Highland Warrior by Hannah Howell Read Free Book Online Page A

was not very extensive, but any clan so contentious it was surrounded by enemies would surely have been talked about. Yet, she had never heard one word about them, or could not recall one.
    A brief glimpse of a village to the north of the keep, and an intriguing circle of standing stone to the south, softened the stark look of the place, but not by much. Fiona repressed the urge to shiver as they rode through the gates. Scarglas was certainly strong enough to protect her from Menzies if he was ever able to track her to it. Unfortunately, it seemed that hiding from one man was putting her in the path of many another eager to raze this place to the ground. It might be time to rethink her plan.
    Ewan was just setting her on the ground when a tall man burst out of the keep. He flung open the heavy doors so ominously decorated with iron spikes as if they weighed nothing. Although his hair was white, the resemblance to Ewan was unmistakable. Fiona prepared herself to meet the man who apparently bred children and enemies with equal abandon. She was annoyed when he completely ignored her.
    “Been in a fight, have ye, lad?” the man asked, glancing only briefly at Simon. “Lost the boy, did ye?”
    “Nay, Simon is but wounded,” replied Ewan. “Twas the Grays.”
    “Set a trap for ye?”
    “Nay. I believe they but stumbled upon us and thought they had enough men to beat us.”
    “Hah! The Grays were always fools. So, got yourself a prisoner, eh?” The man frowned at Fiona. “She doesnae look much like a Gray.”
    “We didnae take her from the Grays,” Ewan began.
    “Ah, so ye have finally found yourself a bride. That pleases me, laddie. I was beginning to get concerned.”
    Fiona noticed the heat of a blush darken Ewan’s cheeks. “Concerned about what?” she asked, but both men ignored her.
    “She isnae my bride. We found her, lost and on foot. Decided to hold fast to her until she tells us who her clan is. Then we can ransom her back to them.” Noting the telltale licentious glint entering his father’s eyes as he studied Fiona, Ewan held her by the arm and tugged her a little closer to his side. “Father, this is Fiona. Fiona, my father, Sir Fingal MacFingal.”
    “Fiona what? Of where?” demanded Sir Fingal, scowling at Fiona.
    Fiona scowled right back. “Just Fiona. Tis all I am willing to say.”
    “Tis for the best she isnae your bride, I be thinking, Ewan,” said Sir Fingal, looking Fiona over in a way that made her want to strike him. “Too small, dresses like a wee lad, and she is scarred.”
    It was not easy, but Fiona resisted the urge to cover her scarred cheeks with her hands. The man was insulting, arrogant, and rude, but that was not the reason she was beginning to heartily dislike him. It was the way the man acted concerning Simon that had her aching to kick him. Sir Fingal had appeared completely unmoved by the possibility that the boy, his own son, was dead. He had barely glanced at the boy and, when told that Simon was only wounded, had not even asked where or how badly.
    “We need to get Simon into a bed,” Fiona said, looking up at Ewan. “I need to look at his wounds.”
    “Mab will see to the lad,” Sir Fingal said and he looked toward the keep.
    Following his gaze, Fiona saw a small, plump woman hurrying toward them. Her graying light brown hair was a wild tangle around her round face, and her clothes looked equally disordered. She stopped every few steps to pick up something she had dropped and put it back into the overfilled basket that swung wildly on her arm. If her healing supplies were in that basket, they were now well sprinkled with the dirt from the ground of the inner bailey.
    Just as Fiona was about to curtly order the woman to stay away, she got a good look at the woman’s face. There was a kindness in the woman, a sweetness that Fiona suspected ran bone deep. Mab frowned in confusion as she noticed all the various bandages on the men. Fiona caught a glimpse of