Silver Flame. Hannah Howell

      Gamel joined his companions in laughing heartily as they rode out of the bailey. Ligulf blushed furiously, color flooding his fair skin. The youth’s blushes were only beginning to fade by the time Duncoille was out of sight.

      “How did she ken it?” Ligulf asked Gamel, and combed his fingers through his dark blond hair.

      “She has been through this before, this change from lad to mon. There was me, then two of our brothers.”

      “Aye.” Ligulf finally laughed. “She is too clever by half.”

      When they reached the small glen where Gamel had chosen to camp for the night, there was little daylight left. The journey had been pleasant and uneventful, but the crude drover’s trail they had used had left them all weary. Gamel was the first to crest the small wooded rise and see that their campsite had already been taken. He paused, his companions doing likewise, and tried to decide what step to take next. They were still fifteen miles or more from Dunkennley and he had no wish to cover the rest of the rough trail in the dark.

      His gaze became fixed upon the maid below who was preparing a meal while two young boys wrestled playfully nearby. There was a sensual grace to her every movement, despite the mundane nature of her work. He had the strongest urge to hurry closer to see her face.

      He was just about to give in to that urge when she and the boys were joined by a man on horseback. His mount careened into the small campsite and reared, tumbling him to the ground. Thinking only to help, Gamel started down the small rise. His companions hesitated only briefly before following him.

      “Farthing!” cried Sine Catriona as she rushed to his side.

      She was only faintly aware of the four armed men who galloped into camp and dismounted. Gripped by fear, she focused all of her attention on Farthing. She knelt and frantically searched for a wound or break upon his tall, lean frame. None of the uninvited company drew his sword or spoke a threat so she continued to ignore them.

      “Farthing, speak to me,” she demanded, her voice tense with concern. “I can find no injury. Can ye not answer me?”

      Farthing hiccoughed.

      Sine Catriona gaped at the prone man, then started to giggle. She was not sure whether it was from relief or a sense of the absurd. As the smirk on Farthing’s flushed face grew wider, her laughter increased. She fleetingly noted that her laughter was echoed by the strangers who had so recently joined them.

      “Ye wretch!” she scolded. “Ye vile fool! I thought ye were dead or broken asunder.”

      “Nay.” Farthing struggled to sit up, hindered slightly by his tangled black cloak. “I have been celebrating.”

      “S’truth? ’Tis a fact I ne’er would have guessed for myself,” she said with her hands on her hips.

      Struggling to fix his obsidian gaze on the four men behind her, he asked, “Who be they?”

      “’Tis a fine time to be asking.” She picked up his black hat and handed it to one of the twins, Barre, to put away. “I dinnae ken. If they were a danger to us, ’tis quite dead we would be by now.” She turned to look at the four men. “If ye meant to offer help ye can see that your kindness was wasted.” She frowned briefly at Farthing. “Howbeit, he may soon be in dire need of aid, for I begin to think that doing him an injury would weel please me.”

      Gamel felt a constriction in his chest as he gazed into her lovely, wide blue eyes. “We meant to offer a hand,” he said, struggling to speak. “We had also planned to camp here for the night.”

      “There is plenty of room.”

      “Thank ye, mistress. Allow me to present myself and my companions. I am Sir Gamel and these are my brother, Ligulf, my squire, Blane, and my good friend, Sir Lesley.”

      Nodding her head, she replied, “Catriona, Beldane, Barre, and Farthing Magnus. Ye are welcome to share this place with us. There is food to spare. See to your mounts while I see to this fool.” She began to help Farthing to stand up.

      By the time they were all settled around the fire Gamel felt more composed. He could not, however, stop watching her. She had the most beautiful blue eyes he had ever seen. Her voice sent his thoughts winging straight to the bedchamber. The way she moved made his loins ache. He wanted her, faster and with more ferocity than he had ever wanted a woman before. He could not cease wondering if she was the one he had searched for so long and hard.

      Then his heart clenched in his chest. She was already claimed by the man, Farthing, whose name she had so calmly linked with her own. She and her man had offered the hospitality of their fire and food. To make any attempt to satisfy his want would be an insult he could not inflict even if it took every ounce of willpower he could muster not to. He sat wondering what color her hair was, wishing she would shed that all-encompassing headdress.

      Only once did he look at Farthing Magnus. That man sat struggling to regain some sobriety, yet watching him closely. The look in Farthing’s black eyes told Gamel the man could read his desire and saw it as a threat.

      Carefully pronouncing each word, Farthing told Sine Catriona, “I was celebrating.”

      “So ye have told us. Celebrating what?”

      “A number of things. ’Tis hard to recall now.”

      She laughed softly. “Ye ken that ye have no head for drink.”

      “S’truth.” Farthing ran a hand through his thick raven-black hair. “Howbeit, I couldnae let those dogs know it.”

      “Oh, aye, of course not. And of course they didnae see how cup-shotten ye were.”

      “I think they may have guessed.” His fine mouth curving downward as he frowned, he added, “Could be why they offered to bind me atop my horse so I wouldnae tumble off.”

      As soon as everyone stopped laughing, Ligulf asked, “Do ye travel to the fair?”

      “Aye,” replied Sine Catriona. “This mon swaying before ye is Farthing Magnus, master conjurer. Howbeit, he will be unable to perform any of his craft tonight. ’Tis doubtful he could even relieve himself without fumbling,” she muttered.

      “That I can do, impertinent wench, and will do immediately—if the lads will but lead me to the bushes.”

      As Dane and Ree helped Farthing to his feet, Ree grumbled, “’Tis verra likely we shall have to fix his aim as weel.”

      Sine Catriona could not help but join in the laughter. But hers was short-lived, choked off when her eyes met Gamel’s. She fought to break free of the man’s gaze. There was such desire in his rich green eyes that it frightened her, especially when she felt something within her respond strongly and swiftly to it. She was intensely aware of every tall, lean inch of him. The moment Farthing returned to sprawl at her side, she huddled closer to him. She watched Sir Gamel’s fine long-fingered hands clench tightly when Farthing threw his arm about her shoulders.

      “Ye have two fine sons, sir,” Gamel remarked.

      “Ah.” Farthing smiled at the twins. “Not my lads, although I often think of them as so. They are Catriona’s half brothers.”

      “We are bastards, sir,” Dane piped up. “So is Farthing.”

      Giving a small bow of his head, Gamel drawled, “There are many of us about.”

      Sine Catriona inwardly sighed, her heart sinking as disappointment set in. She had briefly wondered if he could be the knight she had been searching for. He looked strong, capable. However, as a bastard, he would not command a troop of men no matter what his position in his father’s household, not if there were other legitimate sons. Bastards did not often have the strength or the power she needed so badly. If they had, Farthing could have helped her long ago, for his natural father was a wealthy and powerful laird.

      A small part of her was glad of Gamel’s lack