CHAPTER FIVE #4
She could barely believe what she was saying, or that she meant it. At home she carried pepper spray and a gun, but she’d never used the gun except at a firing range. If she had the weapon now, though, she’d use it.
He tilted up her chin, forcing their gazes to collide. “Ye can have as many weapons as ye wish.” He dropped his hand to reach into his boot, and handed her a small dagger. “Take this fer now, but ye willna need it.”
Brie clutched the dagger. As small as it was, it still did not fit comfortably in her hand. But then she hated weapons, and doubted any weapon would feel right.
“Ye’ll live to go home, Brianna. Dinna think so much.”
She looked up at him. His harsh tone had softened ever so slightly. Was he trying to reassure her? His gaze was odd, searching.
He stepped away from her, breaking the moment. “Can ye ride?”
When he wasn’t angry, he reminded her terribly of the old Aidan. She wet her lips, acutely aware of him now. Somehow, the seething army had vanished into an indistinct and jumbled background, as if it were just the two of them standing there. His power tugged inexorably at her. “Not really.”
He had seized a pair of reins from a young page, and led a gray horse forward, not looking at Brie. She wondered if he was aware of that magnetism, too. “She’s docile. Ye’ll ride with me at the start.”
“I haven’t been on a horse since I was five, and then it was a very small pony in a very small riding ring.” She focused on the horse. It was huge. But she wasn’t going to tell him she was afraid of riding because the pony had bolted and she’d fallen off and broken her arm.
He studied her and said, “Get on. I’ll lead ye, or Will can.”
“Great.” She smiled brightly at him.
He handed the reins to Will. Before Brie could blink, Aidan had seized her waist and was lifting her abruptly and setting her down on the saddle. The gray horse snorted, shaking its head, moving restlessly. Brie seized the saddle, her heart thundering.
Aidan palmed her knee while jerking on the bridle. “If ye relax yer legs, ye’ll be fine.”
Brie met his gaze as his hand enveloped her knee.
It was a simple, offhand gesture, but his hand was warm and strong, even through her jeans.
He was grim and unbearably gorgeous. She’d probably never have his hand on her leg again.
Her body warmed and she thought about his hand sliding upward. Being around him was not easy.
He dropped his hand and leapt onto a big, magnificent black charger.
Brie stared, breathless. The animal was as beautiful an example of its species as its master, and it suited Aidan perfectly.
The stallion was explosive and hot, as if it knew they were going to war and it wanted to go immediately.
It pranced and reared, kicking out at the closest horses.
All of them dodged to get out of its way.
Aidan simply sat on the beast, as if allowing it a moment of mischief.
Then he laid his hand on the stallion’s huge shoulder, and it went still.
Brie looked at man and stallion—a magnificent pairing—her heart racing.
He had enchanted the stallion, she thought, certain he was still speaking to the black horse, in some language only the two of them shared.
She would never tire of watching him, she thought.
Then, clearly aware of her watching him, he looked up at her from beneath his thick lashes.
His eyes were hot and bright.
She inhaled. She’d never received that look before, but she knew what it meant. It was sexy and promising and so impossible; it was the look a man gave to a woman when he wanted her.
Suddenly Aidan whirled the black, unsheathing his sword and riding into the fray of knights and Highlanders.
Brie stared after him, her pulse explosive, her heart filled with yearning.
The stallion reared, screaming, pawing the air. “A Dhomhnaill!” Aidan shouted, raising his sword high.
His warrior power abruptly, intensely filled the ward, almost knocking her off the mare. Swept by so much force, Brie held on to the saddle horn, overwhelmed by the power and excitement, by adrenaline and bloodlust.
Four thousand men, within Awe and on the loch’s shores, responded. “A Dhomhnaill!”
His frenzy—and the frenzy of his four thousand men—consumed her. Brie did not move, clutching the saddle. “A Dhomhnaill,” she whispered into the echoing roar, aware of having no will of her own now. He had mesmerized everyone, and she was no exception. Her mind was consumed.
And once more, the black took to the air. Aidan’s sword bit the sun. “A’ Madadh-allaidh à Aiwe!”
“A’ Madadh-allaidh à Aiwe!” the men roared.
The castle walls visibly shook.
And this time, the war cry echoed for long moments, filling the ward, the castle, and cloaking the loch, where the water churned and the ducks took flight. It filled the woods, where the pines danced and wolves suddenly howled. Even the mountains shuddered.
Brie stared at Aidan, who was in a savage euphoria. So was she.
His men roared again. Brie understood the war cry: For the Wolf of Awe!
His blazing eyes swung to hers. He spurred the stallion to her. “We’re ready,” he said, reaching for her reins.
“A’ Madadh-allaidh à Aiwe,” Brie whispered.