Charming the Shrew by Laurin Wittig

there had been earlier.
    “Nay.” This time he did smile, and she answered with a silvery giggle.
    “You are not nearly so adept at annoying me as my brothers are.”
    “Is that a complaint or a compliment?”
    She considered for a moment, then shrugged. “I suppose it is a compliment.” She drew the cup from beneath her cloak and smiled as she peered inside it. “I would not wish anyone to aspire to the likes of my brothers, especially Broc, the eldest.” She drank down the water, and he admired the pale, slender column of her throat. She handed him the now empty cup.
    “You do not get along with Broc?”
    She gave a most unladylike snort. “I do not.”
    “I wonder why that could be?” He cast her a sideways glance.
    She stood, her hands braced upon her hips and a look of consternation on her face. “Because he is a loud, nettlesome oaf of a man. He has not the brains to mind his own business, much less the clan’s. Because he thinks that a woman could not possibly have an intelligent thing to say. Because he delights in humiliating—” she stopped and took a deep breath “—everyone.”
    “’Tis glad I am that I asked.”
    “Are you ready to proceed? I would prefer to sleep in a bed this night. I’ve no liking for sleeping in snow.”
    Tayg rose and gave her a mocking half bow. The shrew had disappeared for a few moments and he had glimpsed a softer woman underneath, but the shrew was not long subdued and he found himself grateful for the reminder.
    They trudged along, following the downward path of a burn, iced over except for the trickle of water left in the very center of the streambed. Tayg turned his thoughts to his immediate problem—could he trust her to hold her tongue? It had not taken much effort to set her temper off just now.
    A familiar earthy-sweet odor insinuated itself into his musings. He stopped so quickly the horse’s nose nearly rested on his shoulder.
    “What is it?” Catriona demanded.
    Tayg smelled the air, crisp from the new snow, but tinged with the distinct scent of burning peat. There was just the slightest breeze to mark the direction of the smoke’s origin.
    Catriona pushed her way past the horse through the knee-deep snow. “Well, bard? Why are we stopped?”
    “We need to get off the trail for a while,” he said, quickly calculating what direction they needed to go to avoid whatever dwelling lay before them. He wasn’t ready to test their ruse on living, thinking people just yet.
    “Why? No one follows us.”
    “You do not know that. Do you wish to give the MacDonell a clear path to track you?”
    Catriona looked back at the deep furrow in the snow where they had passed. “But no matter where we go we will leave a trail. Would it not be better to stick to this clear road where others may also pass and cover our tracks with their own?”
    The lass was smarter than he had expected.
    “We cannot chance meeting…anyone,” he said at last.
    Her delicate eyebrows drew down in a look of puzzlement. “I thought we agreed I would act as your sister, and since you are behaving as irrationally as my brothers, I find that will be an easy task.”
    “Aye, so easy you will not remember to mind your tongue.”
    “I will remember.”
    “Even if you do, how can you guarantee that there is no one who will recognize you?”
    “I told you, I have never traveled this way.”
    “Aye, but that does not mean that whomever we chance to meet has not traveled to Assynt.”
    Tayg knew a moment of victory, but it was short lived.
    “Very well, then we must disguise me by more than simply calling me your sister.”
    Tayg groaned. The lass would not give up. But they could not take the chance. “A bard’s sister will have to perform for her keep.”
    “Nay, ’tis you who will have to perform for our keep. I can simply ask hospitality—and offer my brother’s fine skill as a bard.”
    This time it was Tayg who snorted.
    “You have your mission too. How will you report to the