A Knight Well Spent. Jackie Ivie

nothing about the shawl muted or covered it. The sound of his grunt verified it for her.

      Aislynn couldn’t think of one more thing to do or say. She waited.

      “Come. I have something to show you.”

      He didn’t wait for her to agree. He reached for her upper arm, clamped his fingers around it, and started walking. Aislynn winced as he connected to a spot where Father had also gripped her. Men! That’s all they were good for. Bullying. Fighting. Killing. Destroying. Maiming. Raping.

      He was pulling her at a pace that kept her trotting beside him, her woven-twine sandals looking incongruous next to his calf-high leather boots. Then he stopped and dropped her arm. Aislynn fought the urge to rub at it. She didn’t want him to see. If he knew he hurt her, he’d probably do it again. And wed with him? She’d rather try to spirit herself back to the faery-world her parents told her she’d come from!

      “What do you think of my home?”

      He’d brought her to the stable yard, no doubt to show off his blacksmith shop and his croft. And to prove his intentions; his ability to support her as a husband. He was also breathing hard.

      “It’s near finished.”

      “It’s very fine,” Aislynn replied, without looking at it.

      Beside her, she felt Donald’s agitation. “I’ve na’ decided on placement of a loft, as yet,” he continued.

      What was it to her? Aislynn clamped down on her tongue to still the words. She was under orders. No argumentative or harsh words. The shivers running down her arms weren’t pleasant. She should have known he’d mistake them.

      “You’re cold,” he said.

      Aislynn wrapped the shawl closer, proving her stupidity once again as her frame was outlined. That had him stepping closer. She forced herself not to back away from him. She’d decided that Meghan could have him. She’d never wed with him. She’d run away first. She’d rather roam the countryside; healing and existing on her own wits—regardless of how unsafe it was. Or perhaps she could search out the Norman mercenary. He’d keep her safe. He’d said he would.

      The miller family could have the smithy for a son-bylaw. They could give him Meghan. Aislynn wasn’t marrying. She wasn’t ever going out again without her cloak and her knife, and a thousand other things designed to keep men like Donald away from her. Just as soon as this night ended. If this night ever ended.

      “I’ll probably build a large one. Children require loft space.”

      Children? She replayed the word and stiffened at the same time. Now that was asking too much of her!

      “I want lots of children. Lots. Sons. Strapping lads. To help with the work and keep me in my auld age.”

      He wasn’t going to make it to old age if he kept this up! Aislynn clamped down on her teeth, releasing her tongue at the last moment. She had to. Anything else would unleash the harsh words filling her throat and choking her.

      “I hadn’t much to work with. Everything was charred. I had to clear and start anew. You should have seen it.”

      Aislynn nodded. It seemed to satisfy him.

      “You’re quiet. I like that. I think I like it a lot. Loud women argue and fight. You’re na’ like that, are you?”

      Her jaw locked. She wasn’t answering that. Not a sentence. Not a word. Maybe a curse. She considered that. It might work. She could curse him with a pox on his manhood. May it go soft whenever he wished to use it. That should keep him from worrying over arguing, loud women, and any need for a loft—small or large! She choked on the giggle and had to cover her mouth to keep it hidden.

      “Come. I didn’t ask you to walk with me this eve in order to bring up talk of mayhem and bereavement.”

      “I—” Aislynn didn’t finish it. He didn’t let her, either.

      “We’ll take a short way back.”

      He didn’t ask. He simply gripped her arm again and started off. Aislynn kept pace, although she was striding two steps to his every one. The ground changed. She knew the difference immediately. Her eyes narrowed and her teeth set. He was taking her through the forest. He wasn’t going to survive the harsh words she was going to release on him for this!

      “Donald!” She growled out the name through gritted teeth. It didn’t sound like her. He didn’t appear to have heard it, either.

      “’Tis a pleasant eve for a walk, I think. You agree?”

      “Take me back to the path. Now. Right now.”

      “In time. I brought you this way for a reason.”

      “What? You touch me, and—!”

      He burst out a laugh, stopping her. He laughed? Well, why not, Aislynn? He’s got you in the woods, you’re as strong as a chaff of wheat, and there’s not a soul to stop him. Why wouldn’t he laugh?

      “You’re verra comely, Aislynn. I noted that about you the moment I saw you. It was hidden…but I saw it.”

      She forced the first reply down. Harsh words weren’t going to stop him. Maybe words of delay would. “You canna’ do this…Donald. We’re na’ betrothed. Yet.” She made her voice weak and shaky, and grimaced at the carpet of ferns at her feet, at how awful it felt.

      “So? I’ll fix the bride price tonight. We’ll be wed at the next full moon. None will note if our firstborn is birthed early. None.”

      Aislynn gulped. “’Tis too…fast.” And too horrid, and too insidious, and it was definitely too soon! Much too soon. And she was afraid she might already be in love. What a bother the emotion was…especially when the object of it was an unknown troubadour.

      He answered by pivoting her right into his arms, bringing her against him before she could think to react. It was insanity to struggle. His limbs felt like trees and about as flexible. Aislynn’s breath came faster and stronger and that only served to make his arms tighten. And he was still amused. She could tell by his chuckle, and the breath that was accompanying it, feathering across her nose and making her shivering worse.

      “Remember I spoke of the attack that destroyed the auld smithy?”

      He was asking it. Aislynn shook her head slightly. He was asking it? She had to get her mind to work. That was the only weapon she had. “Aye,” she replied, finally.

      “Well, I would join your sentiments…but had I been here, I would have helped burn it! To the ground! No Sassenach lord should rule us and nae blacksmith of Ramhurst should live among us! I hate them! All of them!”

      “You hate…them?” She was stammering through the question but it wasn’t for the reason he thought. It was because he wasn’t giving her much room to breathe.

      “I surprise you? Good. You dinna’ think me soft like your father? Never! We must stand together and we must fight, and we must make certain nae more of the foreigners come! We’re Scots! We should na’ be ruled by Sassenach!”

      “Dinna’ do this!” Now she was struggling against him. Nothing much happened. It was as useless as she’d suspected already.

      “We should make Scottish bairns, too. You and me. Now. Right now.”

      “Neart!” She got the one Gaelic word out; the one for strength and power; before he was lifting her. She knew what he was going to do. He was going to kiss her. Then, he was going to force himself on her and that would take every choice from her. Her curse on his manhood wasn’t effective, either. It wasn’t remotely soft where it was pressing against her lower belly.

      Lips covered hers, sucking at her very life-force…and then they were gone.

      It took a moment for Aislynn to realize her mouth was free. She’d been holding her breath, praying for unconsciousness. To be released was making