DARE THE WILD WIND by Kaye Wilson Klem Page B

arrogant and predatory in the harsh morning light.  As Brenna descended the steps to the courtyard, his tawny eyes swept over her. 
    "You appear a touch pale, Lady Brenna."  His tone was faintly mocking, but he scanned her face.  "Have you suffered some malady in my absence?"
    "Only a lack of air and exercise," Brenna answered tartly.
    He responded with a provoking laugh.  "I thought perhaps you'd languished for want of diversion."
    Brenna bristled at the suggestion she found Lochmarnoch Castle dull once he and his men were gone.  She met the challenge in his look.  "We've had more than enough diversion of late."
    The corners of his mouth tightened.  "Then you don't find the spectacle on the moor instructive?"  His voice had a taunting edge.  "Four battalions are Loyalist Scots, not to mention the militia."
    "Lowland Scots," Brenna shot back.  "And Clan Campbell."   Her scorn for the first was in her voice, and not even an Englishman could be ignorant of the infamy of the Campbells.  The most powerful clan in Scotland, the Campbells had a bloody history, and they were cordially hated by all but their own.     
    The Earl let out a short breath and turned to Malcolm.  "The Scots are so bent on fighting among themselves, the wonder is they have energy to spare to war with the Crown."
    "A habit the King wisely does little to discourage," Malcolm fawned with a laugh. 
    Brenna's face burned with anger.  Malcolm disgraced their father's memory.  Gordon  Dalmoral had been proud to be a Scot. 
    A wooden cart rumbled and clattered into the courtyard, followed by a small escort of men.
    The Earl twisted in his saddle.  "As you can see, Lord Dalmoral, the Duke was quick to accept your generous offer.  The stores you contribute will keep bellies full when we march."
    "It's small sacrifice when my leg keeps me from active duty in service of the King," Malcolm said in a tone of pious regret.
    Half a dozen clansmen jumped to load the cart, hefting sacks of oats and sides of cured beef from the castle's granary and larder.  Malcolm would leave their own rations lean.  New spring calves couldn't be butchered until first frost next fall, and it would be a long wait until harvest.  Huntsmen in the clan would be hard pressed to bring down enough venison to tide the villagers through the coming  months.  Sick and furious, Brenna wheeled to start back up the steps.  Drake Seton's voice stopped her.
    "Perhaps Lady Brenna's temper would benefit from a brief outing."  She whirled back to face him.  "A horsewoman of your mettle must chafe at confinement inside castle walls."
    It goaded Brenna that he could read her so well.  She couldn't in honesty deny it.  She did find the stone walls a prison when she couldn't ride out across the moors.  "Malcolm has forbidden it."
    "These are dangerous times," Malcolm broke in defensively.  "Since the Rebel raid, I've doubled the guard at my gates and made certain my sister remains out of harm's way."
    The Earl swung back to Malcolm.  "Lady Brenna should be safe enough in my company," he said smoothly.  "Unless you doubt the ability of my men to protect her?"
    Malcolm had no choice but to consent.  "With your good right arm to defend her, my lord, I'm content."  He paused.  "If Brenna has any wish to go, I'll trust her to your care."
    Clearly, Malcolm expected her to decline.  Even the Earl's expression told her it would be no surprise if she scorned his offer.  Then abruptly she knew a refusal would be a mistake.
    "I'll accept your invitation, my lord," she said, though the words nearly stuck in her throat.  "Only tell a groom to saddle my horse, and give me time to change."
    Before the Earl had a chance to gloat, Brenna ran up the steps and inside.  When she reached her chamber, she called out for Morag.  "Quick.  Bring my riding habit."   Morag's face betrayed her surprise.  Till now it had hung all but unused in her clothespress.  Brenna pulled at the laces