Snow Raven by Patricia McAllister Read Free Book Online Page B

he had called her a Tudor strumpet before the entire Court. One had only to feel those piercing dark eyes fix on their spine, to know how it felt to be disdained and despised.
    Merry shivered, skirts swaying to a halt as she encountered another miniature lake in the road. Within moments of her pausing, the others vanished into the deepening mist which had rolled down from the Welsh hills with the oncoming twilight. She heard a murmur of voices and assumed she could catch up easily enough. A moment’s rest, surely, was not amiss. Her legs ached, muscles tense from the cold and damp, and she eyed a nearby copse longingly.
    Just a respite from the rain would be welcome, so she picked up her hoops again, and picked her way through the mire, having long ago decided it was best not to think about how she must look after the events of this day. Wearily Merry ducked beneath some low-hanging branches, then eased herself into a small clearing where the tree cover lessened the rain to an occasional droplet. She pushed back her hood and shook out her hair, feeling the damp locks tumble free of what little remained of her coiffure. Mist curled about her, and had she not been so exhausted and miserable, she might have been frightened by the deepening silence of the darkened wood.
    Instead, she leaned against a young alder, letting the tree serve for support. Certainly there was none other she could count upon. Were Sir Jasper here, Merry assured herself, he would have gallantly tossed his cloak in the mire as Raleigh had for the queen, thus preserving her delicate little slippers and her dignity in one fell swoop.
    Whereas the laird of Lindsay abandoned a lady to her own devices. Merry sniffed at the unbidden reminder of her adverse circumstances, conveniently forgetting it was she who had refused the offer of a steed.
    A dark figure stepped from the curtain of mist before her eyes, startling Merry. She was unaware of another presence there at all until he spoke.
    “Mistress Tanner, are you unwell?”
    Merry might have imagined concern in Lindsay’s deep voice, but knew better. Her challenging gaze met his level one, and for a moment they simply regarded each other with a wary, mutual respect.
    “Nay, sirrah. I but decided to avail myself of a break from the enforced march.”
    Merry spoke lightly, but her tone betrayed her pique. She no longer cared what Lindsay thought of her; indeed, she was eager to be quit of his company as well.
    Something suspiciously close to a smile touched the corners of his mouth. Beautifully shaped lips, she noted resentfully, the lower one full and slightly reddened as if a bee had stung it and flew away. His dark hair glistened with rain, and even at a distance she caught the scent of him, hauntingly familiar now though they had only the briefest of acquaintances.
    “I must needs remind the lady she had the option of riding.”
    Aye, trust him to toss that in her face! Merry stiffened, her gaze never leaving his. “I assume I delay your journey, milord?”
    “Not at all. I have, in fact, taken the liberty of sending the others ahead. I fear your man is not doing well.”
    “Jem looked uncommonly pale,” Merry agreed, frowning with concern.
    “Precisely why I instructed Gilbert and Hugo to ride on and see him settled for the night in a village or inn. Warmth is what he needs now, warmth and rest and plenty of quiet.”
    She nodded. It was difficult, nigh impossible, to ignore Ranald Lindsay looming over her, making her feel absurdly petite by comparison. Something about the man set her heart racing and yet raised an instinctive alarm, causing mixed feelings and confusing her senses. Perhaps it was the intimacy of the misty little clearing, the pressing of heavy air around them swirling her up in a maelstrom of emotion.
    “We should forge on as well.” Merry was dismayed at the sound of her own voice, breathless and too rushed to pass for the cool mien she was renowned for at Court. She glimpsed a