Heat Of The Knight. Jackie Ivie

He’d been lax in not checking first with the auburn-haired woman, though.

      “’Tis a foul morn to be out, Mistress MacHugh.”

      “I think it’s quite lovely,” came the instant reply.

      “There’s nothing lovely about it. There’s not even enough span in front of a man’s face to see if ’tis lovely or not.”

      “That’s exactly as I like it. Keeps me from seeing certain things…like vermin. Our hills are being overrun with such.”

      She was audacious and bold, Langston thought. He wondered if the captain would catch her meaning. With the tight tone of his next question, he knew the man had.

      “Have you a reason for being out and about?”

      “Is it illegal to take a walk now? I’d not heard that of the Crown’s displeasure with us.”

      “Things change quickly at the king’s court, Mistress.”

      “It’s not enough that you take away our right to wear our own setts? Now you’re taking away a morning stroll on Scottish soil?”

      There was a long silence after her snide remark. Langston was at the back of the battalion. He started circling them. The sun was moving, the air was warming, and the mist was dispersing, making it easier to see the ground, and the amount of soldiers the MacHugh lass was facing. He admired her courage and audacity, even if it was a classic case of Highland bravado and stupidity.

      “A stroll about the moors is one thing. The playing of pipes is another entirely. We heard pipes, and such a thing is illegal.”

      She laughed merrily. Langston’s heart twinged with the sound. That was a new experience, and made him catch the reins up, stopping his horse.

      “A woman doesn’t play pipes, Captain. It would require more hot air than any woman possesses.”

      “We heard pipes.”

      “In Scotland’s bogs and marshlands, beset by fog, it’s easy to hear any number of things, Captain. Why, if you venture near Drumossie Moor, I’ll wager you’d hear screams and groans if you’re so inclined. Or so it’s been said. I haven’t tested it. I’m na’ brave enough.”

      “Are you saying there was no piper?”

      “I’m saying naught. I’d a bit of a brisk walk under my belt, enjoying the solitude and getting a good dose of fresh, mist-laden air, and for that I get accosted by a Highland regiment? You say you heard a piper? Well, I simply state it couldn’t have been me.”

      The mist was slimming into fingers of opacity that were caressing the scene in front of him. The lass, Lisle, was atop a flat boulder, making her level with the man on horseback that she faced. She had her shoulders back, and her hands were on the belt on her hips. A MacHugh…she was a MacHugh. Langston ran the information through his mind. There’d been MacHugh clan at Drumossie Moor, where the Battle of Culloden had been fought. There had been scores of them, all decked out in their red, black, and gold plaide…all dead. They were all dead. Langston groaned softly.

      “You saw no one else out here?”

      “Dinna’ you understand the word solitude, Captain?”

      “Very well, actually. It’s the gift we give prisoners of the Crown…when they deserve such, that is.”

      Langston knew a threat when he heard one. She did, too. He had to give his grudging admiration to her, if she didn’t have it already. She was brave. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, looked at the Captain levelly, and smiled. It didn’t look to have much merriment to it.

      “That is not what I’ve heard about your prisons,” she replied.

      “Are you ready to tell us where he went, then?”

      “Who?” she asked.

      “The piper.”

      She sighed audibly. “I must not be making sense. I saw nae one out this morn.”

      “No one?”

      She shook her head slightly. “Nae one.”

      “You’re certain?”

      “Perhaps you should take your helmet and remove it from your ears, Captain. That way you’d not continually ask questions you’ve already received the answers to. It might improve your looks, too.”

      “We heard pipes.”

      His voice was telling of his nonamusement over her gibe. Langston didn’t have to see it, although the sun finally rising over the mountain range behind her was making it easier to do so. It was also turning her hair a brilliant burnished copper sheen.

      “Well, I heard naught. Now, allow me to pass. I’ve bread in my oven, and four daughters to see fed. Not to mention my retainers, my uncle, three frail aunts, and my servants, such as they are.”

      “Answer me first.”

      She has four daughters? Langston repeated it to himself in disbelief. Impossible. She looked about sixteen…maybe seventeen.

      “You Scots are forever for the doing, before the thinking. That’s the reason, you know.”

      She didn’t act like she wanted to ask it, but her curiosity got the better of her. “The reason for what?” she asked finally.

      “Your loss at battle, your loss of a country, and your loss of the right of your men to wear their own…skirts.”

      “They’re not skirts!” she replied angrily, giving Barton what he wanted.

      “Where are the pipes, Mistress?” The captain’s voice was jovial.

      “I saw nae pipes, nor a body fit enough to play them!”

      “Then what was it you were about?”

      “She was meeting with me.” Langston said it loudly, and moved his horse through the mounted troops. They parted easily. It wasn’t due to anything other than surprise and the size of his horse. He didn’t bother with the why of it. He always surprised people, and he’d chosen the stallion, Saladin, for just such a reason.

      She moved her head slightly, and Langston caught a breath as their gazes met. Crystal-clear, sky-blue eyes met his, then dropped to the vicinity of his chest. He tried to tell himself that at least she’d looked at him this time.

      “Lord Monteith.” Captain Barton announced it.

      “Nae,” she whispered as she heard the name. He hoped she wasn’t bullheaded enough to disclaim him.

      “You have a reason for disturbing us?” Langston asked, arriving finally at the boulder. Captain Barton had moved his entire line back more than two horse lengths as he approached. Although it was expected, it was still gratifying.

      “The mistress—”

      “I already told you. She’s meeting with me. We’ve business.”

      “Business?” the captain queried.

      “Of course. Why else?”

      The captain cleared his throat. It was a nervous gesture, confirmed by the accompanying finger he used to pull his collar from his neck. “You conduct business on a foggy morn? Out on the moors? In sight of any number of Scot marksmen?”

      “I’m dealing with a member of the MacHugh clan, Captain. There’s no place better,” Langston replied easily. “I’m not exactly welcome at their table at present, and you already know Highlanders wouldn’t be about with a weapon to shoot at me. It’s as illegal as the playing of our pipes and the wearing of our…skirts.”

      His remarks got him a bit of amusement from the ranks, and he sensed them relaxing. The woman was silent. She could be in shock. He knew why. She wouldn’t want to be within sighting distance of a member of Clan Monteith, let alone being asked to agree that they