by Alisa Adams
Godet’s eyes traveled further down in her study of the man before her. She could not miss the big, muscular thighs and tall, black boots gripping the large black stallion he controlled so effortlessly. No man in her clan could carry off the wearing of the kilt like the warriors of old, but this man did. She swallowed and turned her eyes away, knowing she was blushing hotly. Gordon MacDonell had certainly grown up well.
She put her dirk back into her belt and continued her study of Gordon and the men who were beside him. All were on big, black horses—almost as big as the horses she and her sisters rode. Her horses were giants, she knew no other horses could match their size or strength, but these big men rode horses fit for their size. They were big, muscular, powerful and intimidating. She met Gordon’s brutish stare. Keeping her chin up, Godet refused to break the contact that his eyes held on hers.
She wasn’t aware that her sisters had come forward and were flanking her. All were staring at the men in front of them, except Ceena who was studying the black horses, of course, not the men on them.
Aunt Hextilda pushed her way in between the large draft horses and peered up at Gordon MacDonell. “Weel noo, if ye dinnae grow up to be quite the man!” Aunt Hextilda said appreciatively.
“Aunt Hextilda? Is that ye?” Gordon exclaimed as he looked down on the incongruously little woman riding the pony in the midst of the young women on the huge draft horses. “Ye are still alive old woman?” He laughed.
“Shame on ye, young Gordon, such haiver ye be talkin. I’ll outlive all ye foolish young’uns. Besides, I cannae leave this Earth without seeing me poor nieces safely wed, noo ken I?”
Godet let out a soft groan of embarrassment.
“Aunt Hexy, please,” implored a girl that looked a bit like Godet, but darker, bolder in figure, not as delicate as Godet.
“I’d marry any man that rode a horse as fine as those big blacks…” This was spoken by a girl with hair reminiscent of the color of corn and wheat in the autumn fields. She smiled unabashedly as she stared at the horses. Her eyes were a bright, crystal green and had a slant to them that made them look like they were always smiling or laughing.
“Ye see, Godet, look at him. He wears a kilt like a warrior. He will save us all, just like in the stories,” the smallest of girls stated. Gordon heard Godet groan again. He stared at the tiny, slip of a girl who had spoken. She was all golden and delicate like a small angel.
Gordon turned to Godet who was blushing hotly. Bright spots of pink were shown on her creamy cheeks. “I take it these are yer sisters?” he asked, watching her closely. Her lips were lush and pink and he had trouble looking away from her. She was too beautiful. In fact, each of these girls was a beauty. But Godet... no one could compare to her beauty, he thought. He wondered why she had brought them all. A simple maidservant and her aunt as a chaperone would have sufficed. What did the little blonde one mean by ‘he would save them all’?
“Aye, they are,” she answered him quietly but firmly. “Our traveling coach with our luggage and some servants are a ways back. The coach is slower. We found it more comfortable to ride our horses,” she explained.
“Ye ride a stallion?”
“Aye, I dae,” she answered, raising her chin again.
He looked to the others.
“Ours are mares,” Ceena answered, and added with a smile, “All in foal to Godets’ stallion. We couldnae leave them behind, dae ye ken?”
Gordon frowned. His irritation at the predicament he was in passing to his own stallion who clearly did not like the huge stallion Godet sat on and started to prance. Gordon stilled him and opened his mouth to tell her she had to turn around when the sound of galloping horses caught his attention. His stallion and Godets snorted and spun toward the sound. A small group of soldiers came over a ridge, heading straight toward them. They wore what looked like the Ross plaid. He relaxed thinking that some of their clansmen were going to stop them and bring them back, that this was all a mistake.
Godet’s face, however, turned white with fear and her hands trembled on the reins. She shortened them and held them tighter. Godet looked back at her sisters and saw Flori’s eyes widen in stark fear. “Flori, stay strong for me now, I beg ye!”
“But ‘tis Mungan’s soldiers again, Godet,” Flori muttered, her voice raw with memories and anxiousness.
“Dae not fear, Flori. We are with ye. Just stay behind me. Aunt Hexy! Ceena! Ina! Get behind me!” She rode forward and stopped her horse again, turning the horse’s huge body to block her sisters and aunt from the soldiers’ view.
Gordon rode up beside her as the soldiers came closer. He gave an invisible signal to his men to surround the women.
“Dae ye have any weapons on ye?” she asked him urgently in a hushed tone.
Gordon grunted and then growled in his deep voice. “What dae ye take me for?”
“Weel noo, where be they? Under that kilt of yours?” she quipped with a quick look at him and one brow raised before turning back to watch the approaching riders.
She heard his short laugh and then the whistle of steel leaving its scabbard. She saw out of the side of her eye that he had pulled a long sword out of the scabbard on his saddle and had settled it into place at his belt where it was in full view. She grimaced, hoping there would be no need for it, but she touched her dirk reassuringly where it rested in her belt.
Godet recognized the first soldier leading the others. It was Mungan’s man. She and her sisters had left while Mungan was away hunting. In reality, she knew he was thieving. Mungan’s man had been too blootered with whiskey to be aware they had gone—until now.
He rode directly up to her and sneered at her. “Ye dinnae have permission to leave ye cheeky gallus girl! Git yerselves back to the castle!”
“I willnae,” Godet’s voice trembled even as she spoke quietly but firmly. “And I am Lady Godet to ye. I am fulfilling my parents’ betrothal agreement to Gordon of the MacDonell clan. Ye cannae have anything to say aboot it.”
“Yer parents are dead! Ye answer to Mungan now and he says ye willnae be marrying a MacDonell!” He looked over at Flori and the other sisters and grinned evilly. “In fact, he says ye’ll be marrying him!” he sneered at her and laughed. “And perhaps I’ll be having my choice from the rest of ye.”
Godet reeled back at the news that Mungan planned on marrying her. Her face went ashen and she clutched at her stomach as a terrible feeling of fear swept over her. She could hear Flori whimper.
Gordon watched quietly. He did not know that the Ross’ had died. He did know who Mungan was, however. His lips formed a thin line as he stared with steely eyes at the soldier sneering at Godet who was visibly shaking now.
“I willnae!” she said in a fervent whisper. “And ye willnae touch any of me sisters ever again either!”
The soldier rode his horse forward, pushing his horse roughly into hers, and struck her hard across the face. Godet fell sideways from the force of the blow and started to come off her horse. Gordon caught her instantly, pulling her effortlessly onto his horse and onto his lap.
“Dae not ever dare to touch this woman or any of her kin ever again!” Gordon spat in a steely, deep voice. He held Godet tightly to his chest.
“The Ross’ dae not take orders from a MacDonell soldier,” sneered the man again, this time at Gordon.
“Then take orders from the Laird of Clan MacDonell, ye swine!” Gordon’s voice thundered at him in fury. A wind blew down from the craggy hills, sweeping his plaid out behind him and whipping his hair back in the wind as well. He raised his voice to a mighty roar as if taking power from the winds off the mountains. “This woman is under my protection as the Laird of Clan MacDonell! Touch her and face death. Dae ye ken?” he barked in a harsh, commanding voice. His voice was strong, dominating—a voice that was used to issuing commands and being obeyed.
The soldier shrank back at his words, staring aghast at Gordon. “I dinnae know ‘twas ye, Laird! I was just following orders! I have no q
uarrel with ye, Laird!”
“Orders to strike a woman? Only a weak coward such as yerself or Mungan strikes women!” Gordon growled, his deep voice going down an octave in his disgust at the man before him.
The soldier’s feigned deference to the Laird of Clan MacDonell melted off his face and he sneered again. “Mungan will hear of this! Ye havenae heard the last of him!” he warned and wheeled his horse around and rode away. The other soldiers that came with him quickly fell in beside him.
Gordon watched them ride away with his jaw tight and his eyes narrowed into green slits as he held the fragrant bundle of trembling woman against his chest. Her firm round buttocks fit perfectly in his lap between his thighs, driving his heartbeat up several notches. He willed his body to ignore what he was feeling.
“Weel now, brother, ‘tis a fine dither ye have to sort out here ‘tisn’t it?” Tristan teased with laughter in his voice.
Gordon looked down to see Godet staring up at him. Her beautiful eyes looked confused and her full luscious lips were open slightly as she stared. He fought off the urge to bend down and kiss her. It would only take a slight tilting of his head for their lips to meet. He started to lower his head, his fingers lifting her chin up, just enough so that he could position her mouth where he wanted her against his own mouth, but her words stopped him cold.
“Laird? Ye are Laird of the Clan MacDonell?”
“Aye,” he answered gruffly. Hadn’t she known? Isn’t this why she had come to him? Hadn’t she wanted to demand he carry on with the betrothal because he was the Laird of the powerful Clan MacDonell?
Gordon stared down at those tempting lips and those hauntingly, beautiful eyes. He heard a voice over the rushing of his blood pounding through his body, it was the voice of her youngest sister.
“’Tis just like the fairy tale, isnae it?” said Ina with a big smile.
3
“She dinnae know ye were Laird, brother,” Tristan said to Gordon. “Unlike another female I dinnae need to mention.”
Godet stared at the man who had said this. She raised her eyebrow at him. “Tristan?” she asked and smiled at him. “I remember ye! Dae ye remember my sisters Flori, Ceena, and Ina?” She pointed to each one of them in turn.
Tristan looked admiringly at the four beautiful women on the huge horses in front of him. His brother had a tight grip on the lovely Godet in his lap and Tristan couldn’t help but stare at her which brought a frown to his brother’s face.
“’Tis a lovely problem ye have brother,” Tristan said with a crooked grin.
“A problem?” Godet began to ask but then held her hand to her head. “Och, me head is twirling…” she whispered.
“Best ye hold her tightly, that’s the second blow to her head in two days, Laird MacDonell,” Aunt Hextilda said in a matter of fact voice.
“What’re ye blithering on about old woman?” Gordon growled.
“Aunt Hexy, ‘tis nothing. It was just a moment tis all,” Godet replied quietly but firmly.
“He hit her he did,” Aunt Hexy continued, ignoring Godet.
“Who is he?” Gordon said quietly. His voice rang with menace.
“Mungan,” Aunt Hexy explained, watching the play of emotions cross his face. “The man has a heavy hand he does,” she added, “knocked her clear off her feet and to the ground!” She spit on the ground.
“Godet was trying to stop him,” Ina spoke up softly.
Godet pushed at the arms that were a steel vise around her waist. “Ye can let me go now,” she told Gordon as she pushed at his arm around her.
“No,” he said gruffly, tightening his arm.
“What dae ye mean by no? Let me down this instant. I’ll be riding me own horse,” she said firmly to him.
“No, ye willnae,” he replied bluntly, frowning down at her.
She frowned back, continuing to try to pry his arm away from her waist.
“Ye were trying to stop Mungan from what?” he demanded.
Ina spoke up once more as Godet ignored Gordon’s question. “Mungan and his evil men were burning the poor, weeping crofter’s cottages. Setting the wee children and their wailing mithers out into the cold, bitter night. Godet was trying to stop his men. One wee woman against an army of brawny soldiers. She was very brave. Like a warrior queen she was. And so, he struck her, sending her flailing into the dirt, mud, and flying cinders. Why, ‘twas a wonder she did not catch fire herself!”
Gordon stared at the tiny blonde girl retelling the incident so dramatically.
“Ina,” Godet huffed, momentarily stilling in Gordons arms. “There wasnae an army, just a few soldiers and Mungan. And it was summer, so the night was not cold and bitter… and there was no mud!”
“But the wee children and their mithers were wailing,” Ina insisted stubbornly.
“Ye weren’t there, Ina.”
“But I imagine they were wailing, their homes being burnt and all…” she added softly, her voice persistent. “And ye were very brave to stand up to Mungan, Godet.”
Gordon had listened silently to the telling as had Tristan. They looked at each other. “And I suppose ye had yer dirk as yer only weapon?” Gordon asked her, his brow raised as he looked down at her there in his arms. “Just like ye were going to stand between Mungan’s’ men just now and yer sisters?”
“Aye,” she answered with some confusion. “Of course.”
“And how ye stood between yer sisters and us when we rode up? With naught but a dirk?” he asked.
“Aye,” she said simply.
“She has more,” Flori interjected in a serious voice.
“Lots more,” Ceena added, “we all dae if needed.” She had a mischievous grin on her face as she spoke.
“I’m lost,” Tristan stated with a laugh. “More what?”
Godet ignored him and looked at her sisters. “Shall we?” she asked. It wasn’t really a question, the smile playing about her lips said as much.
Aunt Hextilda started chortling as she moved her pony back away from the road and the other horses. Tristan heard a whizzing sound and saw Godet swing her arm in a flash of movement and silver. He heard a thwack as metal hit the ground then another thwack and another and another and another. His horse backed up rapidly before Tristan could stop him. His hooves were dancing nervously in the road.
“What was that?” Tristan asked in surprise.
“Look down brother,” Gordon said with a note of shock in his voice. He had been caught off guard at the speed of Godets’ throwing. Indeed, at the speed of all the sisters throwing their dirks.
Tristan bent over his horse’s shoulder and looked at the ground around his horse’s hooves. There was a line of dirks stuck in the dirt. A line cutting him off from the other men.
“Ha! Well done, lassies, well done! Where were ye hiding all those dirks I wonder? Up yer skirts?” Tristan questioned admiringly, looking at the sisters. He saw then that the leather corseted belts they wore around their waists were not encircled by decorative metal pieces as he had thought, instead it had been dirks in the belts, tucked into narrow leather sleeves.
Ceena laughed at Gordon’s brother. He was as big as Gordon, but his face was far prettier. She pointed to his kilt. “I hear tell ye keep some weapons under yer kilts,” she remarked.
Tristan’s laugh stopped instantly as he stared at the lovely, tawny-haired, green-eyed, beauty smiling at him. He urged his horse to step over the line of dirks on the road and walked his horse right up to hers, his knee brushing against hers where she sat on her horses back.
“Oh, ‘tis one mighty weapon I have under me kilt, lassie, indeed,” he said quietly, then gave her a crooked grin and moved away.
“Tristan!” Gordon growled. When Tristan stared at him innocently, he added, “Enough.”
Gordon looked down at Godet where she sat, still in his arms. “Where were all those dirks? Yer sisters threw one each, but ye threw many more. Where dae ye hide them?” he asked her, unable to pull his eyes away from
hers. He knew he didn’t need to still be holding her nor did he need to be bending his head so close to hers, but there was just something about her.
She stared up at him, the smile coming to her eyes first then that beautiful mouth as her full pink lips grinned up at him, “Why, under me skirts to be sure.” Then she winked at him. Actually, winked at him!
“Look at her waist brother,” Tristan called out. Gordon looked down at Godet’s impossibly tiny waist and his eyes widened in appreciation at the belt fashioned to hold knives.
“Ye are an unusual lass Godet,” he said huskily as he gently brushed the curls from the side of her face. He stilled then, staring at the side of her face. “Ye’ve got a hellish bruise on yer face lass.” He was staring at the angry purple bruise on the side of her forehead which spread just to the side of her cheek beneath her eye. “This is from Mungan?”
She silently nodded her head. Unable or perhaps unwilling to look away from the green of his eyes as they stared so intently at her while his fingers were still gently touching her face.
“And today?” he said in a near whisper. “Where did that swine’s blow land on ye?”
He was tilting her head this way and that, running his fingers over her face like a soft caress. Godet wondered how such large, strong hands could touch her with this gentleness. She couldn’t speak. She was held in the spell of his eyes, his touch, and his smell. He smelled of horses, leather, and the spicy smell of the outdoors. Or perhaps it was just him. Each breath she took was of him. She was breathing him in, filling her body with him. She could even feel the rumble of his voice through his chest, where her body rested against his.
“Ah, here ‘tis,” he said quietly, touching her chin. “Ye’ll have some bruising on yer chin as well, I fear. Yer skin is so fine, it’s showing already.” His voice was hushed as he stroked her chin with the back of his fingers. His eyes still holding hers.