her, she was certain her young life would be over.
“Get out of there, you fishwife,” Ian snarled as he pulled at the fabric, trying to get to her.
“I’m not a fish’s wife,” she shouted back. “I’m too young to be married, and I don’t like fish.”
From the depth of the fabric, a musical laugh filled her ears. “I doubt if either of you even knows what a fishwife is,” the voice said.
In an instant, she recognized her savior. Her heart stopping, Maggie widened her eyes at the voice of the laird’s youngest son.
Good heavens, she was sitting on top of Braden MacAllister!
Again.
Scrambling to get up, she accidentally elbowed him in the stomach and kneed him in the side. He groaned, then captured her arm in his hand.
“Easy, now, lass,” he said softly. “Let me get us out of here afore you damage me any further.”
“Forgive me, my lord,” she said hurriedly. “I didn’t mean to kill you.”
“I’m not dead yet,” he said, laughing again. “Though I’m beginning to suspect being around you might be hazardous to a lad’s health.”
Maggie bit her lip as she remembered the last time they had met, just a sennight ago. She’d been up a tree gathering apples when Braden and her brother Jamie had come along. She’d overreached her balance and had toppled out of the tree directly onto poor Braden’s head.
Jamie had called her rotten fruit ever since and had warned her to keep a fair distance from the laird’s son afore she killed him.
She’d tried to do as Jamie had asked, for she liked Braden a great deal. He often brought her small trinkets when he came to visit her brothers Jamie and Anghus, and unlike her brothers, he never tried to truss her up or make her eat worms or other despicable things.
With a few tugs, Braden managed to uncover the two of them.
The first thing Maggie saw was Ian’s enraged face as he lunged for her.
Shrieking, she started to run, but Braden caught her to his side with one hand, while he held Ian back with the other.
“Here, now,” he said to them. “What is all this about?”
Ian held up his toy horse, which had only three legs. “She broke my horse and I’m going to break her head for it.”
“I didn’t mean to do it,” Maggie quickly defended herself. “I told you it was an accident. I fell with it because you were trying to hit me.”
“I wouldn’t have been trying to hit you hadyou not been playing with it, you reeky, mouse-eaten cotquean!”
Braden threw his head back and laughed mightily. “Cotquean?” he asked Ian. “Lad, do you even ken the word?”
Ian poked his lip out. “Aye, me da uses it all the time.”
“And it means?”
“Faint-livered.”
Braden shook his head. “How old are you now, Ian?”
“Seven, same as
her.”
He sneered the word as if Maggie were the lowest of the low.
“Well, then, for future insults, you should know cotquean is a man who does women’s work, and so is hardly fit for insulting your wee sister.”
“Oh,” Ian said sullenly. “She’s still mouse-eaten, though.”
“I’m not mouse-eaten,” Maggie said. “You toad’s pizzle.”
Braden choked on her insult. “Where on God’s precious soil have the two of you been, to pick up such language?”
“Me older brothers, mostly,” Maggie said.
“Someone should have a talk with Jamie and Anghus,” Braden said as he handed the horse back to Ian. “I tell you what, Ian MacBlar, I have a painted horse in my bower. If I give it to you, do you promise to leave your sister alone?”
“Only if she promises not to touch it.” His glare intensified as he stared at her. “Ever.”
Maggie pursed her lips and felt tears prick at her eyes at his words. She wasn’t a bad girl, and she never meant to hurt his toy. “It’s not my fault. I only wanted to hold it.”
She looked up at Braden. “They never let me play with their toys. And since our mother died last winter I haven’t had anything new to play with at all.”
“It’s
“Get out of there, you fishwife,” Ian snarled as he pulled at the fabric, trying to get to her.
“I’m not a fish’s wife,” she shouted back. “I’m too young to be married, and I don’t like fish.”
From the depth of the fabric, a musical laugh filled her ears. “I doubt if either of you even knows what a fishwife is,” the voice said.
In an instant, she recognized her savior. Her heart stopping, Maggie widened her eyes at the voice of the laird’s youngest son.
Good heavens, she was sitting on top of Braden MacAllister!
Again.
Scrambling to get up, she accidentally elbowed him in the stomach and kneed him in the side. He groaned, then captured her arm in his hand.
“Easy, now, lass,” he said softly. “Let me get us out of here afore you damage me any further.”
“Forgive me, my lord,” she said hurriedly. “I didn’t mean to kill you.”
“I’m not dead yet,” he said, laughing again. “Though I’m beginning to suspect being around you might be hazardous to a lad’s health.”
Maggie bit her lip as she remembered the last time they had met, just a sennight ago. She’d been up a tree gathering apples when Braden and her brother Jamie had come along. She’d overreached her balance and had toppled out of the tree directly onto poor Braden’s head.
Jamie had called her rotten fruit ever since and had warned her to keep a fair distance from the laird’s son afore she killed him.
She’d tried to do as Jamie had asked, for she liked Braden a great deal. He often brought her small trinkets when he came to visit her brothers Jamie and Anghus, and unlike her brothers, he never tried to truss her up or make her eat worms or other despicable things.
With a few tugs, Braden managed to uncover the two of them.
The first thing Maggie saw was Ian’s enraged face as he lunged for her.
Shrieking, she started to run, but Braden caught her to his side with one hand, while he held Ian back with the other.
“Here, now,” he said to them. “What is all this about?”
Ian held up his toy horse, which had only three legs. “She broke my horse and I’m going to break her head for it.”
“I didn’t mean to do it,” Maggie quickly defended herself. “I told you it was an accident. I fell with it because you were trying to hit me.”
“I wouldn’t have been trying to hit you hadyou not been playing with it, you reeky, mouse-eaten cotquean!”
Braden threw his head back and laughed mightily. “Cotquean?” he asked Ian. “Lad, do you even ken the word?”
Ian poked his lip out. “Aye, me da uses it all the time.”
“And it means?”
“Faint-livered.”
Braden shook his head. “How old are you now, Ian?”
“Seven, same as
her.”
He sneered the word as if Maggie were the lowest of the low.
“Well, then, for future insults, you should know cotquean is a man who does women’s work, and so is hardly fit for insulting your wee sister.”
“Oh,” Ian said sullenly. “She’s still mouse-eaten, though.”
“I’m not mouse-eaten,” Maggie said. “You toad’s pizzle.”
Braden choked on her insult. “Where on God’s precious soil have the two of you been, to pick up such language?”
“Me older brothers, mostly,” Maggie said.
“Someone should have a talk with Jamie and Anghus,” Braden said as he handed the horse back to Ian. “I tell you what, Ian MacBlar, I have a painted horse in my bower. If I give it to you, do you promise to leave your sister alone?”
“Only if she promises not to touch it.” His glare intensified as he stared at her. “Ever.”
Maggie pursed her lips and felt tears prick at her eyes at his words. She wasn’t a bad girl, and she never meant to hurt his toy. “It’s not my fault. I only wanted to hold it.”
She looked up at Braden. “They never let me play with their toys. And since our mother died last winter I haven’t had anything new to play with at all.”
“It’s
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