Snow Raven by Patricia McAllister Read Free Book Online Page A

already taxed to the limit with his bulk, so you shall ride double on Finegas with Mistress Tanner’s man.”
    Merry was still chafing, annoyed, when Ranald turned and went to fetch the big brown gelding he had hobbled to a young oak. The animal was as shaggy as his master, its coat still coarse from the Highland winter, one of the sturdy ponies bred for a rugged environs without consideration for beauty. Merry wrinkled her nose; she was used to her uncle’s fine stables of horseflesh, and this beast was surely as ill-tempered as its owner. As if on cue, the gelding tossed his great ugly head, its eye rolling so the white showed, and she took a step backward as Ranald led it over before her.
    “Mistress Tanner, I offer you the ease of the only conveyance available at present,” he said, and Merry frowned for she was certain she detected a mocking note in his smooth speech.
    She eyed the beast rather warily. “I am not so certain ’tis the wisest course, milord.”
    “Please.” His invitation was kindly enough, but his manner never softened. “I assure you, Uar has never bitten without provocation.”
    Had another spoken those same words, Merry might have smiled, but she was unsure if Lindsay jested or not. “Methinks I would prefer to walk.”
    His dark eyebrow arched, but without another word he walked past her, leading the horse, and paused beside the coach only long enough to retrieve something from the depths of the upturned passenger’s side. He turned and tossed something at her. Merry scarcely had time to react and the velvet cloak glanced off her skirts, but she snagged it at the last second before it ended up in the mud. She stared at him in silent outrage.
    “I believe you may need it, Mistress Tanner. And soon.” Ranald nodded curtly at her before mounting his steed in one swift motion. He settled into place, his strong tanned legs lightly gripping the gelding’s sides, his posture as one born to the saddle. He tugged the hardy animal’s coarse mane, and it obeyed him on cue, wheeling in a half-circle and plodding off through the thick mud in the general direction of what passed for a road.
    With shaking fingers, Merry tossed the cloak around her shoulders and drew the hood up over her head, already feeling the cooling gusts of the incoming storm fast on their heels. It started raining, fat drops glancing off the fine velvet. Mud was already oozing up around her fine slippers; she knew them to be ruined and decided in a fit of pique that Ranald Lindsay and his brat of a younger brother were wholly responsible. Never mind. She would be recompensed in the end, certainly, and if an apology must be won by the point of a blade, so be it.
    With that comforting and rather delicious thought held firmly in place, she set off in the deep tracks left by Lindsay’s mount, determined one ill-bred Scot would never have opportunity to tell others this English rose was not made of the hardiest stock.
     

Chapter Five
    BITTER WIND SLICED THROUGH Merry, tearing at her cloak and skirts. The storm rushed down upon the straggling travelers like a dark wraith, howling and plucking at what courage remained. She clutched her hood beneath her chin with frozen fingers, squinting through the downpour at the figures ahead.
    Jem rode half slumped over Gilbert Lindsay’s gray mare, the younger man steadying him from behind. Though not seriously injured, the driver had obviously taken a beating during the accident. Merry’s gaze moved to Hugo, whose solid bulk dwarfed his little Highland pony, his legs nearly dragging the ground. Twice already Hugo had stopped his mount and gestured, pleading, for Merry to ride instead of him, but she set her jaw and shook her head.
    Riding would merely give Ranald Lindsay something to jeer about later, and she sensed the brooding Highland laird would like nothing more than another reason to dislike her. Though she had yet to uncover the source of his antagonism, she sensed it as clearly as if