The Warrior Bride by Lois Greiman Read Free Book Online Page B

chaffed Knight’s stout back, and an injured horse was a weakened horse. “You are a dolt.”
    Bending painfully, she lifted a handful of bedding from the floor. Twisting it into a knot, she rubbed circles into the stallion’s neck. Knight sighed and cocked a hip, but MacGowan was less content.
    “Sweet mother,” he said, and yanked her cape aside. “Leave off,” she growled and jerked away, but pain skittered across her shoulder and she stopped to hug her arm against her side.
    He stared at her. “Get to the inn.”
    “Mayhap you’ve forgotten your place, MacGowan.
    You are naught to me. Certainly no one to order me about.”
    “If you do not care for it will fester.” “That is me own choice, then.”
    He shrugged. “I have a rule.” His voice was low so that none else could hear. “Not to allow any maid to die if I’ve recently saved her.”
    They were her own words twisted about and come back to haunt her. “I care not for your rules.”
    “I have another rule. To make certain that the maid tends to her wounds else I’ll expose her as the fraud she is.”
    “Do you threaten me, MacGowan?”
    “Go in,” he ordered. “Your mount will be fine without you.”
    She shifted her gaze to the stallion. “Ill care makes him naught but less valuable.”
    “So ‘tis simply his value you are considering,” he said. “Of course.”
    He snorted.
    “You think I lie?”
    “I think you would have carried the animal on your shoulders had he been over tired.”
    “Coddling is for fools and Highlanders.”
    He cocked his head at her. “And which of those might you be?”
    She considered arguing, but there was that in his eyes that spoke of lies exposed, so she lifted her chin and left the stable while she still could.
    Even though there were lads in the livery, Lachlan saw to the steeds himself, for unless he missed his guess,
    Hunter would blame him if aught was amiss with the dark stallion when she returned. Strange he had not thought her to be the sentimental type, but she seemed firmly attached to the steed called Knight.
    With the horses fed and groomed, he made his way to the inn. Fatigue wore at him as he reached his rented room, but he did not enter immediately, for she would be there, and even in his weakened state, he was entirely unsure he could share a chamber and not be moved. Standing beside the arched door, Lachlan lifted his hand to knock at the portal, but a shuffling noise distracted him, and soon the ancient innkeeper appeared from around a corner.
    “I’ll have me monies first,” he rasped, his hoary fingers outstretched.
    “Of course,” Lachlan agreed, and opening his sporran, brought forth a coin.
    The ancient proprietor took it without a word, but remained where he was. “Well? What be ye waitin’ for?”
    Lachlan glanced toward the door and back. “What’s that?”
    “Go in, ye daft bugger,” he said, and shuffled away. “Oh. Aye,” Lachlan agreed and clearing his throat loudly, pulled up the latch and stepped inside.
    Hunter sat upright in bed, her eyes narrowed and her dirk already in hand. Judging by first impressions, she’d removed nothing but her helmet and sword-maybe her spurs, if he was lucky.
    He eyed her as he crossed the room.
    “Hear this,” she said. “If you so much as touch me hand I will skewer you to the wall.”
    He snorted. “I saw you try to lift your saddle, laddie.
    You’d be fortunate to skewer a fat onion to a trencher.”
    “I am not so wounded that I cannot best the likes of you, MacGowan.”
    “‘Tis good to hear. Take off your cape.”
    She rose slowly to her feet, and damn the luck-she still wore her spurs. “As I said, you’ll not be touching me.”
    They stood nearly nose to nose. “And why is that?”
    “Because I know how men are.” She smiled grimly.
    “In fact, I am one meself most days.”
    “And pray tell, how are men?”
    “Not to be trusted where women are concerned.” “Ahh, that again,” he said and reached for