Timeless Tales of Honor by Suzan Tisdale, Kathryn Le Veque, Christi Caldwell Page B

liking m’laird?”
    He nearly burst out laughing when she batted her eyelashes at him. He somehow managed to maintain his composure as well as his scowl. There was no doubt in his mind that if he had abandoned her here she would find her way to Dunshire. “Do no’ try my patience this day, or any other,” he warned her, knowing she had no idea whose lap she sat upon. Had she been aware of the fact that he would someday be the chief of Clan MacDougall, she would hold an entirely different attitude towards him.
    She did not know why tears welled in her eyes. It could have been from the way he growled his warning or his scowl or from embarrassment. Her attempts at levity had failed and she felt like a fool.
    His heart lurched when he saw the tears. He nudged his horse to go faster for he did not want his men hear what he was about to say. “Lass, I’m sorry.” He was the leader of hundreds of men. It would not do to have them question his authority or might if he melted every time the lass looked at him. “People do no’ normally question me when I give an order. I dunna want my men thinking I’d be swayed by a bonny lass,” he whispered to her.
    Had her face not been black and blue then he would have been able to see the blush come to her cheeks. She dared not ask the question that popped into her mind. Do you really think me bonny? She knew what he meant, that he was a leader of men and he had a certain appearance that he must maintain at all times. Thinking it best to ignore the question burning in her mind, she chose instead to apologize. “I’m sorry.”
    Rowan and Manghus caught up to them. Duncan gave her a slight hug. ’Twas just a little hug, a nudge really and there was no hidden meaning to it. Still, it sent shockwaves spiraling down her spine. “No worries, lass,” he whispered to her.
    “We must hurry if we wish to reach Dunshire before winter,” he told his men as he tapped the flanks of his horse. For a brief moment, Aishlinn wished they would not hurry. She knew that once they arrived at the castle, there would be no other opportunities to have Duncan’s arms wrapped around her.
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    I n those rare moments when she was awake, she would listen to the men as they spoke in their native Gaelic. Aishlinn felt the language had a rough and powerful quality to it and somehow it made her feel closer to her mother. She wished she had been blessed with learning it, but where she grew up people were not allowed to use anything but the English. The king’s edict had been passed not long after Aishlinn had been born. Its simple goal was to squash anything Scottish. Whether it was their language, customs or traditions he’d not allow the lowlanders any of it. They were now part of England and English they were expected to behave.
    They did camp that night, but not for long for they had lost two days by seeking shelter at Aric’s home. After only a few hours of sleep, Duncan gently nudged her awake. It startled her and she let out a slight squeal. “Haud yer wheesht!” Duncan whispered and smiled as he helped her to her feet. He debated whether he should carry her or allow her to walk on her own. He watched her closely for a moment and when he saw she did not teeter to the point of falling, he decided the latter.
    As they walked in the dark, Duncan at the ready should she need his assistance, Aishlinn whispered to him. “Thank you for allowing me to walk.” Although she would never admit to it, she rather liked being carried by the tall Highlander. Duncan noted a tinge of pride in her voice and he was about to whisper “you’re welcome” when she tripped on a rock and nearly fell flat on her face. He caught hold of the back of her tunic, and pulled her upright. Letting out a heavy sigh, he scooped her up and carried her to the horses.
    Aishlinn bit her lower lip to keep from protesting, although she was quite glad to have him hold her. Eejit! She thought of herself. Men like him do not care for