Taming a Highland Stallion: A Scottish Medieval Historical Romance (Beasts Of The Highlands Book 8)

by Alisa Adams

  Rane stared at the horse. His hands were on his hips, and his eyes were furrowed as he studied the sweating animal. He turned to Gillis. Placing his arms across his chest, he looked at her with a challenge in his eyes under an arched eyebrow.

  She smiled calmly back at him.

  “This behavior is only when mounted, I assume, since the horse immediately ceased when ye dismounted?” Gillis asked firmly.

  The man scratched his head and looked at the horse with new eyes. “That is true, I suppose,” he said grudgingly. Then he looked from Gillis to his laird.

  “’Tis the saddle. Take it off,” Gillis ordered the man, interrupting the quizzical look he was giving his laird.

  The man looked back at her with a glare. “’Tis the same saddle he has always worn! Since he was a three-year-old colt!” he sneered at her.

  Gillis looked calmly down at the man. “Do ye wear the same shoes, the same clothing that ye did when ye were three years old?” she asked in a clipped voice.

  “Of course not!” the man exclaimed.

  “So why would this horse, who clearly has more muscling than a young three-year-old colt, still fit in the same saddle he wore as a three-year-old?” she asked simply. “’Tis pinching his back and yer weight when on it is making it unbearable for him. Take off the saddle and look at the marks on his back. See for yerself.”

  The man scratched his head again and looked at his laird, who was staring silently up at Gillis. One large hand was stroking his chin slowly.

  Gillis looked at Rane MacLeod. “Ye didnae ask me here for help fitting saddles to yer horses’ backs. Mr. Nisbit wrote to me that ye have an immediate and urgent need for another healer tae help him with yer stallion herd.”

  Gillis kept Mr. Nisbit’s warnings to herself, however, as she sat there on her horse, staring archly down at the imposing laird.

  She was silent, meeting his eyes confidently while she waited for his response.

  Finally, after many moments, he motioned to her.

  “Follow me,” Rane MacLeod commanded as he turned and strode back through the castle gates.

  Gillis patted her horse’s neck. She leaned down and whispered to him, “Here we go, Wort. We can do this.” She patted him again as she nudged him forward through the gates. “Och, wish me knowledge and sure hands that I may dae no harm, but only help and heal,” she added to herself. Then she whispered urgently down to her aunt, “Remember, ye promised yer best behavior, Aunt Hexy, please!”

  Aunt Hexy either did not hear her, or perhaps she did not want to hear her.

  Rane MacLeod went into one of the rows of stables within the courtyard of the castle.

  He did not wait for Gillis, nor did anyone help her or Aunt Hexy off of their horses. Once inside the gate, Gillis glanced around the busy courtyard as she slid down from Wort’s back.

  The courtyard was set up entirely for the care of horses. She saw a blacksmith, a saddler, and a farrier. There were also rows upon rows of stables. Off to one side was a rectangular sand melange with a low stone wall around it for the training of horses.

  Gillis spotted another gate. She looked beyond it to see large paddocks and green fields full of more horses.

  She looked around the courtyard and saw not one single woman amongst all the activity.

  Silence suddenly came as the lively courtyard ground down to a halt.

  Every man there in the busy courtyard stopped to stare at her. Some leered, others whispered amongst themselves.

  Aunt Hexy came and stood silently at Gillis’s side. “They act like they have niver seen a beautiful young lassy before,” she muttered to Gillis as Duke growled from under the protection of Hexy’s old tartan shawl.

  Gillis did not take her eyes off the men. “Och, Auntie, ye are kind, but we both know I am plain looking. I have a sharp mind, but not any beauty tae speak of.”

  Aunt Hexy frowned sadly and shook her head in disagreement.

  Before Aunt Hexy could say anything to her niece, the man with the poorly fitted saddle led his horse inside the gates.

  He stopped when he realized it was quiet, and all the men within were just staring at the women. He clucked to his horse and began leading the horse straight through the middle of the courtyard.

  He called out to the men as he raised one arm towards Gillis, “Meet our new animal healer, men!”

  2

  The man gave a short derogatory laugh and continued past Gillis with a sneer in her direction.

  The other men began talking and laughing as well as they stared at her.

  Aunt Hexy made a sound. She raised her fist and went to go after the man as Duke started growling and barking in tiny yips and yaps.

  Gillis caught her by the back of her tartan shawl and hauled her backwards, back to her side.

  “Aunt, you promised you would behave, and Duke too,” she said under her breath.

  Aunt Hexy sighed loudly and slumped her shoulders as she petted her little dog who had quieted. She whispered under her breath. “Vera well, I shall be the weak, harmless, auld woman. But mind ye, ye are asking too much of me to behave!”

  Gillis did not answer her. Instead she looked around at the laughing men. She stopped and straightened her spine and raised her chin. She let her eyes slowly rove over every man that was laughing at her. A few of the men in particular were pointed at her, taunting her as they stood with their horses.

  Gillis’ eyes looked over the horses these men were standing with.

  “You there!” she shouted to one of them. She pointed to his horse. It’s fur had scaly, rough, bald patches over its back, hindquarters and the fronts of its legs. The horse was flicking his tangled, knotty tail and pinning its ears in agitation .It stomped its hooves repeatedly. Gillis watched as chunks of mud crumpled off the horses legs and hooves with each stomp. “What do you do when a horse gets the condition that your horse has?” she challenged him.

  “Me horse is fine! He has no ‘condition’!” he sneered back at her.

  “Your horse has skin rot from being wet too often and not groomed enough,” she said curtly. “His legs,” she pointed to the fronts of his legs, “Tis mud fever. Again, your horse needs better care and grooming.”

  The man’s face turned bright red as some of the men around him started nudging him in the ribs and nodding their heads in agreement with Gillis. Most glared outright at her, angry that she had dared to say to one of them that he did not take correct care of his horse.

  Gillis' eyes moved quickly and sharply to the other man that had laughed and pointed at her. “And you, what are you doing about your poor horse?”

  The horses’ head was hanging low with his ears sideways. He was standing very still. His coat looked poor, his ribs showed and he had a marked line on his abdomen as if he was holding his stomach tight like a child with a stomach ache.

  The mans’ mouth dropped open. He looked at his horse. Then back at Gillis. “He’s a bit thin but-”

  “Your horse is very thin! Not a bit thin,” she said incredulously. “He is a war horse isnae he? How will he make it on a journey and then be strong in a battle? His coat is poor and he is clearly uncomfortable. He very likely has a stomach ulcer. Do you turn him out on grass or keep him in a stall?”

  “He is in a stall until I work him!” he said defensively. “Horses do not have the ulcers, only people do,” he said with an ugly look and a roll of his eyes. He glanced quickly at his horse, however. Seeing him with new eyes. A hint of worry and concern shown there.

  Gillis shook her head. “You are incorrect,” she said crisply, brooking no argument. “Does your horse have cut field grass to eat while in the stall at all times?” she demanded of him.

  The man scratched his head. “No, I dinnae think he needs it! I give him plenty of oats! Oats gives him the fire to work hard! Everyone knows that!” he said with a laugh as he looked at her with condemnation and then back at the other men who laughed with him.

  “Oats will not give him all he ne
eds. His natural food is the grasses and he is made to be grazing constantly. You have injured his stomach by feeding him so unnaturally and keeping him locked up when he is designed to roam and graze and have food in his belly constantly! Everyone knows this.” She let her eyes rove over the men. “Or they should know this, if they are true horsemen,” she said quietly.

  The men became silent, staring at her.

  “Dae not cast doubt or give a hasty opinion on who I am or what skills and knowledge I possess.” She stared at the silent men. She raised her voice louder. “I am here tae help yer horses,” she said firmly into the silence. When they continued to stare, she added, “Dinnae ye all have work tae dae? Idle hands are the work of the devil.”

  Aunt Hexy tugged her skirt, “Gillis dear,” she whispered under her breath, “’tis ‘the devil finds work for idle hands tae dae,’” she whispered quickly.

  Gillis was about to say something more to the men, but she shut her mouth. She kept her hand low and waved it dismissively at her aunt as she kept an eye on the men. “Nay, Aunt,” she whispered back. “I believe I said it correctly.” Gillis raised her chin and stared the men down.

  The men stared back at her. A few were scratching their heads in confusion, some were whispering to each other. Finally, however, one by one, they began to turn away, going back to whatever task they had been doing.

  A young boy came and led Wort and King Bobby away after doffing his cap respectively to the two women.

  Aunt Hexy squeezed Gillis’s hand and then scurried after their horses.

  Gillis gave one last glance at the men, then she turned and walked into the shadowy stable.

  The stalls were large, and each had an open window facing out to the grassy pastures.

  Rane was standing in the aisle, waiting for her.

  Gillis stopped by his side and looked around slowly. The stalls held stallions of varying sizes, ages, colors, and types. Some were heavy and meant for battle; others were light and meant more for speed. Destriers, chargers, and coursers.

  She walked slowly down the aisle, feeling his eyes on her back.

  Rane watched the fascinating girl as she walked the aisle; looking right and left, quickly studying each of his horses in their stalls. He watched as she pulled a pencil out of the knot of hair on top of her head, sending silky, fine, golden-brown tendrils floating down around her neck. She then pulled a small book out of her skirt pocket and made notes as she looked at each horse.

  Rane frowned. He needed her; he knew this.

  But sards, he thought, she is tae lovely, tae delicate and feminine looking tae be in a place like this.

  She would not be safe here.

  Her very life could be in danger.

  He watched her walk with long, easy strides. She was tall and lithe. Her hips swayed gracefully under her pale blue tartan skirt. Rane clenched his fists at his sides. He swallowed tightly. Her waist was impossibly tiny in her fine linen blouse with a matching, tightly fitted blue plaid vest. He continued to watch her as she passed through shafts of sunlight that broke through the dimly lit stable. Her neck was pale and lovely, long, and elegant. When she had stood near him, he had caught the soft scent of flowers and fresh breezes and...peace.

  A breeding keep was no place for such a delicate, fragile-looking girl. She would disrupt and disturb everything. And everyone.

  Even him.

  Gillis could hear and feel her heart beating frantically in her chest as her eyes widened at the sight she beheld. Her exhaustion and hunger were forgotten. Her breath came out in quick gasps. She closed her eyes, knowing her back was to Rane MacLeod. She gathered her wits about her, striving for calm. She clenched her hands in the folds of her blue skirt and then flexed and relaxed them. She turned around slowly and walked back down the aisle to stand in front of the laird.

  “Are ye in a clan war or feud? Have these horses been in a battle tae receive these wounds?” she asked him quietly.

  Rane MacLeod looked steadily down at her.

  Gillis noted the tick in his cheek as he clenched his jaw. His fists were also clenched at his sides.

  “Nay,” he said curtly.

  Gillis studied him. “These are knife wounds,” she said tightly as she looked up at him. “Yer horses have been slashed by a vera sharp knife.”

  Rane continued to just look down at her. His expression was stony. “Can ye help them?” he said in a hoarse voice.

  Gillis looked back at the stallions, then turned back to look up at the laird. “Aye,” she said and swallowed. “Why has Mr. Nisbit not seen tae their care?”

  Rane stared at the much too lovely girl that he knew he might have to trust with his darkest secret, and with the horses he loved. The horses that were his very world.

  “He started tae take care of the wounds,” he said curtly.

  “Why did he not finish?” she asked impatiently as she looked around. “Where is he? I must speak tae him.” When Rane did not answer, she said in a fervent voice, “It will take the two of us; Mr. Nisbit and I. These horses need help!”

  Rane sighed, his lips turned down into a frown as he looked her up and down. He breathed in deeply, inhaling the smell of flowers that surrounded this woman. Calmness flooded him as he stared into her intelligent grey eyes.

  “He is dead.”

  3

  Gillis’s eyes widened at his answer. She managed to control her legs giving out, else she would have fallen to the ground.

  My mentor is dead?

  She tried to slow her breathing and regain her calm. She would need to remain steady, she knew this. She would not collapse. She tightened her trembling legs.

  “Dead? How?” she asked in a hushed voice.

  She would not let this big, intimidating laird know that she was terrified that Mr. Nisbit was dead, and how horrified she was at the sight of the horses’ wounds.

  The giant laird just stared at her, his face set like stone.

  “Ye dinnae know?” she demanded of him.

  Again, he would not answer her. His jaw was tight, the tick working in his cheek.

  She took a deep breath. “Then I have one question for ye.”

  Rane nodded once to her, his jaw still tightly clenched.

  “What has happened here?”

  “You dinnae need tae know,” Rane MacLeod said curtly. “Just take care of my horses.”

  Gillis looked at the stony-faced laird for a moment. She was shocked at his answer but raised her chin, rammed her pencil back in her hair, and shoved her book into her pocket as she kept her eyes locked on his.

  “I need my bags that are strapped tae Wort’s saddle,” she said in a firm voice.

  Rane did not take his eyes off her. He whistled sharply, and immediately, a young groom came running. Still, Rane’s eyes stayed locked with the angry young woman staring defiantly up at him. “Bring her bags here,” he told the small groom.

  They stared at each other while she waited for her bags. Neither moved.

  A moment later, the young groom came running back in. He set her bags down in the aisle and hurriedly left after a curt nod from his laird.

  Gillis finally moved her eyes away from Rane MacLeod’s intense stare. She bent down to open one of the bags.

  Her legs gave out and crumpled under her. She fell to her knees there on the floor, with her skirts pooled around her. She frowned furiously and hoped the laird had not noticed that she had collapsed, not knelt on her own.

  Her hands began shaking uncontrollably as she struggled to open her bags.

  Rane looked down at her. He sighed and slowly crouched down in front of her.

  “Ye can dae this,” he said quietly.

  His voice was rich, velvety. Almost soothing to Gillis’s ears.

  She slowly looked up at him. “Mr. Nisbit was my friend,” she said in a low, fervent voice. “Without him, as a woman, I would never have gotten an apprenticeship. Never learned what I know.” She swallowed as tears shone brightly in her eyes. She raised her
chin and looked him in the eyes. “I am still considered an apprentice, but only because I am a woman. I achieved my license.” Her fingers flexed into a fist. “I needed his permission. As a woman, I needed his signature, or in his absence—the permission of the village pastor—tae help yer animals.”

  Rane looked down the aisle at his stallions, then looked back at her.

  “Ye are all I have. Do ye see a village around Kinloch Castle? There is naught but cows, sheep, and horses grazing here aboot. There is no village pastor nearby tae grant ye permission to practice,” he said angrily. “I am the laird. I own the castle and the harbor. I give ye permission. They are my horses. No one else has the right tae say ye can or cannae help them.”

  “But—” she started to say.

  “These horses are trained for the king’s army. And for the Black Watch,” he said urgently. “Ye are the only healer here,” he said earnestly. “We are far from everything. This is my entire world, and these horses—my horses—mean everything tae me,” he said in a hoarse voice.

  “I am a woman,” she said in a low, intense voice. “To dae this without Mr. Nisbit—”

  “He is dead, Lady Gillis. He treated the others. The injuries to these horses are the latest, ” Rane said in a short, clipped voice. When her face only registered shocked surprise, he added, “Where is the woman who stood out in that courtyard daring my men tae judge her skill, her knowledge?” He noticed her cheeks were flushed pink. “Mr. Nisbit said ye were the best apprentice he had ever had.” He clenched his jaw as his eyes roved over her face. “Prove it.”

  He stared at her with a challenge stark in his eyes.

  Gillis looked silently at him. She was annoyed at his habit of trying to stare her down. She glared back at him. Finally, she nodded.

  “I find I cannae walk away from animals that are hurting,” she said quietly, as she looked behind her to the horses standing in the stalls with their heads hanging in pain. She turned back to look at him with concern in her eyes. “My life is in yer hands, Laird MacLeod, for as a woman doing this without the guidance of a man, I could be arrested and hanged, or even burned as a witch. I am breaking the law. I will definitely lose any chance tae continue working as a licentiate in animal healer, but vera likely, I will be arrested and lose my license.”