Lyon's Gift (6 page)

“
Shut up.”

Baldwin smiled sheepishly and ducked his
head beneath the branches to spy at the woman once more.

“
Well!” the woman
exclaimed, near enough to be heard now, her brogue soft and
lyrical. She peered down at the bewildered-looking beast. “If Lyon
Montgomerie knows what’s best...”

“
Lyon,” Baldwin began,
“she’s—”

“
Shhh,” Lyon said, not
wanting to miss a word of her discourse with the animal.

“
... he’ll thrust that
venerable sword of his between his puny legs,” she haughtily
informed the beast, “and hie himself back to his bluidy England! We
dinna need another rotten Sassenach about to plague us!”

Lyon raised his brows at her
declaration.

Baldwin turned to him, grinning. “Puny?” he
said low. “I wonder which venerable sword she’s referring to?” His
shoulders shook with ill-suppressed laughter.

Lyon glowered down at his back.

Christ, he’d been called many a thing in his
time, but never puny. Even as a lad, lanky though he might have
been, none but one would have dared call him such a thing to his
face.

And then never again.

Impudent wench.

He’d like to show her puny!

Damned if the mere thought of that didn’t
quicken his loins, and the response took him once more by
surprise.

Provoked him, as well... damn it all, why
should he feel annoyed over her disparaging remark, and feel
compelled to prove himself like some bare-arsed lad with his first
chin hair?

“
Do you think she stole
the lamb from us?”

“
Why would she steal a
single lamb?” Lyon asked, and found himself wondering whether she
was wife or daughter—or mayhap both. Women of her beauty rarely
went unspoken for.

She was nearly upon them now, and Baldwin
whispered lower. “Do these Scots need a bloody reason to
steal?”

Lyon responded with a wry twist of his lips.
The truth was that they didn’t seem to. He certainly hadn’t
instigated the raids between them.

“
Lyon!” the woman spat,
successfully recapturing their attention. “Pah!” She cast a
downward glance at the lamb ambling beside her. “He’s no bluidy
lion!” she declared. “Just a cowardly milksop skulking about in the
dark of night!”

Coward?

“
Milksop?” Baldwin echoed,
and his shoulders once again began to quake.

Lyon ignored the bastard.

“
Why, he cannot even face
them—hah! Lion! Worm is more the like!”

Lyon scowled. Cannot face who? The Brodies?
Damn them all to hell. He couldn’t imagine who else she might be
speaking of, but he hadn’t noticed that they’d made any particular
efforts to face him, either!

“
Steal from my brothers,
will he!”

Brothers.

His brows lifted with comprehension. Baldwin
turned to look at him then and nodded. It seemed she had a reason
after all, bootless though her raid might have been.

Although she’d nearly passed them by now,
Lyon restrained himself still, contemplating his best course of
action. She was merely a woman, and hardly a threat, but he didn’t
think he should simply allow her to walk away with his livestock.
Then again, what retribution could he possibly deliver against a
woman? It was from her brothers he desired satisfaction.

Damn, but if she were in truth their sister,
why didn’t he know of her? He’d made it a point to learn all that
he could about his new neighbors.

Then again, he reminded himself, other than
the fact that the MacLeans had a long-standing feud with the nearby
MacKinnons, these were said to be peace-loving clans, and that
certainly hadn’t turned out to be so. These Scots were bloody
liars.

“
Well,” she continued,
sounding particularly vengeful now, “he shall know soon enough what
it means to deal with Brodies!”

Would he now?

Bloody hell! He suddenly didn’t feel so
charitable. And he’d heard quite enough, besides.

Without warning, he spurred his mount,
startling Baldwin.

“
Where the devil are you
going, Lyon?”

“
To put an end to this
feud once and for all!”

Never mind that only moments ago he’d
reveled in it.

Meghan was so immersed in her discussion
with the lamb that she heard the voices much too late.

Without warning, the foliage parted and the
path before her was suddenly barred by a most fearsome sight.

She froze in mid-stride.

For an instant, she couldn’t speak, so
stunned was she by the horseman’s sudden appearance. She could
merely stare at the devil. By Jacob’s bloody stone, she swore
silently, no man had ever stood so tall in his stirrups! As it was,
she had to crane her neck up at a painful angle in order to see his
face. And sweet Mary, Joseph, and Jesus! What a face it was! In
truth, he looked more like an angel than a devil.

Though swarthy, his skin appeared to be as
soft as the skin of her arse. And his flaxen hair was the richest
gold, though she couldn’t tell its length for it was bound at the
back of his neck. His cheekbones were high and well-hewn, but it
was his eyes that held her transfixed: uncanny blue, they bore into
her very soul. He wore blue, but a blue so dark it was almost
black—blue tunic, blue breeches, black boots. The tunic upon his
chest was emblazoned with a blood-red lion rearing back upon its
beastly little legs—no mail as the English were wont to wear, but
he certainly had no need of mail to look invulnerable.

God’s truth, were her legs not so tangled
within the rope she held so firmly within her fist, she would have
turned and fled.

She swallowed convulsively, and stammered,
“Who... who are you?”

“
Who are you?’ is the
better question,” he countered, his tone furious. “And what the
bloody hell are you doing on
my
land?”

Meghan gulped back a wave of panic. “Your
land?” she asked, trying to sound as calm as she might while her
heart seemed bent upon pummeling its way out from her breast.

He leaned forward over the horse’s withers,
and enunciated slowly and more clearly, lest she mistake him, “My
land.”

Meghan swallowed the knot of apprehension
that rose in her throat. It was Montgomerie himself. Henry’s Lyon
in the flesh—King David’s accursed Sassenach mercenary baron!

Sweet Jesu, it suddenly occurred to her—had
he left her a trap with the lamb?

Nay, why would he do such a thing? she
reasoned. He had nothing to gain by it.

Och, would do it, because he was a greedy,
deceiving Englishman. That was why!

“
What business have you
upon my land, wench? And what are you doing with that
lamb?”

Meghan tried to remain composed, but
fidgeted under his scrutiny. Her heart hammering fiercely, she
searched about for some means of escape, and her heart lurched as
she spied a second man emerging from the thicket. This man was
dark-haired and burly, with eyes that assessed her quite rudely.
Her panic increased tenfold.

“
Well,” she said, fumbling
for an answer, “I—I was walkin’, you see...”

“
Walking?”

“
Aye, walkin’,” Meghan
said, blinking. “I—I was taking a blessed walk.”

“
A blessed
walk?”

The other man laughed. “Is that like taking
a holy shit?” he asked, and chortled at his own childish humor.

Meghan cast him a withering glance.

“
So you were taking a
walk?” Montgomerie inquired much too pleasantly, but with an
unmistakable note of suspicion in his voice.

“
I believe ’tis what I
said, Sassenach!” She was becoming vexed with his annoying echo of
her answers. Nor did she bloody well appreciate his tone any more
than she did his companion’s humor. He spoke as though he thought
her an idiot or a liar, neither of which was acceptable to
Meghan.

“
Did you really?” he
asked, with that same unmistakable air of suspicion.

“
Do you not have eyes to
see with?” she asked, losing her temper. She jerked up the lead
rope to display the evidence, but jerking up the lead rope turned
out to be the wrong thing to do. Tangled as it was between her
legs, she tripped herself and promptly fell upon her
rear.

“
Bluidy rotten rope!” she
railed, tossing it down in a fit of fury. “See what you did!” she
hissed at the animal knowing it wasn’t the poor lammie’s fault. And
still she couldn’t quite help herself. Taking comfort in the fact
that the poor beast couldn’t possibly comprehend what she was
spouting in anger, she railed, “Och, but I should have left ye
there upon the meadow!”

It was all Montgomerie’s fault, she assured
herself, and glowered up at him, her cheeks burning with chagrin
and no small amount of ire.

“
So you found the lamb in
the meadow?” He mocked her still with his tone.

“
Will you stop,
please!”

“
Stop what?” He arched a
brow, as though he thought her completely witless. Meghan
bristled.

Och, but his gaze unsettled her. Those blue
eyes focused upon her too intensely. “Repeating everything I say,
you ill-bred oaf! I’m no bluidy half-wit! Nor am I deaf!”

“
Not mute either—more’s
the pity,” his friend answered blithely.

“
Nay!” Meghan agreed, her
face heating with indignation, “not mute, either, you contemptible
boor!” That he’d professed no more than her brothers had long since
lamented was of little consequence. He was an ill-bred churl to
have said such an insulting thing to her!

Montgomerie smiled darkly. “Now that we’ve
established as much... tell me, do you make it a habit to walk and
talk with animals?”

Meghan blinked, a thought suddenly occurring
to her. Sweet Mary, had he overheard her talking to herself? Did he
realize who she was?

She bit down upon her lip, and fretted.
That’s what she got for being so like her grandminnie—walking about
talking to herself like a bloody loon!

He nodded in her direction. “Give her a
hand, Baldwin,” he commanded his companion.

“
No thank you!” Meghan
declared at once, “I already have two!” She glared up at Baldwin.
“Keep yourself away from me, ye boot-licking toad!”

“
Impertinent wench!”
Baldwin proclaimed, and came after her anyway. “I’ll show you who’s
more the fool!”

Meghan scrambled to her feet. “I may be a
fool, but I vow I will shriek until your ears bleed if you lay a
Sassenach hand upon me!” He continued to advance upon her. “Dinna
touch me, you... you...” She couldn’t think of a terrible enough
epithet to call him. “English codger!”

Montgomerie had the audacity to chuckle.
“Leave her be,” he said to his lackey, and the man halted at
once.

Scowling fiercely at both of them, Meghan
brushed the dirt from her hands, and made ready to flee if the
opportunity arose.

“
Damn it all, Lyon!”
Baldwin protested. “I’ll warrant the wench is in need of a good
spanking, and I’m in the mood to give her one!”

Meghan gasped. “Dinna even think it!”

“
I’ll warrant the same,”
Montgomerie agreed, ignoring her protest. “Though I think I’ll save
that particular pleasure for myself.” His eyes fairly gleamed at
the prospect, and Meghan bristled.

“
Och!” she exclaimed, and
clenched her fists at her sides. Who the devil did they think they
were? These bloody Sassenachs—discussing her as though they had a
right to! If they thought themselves unaccountable for their
actions simply because they were David’s champions, they were in
for a rude awakening, as King David was not well favored in the
Highlands. Whatever fear she’d been harboring dissipated in the
face of her outrage.

“
Greedy rotten bastard!”
Baldwin broke into a wide grin, casting his hands into the air.
“She’s all yours,
sire
.”

Montgomerie frowned and cast him a warning
glare.

“
I am not his!” she
informed them both at once.

The arrogance of men! How dare they discuss
her as though she were a wayward child in need of a good strapping!
Not even her brothers treated her so disrespectfully. “I belong to
no mon!” she assured them both.

Montgomerie’s brows lifted as he turned once
more to face her, and Meghan had the sudden impression that for
once, she ought to have held her bloody tongue. Something in the
way he regarded her made her grimace at her choice of words.

CHAPTER 5

“
Have you no husband?” Lyon’s tone
held no small measure of surprise.

She took a step backward, her delicate brows drawing
together into a lovely frown. “Why should you be concerned with
that, Sassenach?”

Lyon tried not to laugh at her sudden show of
wariness. Not even when he’d appeared so suddenly to block her path
had she regarded him so suspiciously—anxiously, aye, indignantly,
certainly, even a bit fearfully, but not so guardedly.

“
Mere curiosity,” he answered
truthfully, and watched her expression with keen
interest.

“
Aye, well…” She gave him a
narrow-eyed glance and an admonishing nod. “…you know what they say
about curiosity!”

“
Nay,” Lyon replied, unable to
keep himself from baiting her, wicked as his mood was. “I’m afraid
I don’t, wench. Tell me what they say.”