite himself, Arran laughed. “Aye, on that. Come, I’ll introduce ye. He willnae bite.”
With a dubious expression, Jenna walked over to Bran.
She tentatively held out her hand and the big gelding gracefully arched his neck, lowered his nose, and sniffed her hand.
Jenna let out a delighted laugh and then patted him on the end of his fuzzy nose.
The big horse snorted softly, his eyes closing.
“See? He’s a big softie really, and I think he likes ye.”
Jenna gently stroked the white stripe that ran along Bran’s nose. “He’s beautiful.”
As are ye.
The thought flashed through Arran’s head before he could stop it. He blinked, suddenly caught off balance. Where had that come from?
He turned to Mal. “Take the men and patrol the coast as far as Ransay. Make sure none of the raiders have decided to hole up in the caves out there.”
Mal frowned. “But I thought we were riding out with ye?”
“That willnae be necessary.”
Mal’s bluff face folded into a scowl. “Willnae be necessary? Are ye serious? With what happened yesterday? Those raiders—”
“Will be long gone by now. They wouldnae be foolish enough to loiter around the same area.”
“And if ye are wrong?”
Arran clenched his jaw. “Then I will deal with it. Or do ye think yer laird is so weak he needs the protection of ten men wherever he goes?” His tone was low and full of threat, but Mal didn’t back down.
“I’m sure my laird is more than capable of looking after himself, but he will have our guest with him, willnae he? Can my esteemed laird guarantee the lady’s safety?”
Arran ground his teeth. He knew he was being reckless sending his men away and the sensible thing would be to allow them to accompany him and Jenna on a tour of the island.
But he suddenly didn’t feel sensible. He felt stifled, constrained, and wanted, just for a little while, to be free of the shackles of being the laird. And he wanted to be alone with Jenna.
“Dinna concern yerself with the lady’s safety,” he growled. “I willnae let harm come to her.” And, truth be told, he doubted a MacFinnan spellweaver would need any protection from him.
Mal scowled for a moment longer, but then inclined his head. “As ye wish.”
Arran nodded and turned to where Jenna was petting Bran. “Ready?”
She shrugged. “As I’ll ever be.”
“Good.” He put his hands around her waist and lifted her into Bran’s saddle.
She yelped in surprise and gave him a murderous scowl. “Will you stop doing that? A little warning next time, please?”
“Aye, my lady.” He hid a grin as he got his foot into the stirrup and swung up behind her, settling his weight into the soft leather saddle. Reaching around her, he gripped the reins and then nudged Bran into a walk towards the gates.
Jenna clung onto the saddle horn, leaning forward so she was almost draped over Bran’s neck, and looking so ungainly that Arran had to stifle a smile.
“Straighten up, lass,” he instructed her. “Let yer weight settle through yer hips and sway with the movement of the horse. Ye will soon find yer balance.”
“Easy for you to say,” she muttered. But she did as he instructed, pushing herself upright while still holding onto the saddle horn. It brought her close to Arran, her back only an inch or two away from his chest, so close he could smell the scent of lavender soap on her.
Without looking back, he guided Bran through the gates of Dun Tabor and out into the wilds of Skye.