Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Kenna walked away in a daze. She heard the whistle come from inside the tent and stared at the ground when Monroe hurried past to answer his leader’s call.
Oblivious to others, she hiked up her skirts, climbed onto her horse, and straddled the beast before pushing the cloth over her legs again.
Only then did she notice Kincaid standing slack jawed beside the beast, his fingers clasped to help her mount.
She hoped a smile was thanks enough for his consideration.
He nodded and walked away.
“Jamie,” Duncan shouted. “Trade horses with Lady Kenna.”
Kenna noticed Duncan then. “You do not trust me on this one?”
“I think the destrier may keep ye better occupied.”
Jamie’s jaw fell open. Obviously, he was not accustomed to the request to give up his mount.
The idea of trusting the animal to a woman likely angered him, but Kenna was in no condition to disobey anyone.
She just hoped she could keep Jamie off the list of men who hated her.
Honestly, she was surprised any of them could tolerate her after their reaction at the fire last night.
“This is not even my horse,” Kenna reasoned. “If I had my horse, you would be fools to trust me.”
Tearloch came upon the gathering carrying the plaids from their tent and bedding. After handing off the rolls, he strode straight to her. She worried she had not obeyed Duncan fast enough for the man’s liking, but he only laid a hand on her foot before speaking.
“Ye should have spoken up, my lady, and we would have brought the beast along.” He stroked the top of her foot. It tickled, but she enjoyed the touch too much to pull away.
He regretted leaving her horse behind? Was she supposed to have fit it in the one sack he allowed her?
Of a sudden, she realized this man’s feelings for her had changed dramatically. And in just a day. Was it possible?
But of course it was. Hadn’t her feelings for him changed just as fast?
And then there was Duncan. He’d gone from spitting mad to calling her Lady Kenna.
Perhaps nothing was impossible with these men.
Perhaps, if she continued with them for a while, they might be swayed to her argument.
Perhaps one of them might eventually be willing to help her in her quest to find The MacPherson.
Maybe even Tearloch.
Her feelings for him hadn’t just turned, they’d grown. No, they had swelled. When she looked at him, there was a fullness in her chest she had not known before. Was that for him?
Or was it only because her belly was so empty?
“Forget the horse, man. Have you any food?”
Men chuckled. Tearloch was taken aback. “Ye’re not disappointed about yer horse?”
“Nay. Agatha took it from me years ago. Perhaps one day I shall find another so clever.”
His hand froze. She had no idea why that would make the man scowl again, but it did.
“Give her yer horse, Jamie.” He looked around. “Frazier—no, Leland, give her a pie.”
He reached up to lift her down, but she had swung her right leg over the animal’s head and slid silently to the ground.
Since he hadn’t stepped back, her nose skimmed his chest when she landed.
She paused only long enough to breathe him in once before sidling away and darting over to Jamie and his massive black beast.
She wondered if the young man kept his destrier intentionally removed from the other horses. It must have galled him to do it, but he clapped his mouth shut and held up the leads.
“Beautiful,” she whispered, looking the horse over, itching to touch it.
“Aye, at least that,” he grumbled as he looked her over in a like manner. The sound of Tearloch clearing his throat got Jamie’s attention and, after adjusting the stirrups, he backed away and mounted Kenna’s animal with no further complaint.
She turned to her audience, who seemed eager to see her struggle. It would serve them right if this beast of war killed her. But she didn’t need them to suffer. She needed them to like her, to listen to her. To aid her.
The horse was too wild by half, already anxious from her standing so near. Any pretense at incompetence would truly be the death of her.
Leland appeared with the promised pie, and she devoured it in half a dozen bites.
Then she brushed her hands together and moved smoothly to the horse’s head.
He pushed her away. She laughed and came back.
He pushed her again, then reared to scare her off, but she firmly pulled down on the leather in her hands and gently, forcefully, brought its head lower.
Then lower still, until its long black main nearly hid its face.
Her movements were so slow, so deliberate, that the beast was intrigued. And it was not alone.
Kenna turned away to hide her smile. Did her audience not realize that if the animal wished to, it could toss her high over its back and into the trees? With the grip she had on the reins she was no more than an insect on the end of the line, waiting for a fish to do it in.
She had watched this horse and its rider closely enough to know they were both eager to make a great show. What she did now only gave the horse the attention it relished.
When it seemed certain the beast would bow no further, Kenna’s bare foot came up and stepped on the reins between her hands and the bridle, forcing its nose lower still, until its nose was mere inches from the ground. The mane covered its eyes completely.
Now this is trust.
The men watched, mesmerized, and it dawned on her that the voice she was using to sooth the animal was soothing them as well.
She tried not to laugh at how many men had bowed their heads in sympathy with the animal.
They looked to be in prayer. If only Tearloch were so easily manipulated, he might just help her fulfil that vow that stood between them.
When she sensed the horse’s impatience returning, she removed her foot and slowly allowed its head to rise. When it felt free to, it stamped and threw its nose around. She allowed just enough of a tantrum to draw a gasp from the men, but she knew the animal was only daring her to climb on.
Tearloch held his breath when Kenna moved to the horse’s side.
Kincaid hurried forward to help her mount.
He knelt and offered his knitted hands. Instead of stepping into them, she backed away, got a running start, and jumped onto the man’s tall knee, then his shoulder, then onto the saddle she flew.
Once in the saddle, she parted her legs so her feet could find the stirrups.
He didn’t look to see which men gasped, which choked with laughter, or which of them cheered. He was occupied with prayer. Please, Almighty God, let her stay seated.
If she broke her neck, he would never forgive himself.
The horse screamed and reared, and the woman held tight to its mane and laughed, perched casually on top of a bundle of muscle 17 hands high! But he could see in her eyes she appreciated the danger of the situation. She might be enjoying the game, but she had no intention of losing it.
While the beast stamped and snorted, he and Duncan had to restrain the rest from trying to assist her.
“Which way?” she shouted over the horse’s complaints. Her white clothes bunched above her knees. The sight of her calves had apparently caused the entire company to go deaf.
“What?” Duncan had missed her question, too.
“Which way?” She demanded again from the other side of the horse since the beast had decided to try to spin her off.
Twenty arms lifted to point to the right, and with her bare feet, she spurred the violent monster into a gallop.
Tearloch and the others rushed to their mounts while Jamie shot off after her.
Anything that had not been repacked was left by the side of the road when they all raced away.
It was obvious the winner was anyone who might catch up enough to get another glimpse of those legs.
He'd look a fool if he demanded they all fall back. He’d look a bigger one if he lost the race.