belonged to him, decreed by the king. But Gavin’s advice kept his practical words unsaid.
She reminded him of a frightened horse, proud in its hard-won freedom, unable to see dignity in submission to another. Unable to trust the hand being held out to her.
“So be it. I will ask ye again in two weeks. And ye will say aye .”
Brianna glanced quickly away and he was unable to read her expression, but he knew she was not convinced. He had won the skirmish, but had a long battle ahead of him.
“Let us return to camp.” He stood, and Brianna brushed off her skirts as she rose. Tam yawned and stretched, then padded after her. Falling into step, Conn walked slowly, hoping to extend their time alone, away from the curious gazes of the men. Out of habit, he glanced at the horses standing quietly at the picket lines, reassuring himself they had been cared for. He caressed his stallion’s velvety nose. Embarr snorted and shook his head, then shoved his muzzle into his hand, encouraging the contact.
“He likes ye.” Brianna sounded pleased as Conn stroked the horse’s long forelock.
Surprised at her statement, Conn considered her words. “Aye, I suppose he does. I only purchased him a few months ago, and I am still learning his ways.”
“He is beautiful. Is he from France?”
“Nae. I bought him in Spain. He is an Iberian horse with mixed Barb blood. Bray has several mares from a breeder there, and helped me purchase him.”
Brianna stepped past Conn and reached her hand to stroke the horse’s face. For a heart-stopping moment he hesitated, unsure of the stallion’s reaction to a new person. But the horse leaned over the picket line, his ears pricked forward in interest as he snuffled the palm of her hand.
She laughed, obviously delighted with the friendly overture, and glanced over her shoulder. “What is his name?”
He was taken aback by the vision of Brianna laughing. He’d thought her beautiful before—naked, playing in the water, or wearing a fortune in velvet, bantering with the king. He found himself utterly captivated with her now, in a plain woolen gown, smiling with delight at Embarr’s attention. Though mildly disgusted his horse garnered her pleasure while he did not, he managed to answer without sounding surly.
“His name is Embarr, after Niamh’s magical horse who could run above the ground and water.”
“‘Embarr’ is also the Irish word for ‘imagination’.” She ran her fingers down the long bone of his face and the horse gently tossed his head in response. Again, Brianna laughed, and Conn resisted the urge to twine his fingers in her hair and pull her against him. Being patient proved difficult.
They returned to camp, but Brianna was too tired to sit around the fire and listen to the men’s stories and songs. Normally she enjoyed the camaraderie, the outrageous tales and the ghost stories she’d heard all her life. But tonight she simply nodded to Gavin and the rest of the men and moved to the far side of the fire where she could have a bit of privacy. Arranging her plaide on the ground, she settled down, the low murmur of voices not enough to keep her awake. Tam curled beside her, tucked against her tummy, his furry warmth welcome.
Her plaide slipped from her shoulders, inviting cool air inside the edge of her gown. As she reached to pull the fabric back into place, another hand settled it snug about her neck, and she felt something warm slide against her back. She blinked, trying to make sense of the new heat running from her neck to her knees. An arm slipped over her and a hand cupped her breast. She stiffened with a strangled sound. Tam gave a low growl.
“Wheesht, lass, dinnae wake everyone,” Conn whispered in her ear as he snuggled against her.
“What are ye doing?” she hissed in outrage, now fully awake.
“Keeping ye warm. ’Tis one of my husbandly duties, aye?” He settled more firmly against her, spoon-fashioned.
Brianna shoved him and the confining
She reminded him of a frightened horse, proud in its hard-won freedom, unable to see dignity in submission to another. Unable to trust the hand being held out to her.
“So be it. I will ask ye again in two weeks. And ye will say aye .”
Brianna glanced quickly away and he was unable to read her expression, but he knew she was not convinced. He had won the skirmish, but had a long battle ahead of him.
“Let us return to camp.” He stood, and Brianna brushed off her skirts as she rose. Tam yawned and stretched, then padded after her. Falling into step, Conn walked slowly, hoping to extend their time alone, away from the curious gazes of the men. Out of habit, he glanced at the horses standing quietly at the picket lines, reassuring himself they had been cared for. He caressed his stallion’s velvety nose. Embarr snorted and shook his head, then shoved his muzzle into his hand, encouraging the contact.
“He likes ye.” Brianna sounded pleased as Conn stroked the horse’s long forelock.
Surprised at her statement, Conn considered her words. “Aye, I suppose he does. I only purchased him a few months ago, and I am still learning his ways.”
“He is beautiful. Is he from France?”
“Nae. I bought him in Spain. He is an Iberian horse with mixed Barb blood. Bray has several mares from a breeder there, and helped me purchase him.”
Brianna stepped past Conn and reached her hand to stroke the horse’s face. For a heart-stopping moment he hesitated, unsure of the stallion’s reaction to a new person. But the horse leaned over the picket line, his ears pricked forward in interest as he snuffled the palm of her hand.
She laughed, obviously delighted with the friendly overture, and glanced over her shoulder. “What is his name?”
He was taken aback by the vision of Brianna laughing. He’d thought her beautiful before—naked, playing in the water, or wearing a fortune in velvet, bantering with the king. He found himself utterly captivated with her now, in a plain woolen gown, smiling with delight at Embarr’s attention. Though mildly disgusted his horse garnered her pleasure while he did not, he managed to answer without sounding surly.
“His name is Embarr, after Niamh’s magical horse who could run above the ground and water.”
“‘Embarr’ is also the Irish word for ‘imagination’.” She ran her fingers down the long bone of his face and the horse gently tossed his head in response. Again, Brianna laughed, and Conn resisted the urge to twine his fingers in her hair and pull her against him. Being patient proved difficult.
They returned to camp, but Brianna was too tired to sit around the fire and listen to the men’s stories and songs. Normally she enjoyed the camaraderie, the outrageous tales and the ghost stories she’d heard all her life. But tonight she simply nodded to Gavin and the rest of the men and moved to the far side of the fire where she could have a bit of privacy. Arranging her plaide on the ground, she settled down, the low murmur of voices not enough to keep her awake. Tam curled beside her, tucked against her tummy, his furry warmth welcome.
Her plaide slipped from her shoulders, inviting cool air inside the edge of her gown. As she reached to pull the fabric back into place, another hand settled it snug about her neck, and she felt something warm slide against her back. She blinked, trying to make sense of the new heat running from her neck to her knees. An arm slipped over her and a hand cupped her breast. She stiffened with a strangled sound. Tam gave a low growl.
“Wheesht, lass, dinnae wake everyone,” Conn whispered in her ear as he snuggled against her.
“What are ye doing?” she hissed in outrage, now fully awake.
“Keeping ye warm. ’Tis one of my husbandly duties, aye?” He settled more firmly against her, spoon-fashioned.
Brianna shoved him and the confining
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