have told ye he spoke to yer da. ’Twill only worry ye.”
Gilda chewed her lip. “I love ye, Ma. I am glad ye told me. I promise I willnae worry.”
“Good.” Her ma pressed her cheek then released her. “Now, help me find yer brothers. I must get them washed for supper. I dinnae know how they can get into such messes in such a short amount of time.”
“Aye, I will help ye. And tomorrow I need to take Fia to the village blacksmith to have a shoe checked. I think it is loose.”
“Why not have the blacksmith here take a look at her?”
“I thought I would visit Anise, too.”
Her ma frowned. “I dinnae know what yer da would say.”
Gilda remained silent. She knew exactly what her da would say.
* * *
The noise of the busy village grated on Ryan’s nerves. He was tested in raids and skirmishes with clans bordering the MacLaureys, and he recognized the fine lashes of tension racing through his veins as he awaited Gilda.
Chickens squawked noisily in their wooden crates and pigs herded down the narrow street grunted a low baritone. A high-pitched squeal jerked Ryan’s attention from the blacksmith’s shop. There, just within sight, was a glimpse of red hair amid the throng of villagers, and his heart leapt at the sight. His gaze followed the flaming beacon through the crowd, and he sighed with disgust as a young lad, his arms laden with a stack of fresh-cut peat, proved to be the owner of the brilliant thatch of hair.
A horse nickered behind him, much too close. Ryan whirled, tension fleeing as he encountered Gilda’s sweet smile.
“Ogling boys, are ye?”
Ryan gave her an abashed grin. “I thought ’twas ye.”
Her eyebrows rose in challenge. Ryan’s gaze slid from her dancing eyes to the slender white column of her neck and the deep neckline of her simple, blue dress.
He shook his head slowly. “Nae. The hair may have been the color of yers, but the body could never match.”
A pink flush rose from the scooped neckline and Ryan gave a nod of satisfaction.
“Ye are still a rogue, Ryan Macraig.”
“’Tis why ye agreed to meet me.” Ryan’s eyes locked on Gilda’s and they stared hungrily at one another.
Her horse snorted and stomped a foot, breaking the spell. Gilda laid a settling hand on the horse’s shoulder. “Let me turn her over to the blacksmith. She may have a loose shoe, ye know.”
Ryan gestured for her to lead her horse to the open stall. Heat billowed in palpable waves from the fire pit. He watched Gilda tie her black mare to the post and exchange words with the blacksmith. The burly man gave a curt nod of understanding.
A moment later, Gilda rejoined him. “I have a friend I want ye to meet.”
Ryan frowned. “I dinnae come here to meet yer friends.”
Gilda tugged his hand, her eyes slanting in promise. “Ye will like this one.”
Ryan allowed himself to be led to a tiny cottage on the edge of the village. Gilda rapped once on the door then entered. He ducked his head to avoid hitting the low lintel and blinked against the interior gloom. Peat glowed in a fireplace against one wall, and a petite young woman stared at him with an assessing look.
Gilda gripped his hand tighter. “Anice, this is Ryan.” She turned her gaze to him. “Ryan, this is my best friend. She has given us permission to stay here and talk to avoid meeting anyone from the village who might know me.”
Ryan heard her subtle stress on the word talk , and fought the question on his tongue. Did she really think they would sit and chat like a couple of silly girls?
He dragged his attention to her friend. “’Tis my pleasure to meet ye, Anice. I am grateful ye would give us a wee bit of privacy to talk .”
The lass didn’t seem impressed. “I have known Gilda since we were bairns. I trust ye to treat her honorably.”
“Of course. She has my very highest regard.”
Anice turned to Gilda, her eyes flashing as she tossed a saucy look at him over her shoulder. “Ye watch yon rogue. He
Gilda chewed her lip. “I love ye, Ma. I am glad ye told me. I promise I willnae worry.”
“Good.” Her ma pressed her cheek then released her. “Now, help me find yer brothers. I must get them washed for supper. I dinnae know how they can get into such messes in such a short amount of time.”
“Aye, I will help ye. And tomorrow I need to take Fia to the village blacksmith to have a shoe checked. I think it is loose.”
“Why not have the blacksmith here take a look at her?”
“I thought I would visit Anise, too.”
Her ma frowned. “I dinnae know what yer da would say.”
Gilda remained silent. She knew exactly what her da would say.
* * *
The noise of the busy village grated on Ryan’s nerves. He was tested in raids and skirmishes with clans bordering the MacLaureys, and he recognized the fine lashes of tension racing through his veins as he awaited Gilda.
Chickens squawked noisily in their wooden crates and pigs herded down the narrow street grunted a low baritone. A high-pitched squeal jerked Ryan’s attention from the blacksmith’s shop. There, just within sight, was a glimpse of red hair amid the throng of villagers, and his heart leapt at the sight. His gaze followed the flaming beacon through the crowd, and he sighed with disgust as a young lad, his arms laden with a stack of fresh-cut peat, proved to be the owner of the brilliant thatch of hair.
A horse nickered behind him, much too close. Ryan whirled, tension fleeing as he encountered Gilda’s sweet smile.
“Ogling boys, are ye?”
Ryan gave her an abashed grin. “I thought ’twas ye.”
Her eyebrows rose in challenge. Ryan’s gaze slid from her dancing eyes to the slender white column of her neck and the deep neckline of her simple, blue dress.
He shook his head slowly. “Nae. The hair may have been the color of yers, but the body could never match.”
A pink flush rose from the scooped neckline and Ryan gave a nod of satisfaction.
“Ye are still a rogue, Ryan Macraig.”
“’Tis why ye agreed to meet me.” Ryan’s eyes locked on Gilda’s and they stared hungrily at one another.
Her horse snorted and stomped a foot, breaking the spell. Gilda laid a settling hand on the horse’s shoulder. “Let me turn her over to the blacksmith. She may have a loose shoe, ye know.”
Ryan gestured for her to lead her horse to the open stall. Heat billowed in palpable waves from the fire pit. He watched Gilda tie her black mare to the post and exchange words with the blacksmith. The burly man gave a curt nod of understanding.
A moment later, Gilda rejoined him. “I have a friend I want ye to meet.”
Ryan frowned. “I dinnae come here to meet yer friends.”
Gilda tugged his hand, her eyes slanting in promise. “Ye will like this one.”
Ryan allowed himself to be led to a tiny cottage on the edge of the village. Gilda rapped once on the door then entered. He ducked his head to avoid hitting the low lintel and blinked against the interior gloom. Peat glowed in a fireplace against one wall, and a petite young woman stared at him with an assessing look.
Gilda gripped his hand tighter. “Anice, this is Ryan.” She turned her gaze to him. “Ryan, this is my best friend. She has given us permission to stay here and talk to avoid meeting anyone from the village who might know me.”
Ryan heard her subtle stress on the word talk , and fought the question on his tongue. Did she really think they would sit and chat like a couple of silly girls?
He dragged his attention to her friend. “’Tis my pleasure to meet ye, Anice. I am grateful ye would give us a wee bit of privacy to talk .”
The lass didn’t seem impressed. “I have known Gilda since we were bairns. I trust ye to treat her honorably.”
“Of course. She has my very highest regard.”
Anice turned to Gilda, her eyes flashing as she tossed a saucy look at him over her shoulder. “Ye watch yon rogue. He
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