To Desire a Highlander by Sue-Ellen Welfonder Page B

out the sparse patches in his once thick and shining coat.
    Praise the gods she’d brought him with her.
    Poor, sweet Skog wouldn’t have lasted a sennight in her stepmother’s thoughtless, unwilling care. Lady Lorna wasn’t fond of animals. Except beastly ones on two feet who desired only to keep her on her back, ravishing her all the day and night, or so the Castle Sway tongue-waggers swore when the lady wasn’t within hearing. That was often, as Gillian’s father was just as hot-blooded ashis young, high-spirited wife, a lust-driven she-vixen who had no interest in old dogs or her new husband’s similarly aged daughter.
    Lady Lorna desired only to lie abed, though certainly not for sleeping.
    Gillian’s father worshipped her, his duties and family largely neglected as he strove to keep his new young bride happy and satisfied.
    Gillian was as welcome at Castle Sway as a pebble in a princess’s shoe.
    Her only hope was persuading her newly handfasted husband to accept her treasure in exchange for safe passage for herself and Skog to the port of Glasgow. Once there, she’d appeal to her late mother’s uncle, a shoemaker who’d made a good living and name for himself by once repairing the late King Robert II’s boots after he’d damaged them in a fall on the slick cobbles outside Glasgow Cathedral. Impressed by the young shoemaker’s work, the King had sent him trade, his royal endorsement sealing the cobbler’s fortune.
    If he yet lived, he’d help Gillian.
    If he’d died, he’d have family remaining who’d surely aid her. No Scot would turn away blood kin.
    Gillian just needed to reach Glasgow.
    Hoping she could, she went to where a low, rough-hewn table had stood earlier. Centered beneath the room’s only window, the table had held a plate of oatcakes and cheese, along with a jug of wine.
    Someone had shoved the table into a corner.
    In its place, the two Castle Sway crates loomed beneath the tall, narrow window. Ignoring the view beyond—wild, empty desolations, especially watery ones, were herfavorite places—she worked the first crate’s bindings and lifted its lid, her heart sinking as she looked down into the large, well-filled chest.
    Her dread confirmed, she stared at what was surely half of her worldly goods.
    She didn’t bother to open the second chest.
    A fool would know it contained the rest.
    Her departure from Castle Sway and her life as she’d known it had been more rigorously planned than she’d have ever imagined.
    Until now, she’d wanted to hold on to the hope that her father hadn’t brought along the Horn of Bliss to maneuver Donell into a handfast. She’d told herself that her boisterous, proud, and attention-seeking father only sought to impress her much-traveled betrothed.
    Now she knew the truth.
    Including why two of Lady Lorna’s hard-faced guards had joined them on the sail to Laddie’s Isle. Something they’d never done.
    They’d been tasked to secrete the crates onboard and bring them to her quarters.
    Except…
    Gillian looked again at her much-loved dog, this time frowning. Not that her scowl had anything to do with poor, hinky-hipped Skog. Far from it, he was again proving her salvation, helping her in ways even faithful, obedient Skog didn’t realize.
    She was about to prove to Donell what he should’ve known before hoisting his sail and setting forth into the great Sea of the Hebrides.
    The carved-in-stone truth that Hebridean women weren’t fools.
    In his own corner of the room, wee Hamish Martin hovered near the iron stand that held the chamber’s only true illumination, a brightly burning oil lamp. He might be young as mortal men reckoned years, but he’d been about for so long that he was surely as wise as any earthly ancient. Leastways, he hoped that was so. Either way, he was quite certain the oil lamp would help him stay hidden from the lovely lady he already admired greatly.
    He’d learned over the centuries that some people did see him.
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