The black mask surrounded dark topaz eyes, burnished fur, and a fine set of strong, white teeth revealed from beneath snarling black jowls. The Alaunt’s ears pressed flat against his skull in warning, and his hair stood up along his neck and shoulders. As did Kinnon’s.
Shite.
He lifted his gaze carefully from the reddened hand laid across the dog’s neck. The slender fingers could have belonged to a nobleman’s daughter, but the nails were short and the skin rough. Amazing what the mind registers when death is imminent. The owner of the hand wore a serviceable gown, patched areas meticulously sewn, sleeve cuff turned back on itself, almost hiding the raveled edges. A smudged apron covered the gown, the bucket of milk at her feet attesting her job before he walked up. And came face-to-face with death.
“Do ye mind calling off yer beast?” He offered a winsome smile, splaying his hands at his side, a small bag of coins in his left palm. The young woman stared at him, hardly giving the bag a look.
He tried again. “Chien?”
The young woman’s gaze did not waver—clear, cold blue eyes bore into his. Wisps of black hair curled damply against her temple, attesting to her work ethic. Her thin nose sat atop full, red lips that neither smiled nor frowned at him.
The dog growled, a deep menacing sound originating from his enormous chest that warned Kinnon from making a further move—if he wanted to keep his throat intact.
Kinnon did.
His heartbeat kicked up. The impressive muscles in the dog’s forelegs rippled, his claws gripped the ground, his hindquarters bunched. Endless moments passed as Kinnon roundly cursed the man who sent him to this farm on an errand better suited to one of the camp lackeys.
“Se calmer, Jean-Baptiste,” she murmured as the dog leaned forward.
“Jean-Baptiste?” Kinnon couldn’t help himself. “Ye call this beast John the Baptizer?”
The woman gave him in inscrutable look, but the edge of her lips quivered, threatened to smile. “He has changed the religion of more than one man, monsieur.”
Kinnon’s eyebrows shot upward. “Aye. I can see that happening.” He eyed the enormous beast, his shoulder almost even with the woman’s waist, his possessiveness clear. With his mistress’s soft command, the dog settled, but his eyes did not waver, his threat remained unmistakable.
“I was sent here to ask ye for what supplies I could buy.” Kinnon gently flipped the small bag in his hand. The movement and clink of coin drew the woman’s attention.
“You brought coin?” She snorted and hefted the milk bucket in one slender hand. Kinnon moved instinctively to take the burden from her but froze at the snarling response from Jean-Baptiste. Cool blue eyes met his, and this time, the young woman smiled.
“Merci, but I can manage. If you would like to keep yourself intact, please take a step back. Jean-Baptiste and I do not like to be crowded.”
Kinnon let out his breath and took the required step backward. “Aye. And I thank ye.”
She raised her eyebrows. “For what?”
“For not letting yon beast change my religion.”
The young woman jerked her chin, indicating him to follow. Keeping a respectful distance, Kinnon trailed her.
“What is it you wish to purchase?” Her voice hitched as she swung the bucket onto the back of the small cart against the edge of the stone stable. Moss grew over the crumbling edges, softening the once-pristine façade. Hay spilled out into the yard, fresh and clean, its odor mingling with the sharp tang of manure.
“My commander sent me for chickens, eggs, beef—whatever ye can spare.” He gave her a sideways glance. “The coin would purchase material for a pretty gown for ye, or mayhap a bit of ribbon.”
The woman gave him a stern look. “I have no use for such fripperies. The soldiers usually simply take what they want, and our cupboards bear the brunt of their greed.”
“Bertran wouldnae condone such behavior.”
“His isnae the only army in these parts, monsieur. The English have garrisoned here many years.”
“That would explain ye speaking English, though yer accent is quite lovely.” Kinnon gifted her a winsome grin.
“Your accentuer is strange. Neither Anglais nor Français. It is not one I recognize.”
“Nae English. Scots.”
She lifted fine eyebrows. “You are Scottish? Fighting here, on French soil?”
Kinnon’s grin broadened.
“Och, aye. As part of the Auld Alliance, we Scots are grateful for any chance to fight the bluidy English.”
Wiping her hands in her apron, the young woman nodded. “Do you have a wagon?”
“Aye. ’Tis in that copse of trees. Bluidy rocks around here make driving it a bit of a nuisance.”
“We will pick out what you need and load the cart. Jean-Baptiste can pull it to your wagon.” She led him into the stable.
Kinnon eyed the beast’s beefy shoulders. “A good use for his muscles.”
“He can take down an angry bull with a mere tug of his head. His ancestors were bred in the mountains and came with the Romans as fighting dogs. He fears nothing, yet cares for us with gentleness.”
“Us?”
She nodded. “My sister lives here as well. She is gathering eggs.”
Kinnon paused. “Mademoiselle, I have been too long at war, but even so, my ma would say my manners need polish. If we are to do business, I should introduce myself. My name is Kinnon Macrory.” He held out his hand.
“My name is Melisende. Let me see the color of your coin.”
* * *
The Highlander’s Outlaw Bride
Copyright © 2014 Short Dog Press
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be copied, reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or shared in any form (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission from the author except for brief quotations for printed reviews.
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Published in the United States of America
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
A Note to my Readers
Other Books by Cathy MacRae
A Sneak Peek of Kinnon’s Story
Copyright
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