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

by Alisa Adams

  Gillis noted his voice was odd. Forced.

  “Nay,” Gillis said. “Tell me yer real name. Yer full name.”

  Gillis watched as the lad nervously looked back down the aisle.

  “Yer laird and Mr. Gaufid are busy talking,” Gillis added reassuringly.

  The lad looked back at her. “Gaufid!” The man’s name was said with awe. “We saw the whole thing, Laird MacLeod and I,” he said as he went back to scrubbing away at his hands. “We were just outside the stable door. Laird MacLeod was talking to one of his men, but we watched it all.”

  He glanced up at Gillis with a big smile, then quickly hid his face again.

  Gillis had seen his eyes, the shape of his nose, the turn of his lips and the fineness of his jaw and slender neck, even under all the dirt smudges.

  “I know ye are a girl,” Gillis whispered softly.

  She was met with silence.

  “Tell me yer real name,” she said even quieter.

  The lad sighed and stilled. “I am Aria.” The “lad” spoke in a whisper and looked up at Gillis. “But how did ye know?”

  Gillis’s eyes crinkled merrily as she laughed lightly and waved her hand at Aria. “I knew the moment I looked at ye. Ye are very pretty I think, under all that dirt.” She grinned at Aria. “No one noticed?”

  Aria shook her head. “There are no women in this keep. So they do not expect to see one.” She took the cloth that Gillis handed her and dried her hands and arms.

  “Why hide yer femaleness?” Gillis asked curiously. She studied Aria’s thick, woolen, blue bonnet and wondered what her hair looked like under the baggy cap.

  Aria winced slightly and glanced back surreptitiously at Rane and Gaufid.

  “I was raised here at Kinloch, with my da,” Aria whispered. “He was the saddler before me and taught me everything. I have always dressed in trews. It was all me da had for me. He did the best he could, raising a girl by himself. My mother died birthing me.” She smiled sadly. “The men here have always thought me a boy named Ari.” She shrugged. “When me da passed away, I kept up the saddler trade. Kinloch is the only home I know.” She looked at Gillis, waiting.

  Gillis studied the slender girl in front of her. “Ye and I have more similarities than ye know. I was raised by my three aunts after my parents died one winter of a terrible sickness. I was spared. I was but a young girl but my aunts shared me. Aunt Agnes, Aunt Hexy, and Aunt Burnie. They passed me around sometimes, but they did the best they could for me. I am no great beauty, not skilled in anything a lady should be, like music or sewing or dancing. I am not as skilled as my cousins in weaponry and fighting or even talking to men. I hide in my books. I am called odd.” She shrugged and smiled at the girl in front of her. “Ye hid in the tannery making saddles, and I hid in my studies.”

  The two young women grinned at each other and laughed quietly.

  Gillis's laughter faded. She studied the girl in front of her in the leather trews. “Aria is a beautiful name.”

  “Aye, it is,” Ari sighed as she looked avidly at Gillis’s pale blue skirts.

  Gillis snapped her fingers. “Can ye find leather trews for me? I shall trade ye a skirt in exchange.”

  Aria looked startled at first. “Of course. But why would ye be wanting tae wear trews when ye have such pretty things?”

  Gillis put her hands on her hips. “It will be much easier to work around these horses in trews than all these skirts. They get in the way.”

  Aria smiled. “Vera well,” she said eagerly. But then she sobered. “Ye mustnae give me away,” she said desperately. “Please? I have nowhere else tae go if the laird asks me tae leave for being a female!”

  Gillis winked at her. “Nonsense. I am a woman too. Besides, ye are the only saddler here at Kinloch Castle. And ye are vera good with a needle and thread as all saddlers must be. He sent ye here tae assist me for this very reason.” She saw Aria’s unease and uncertainty. “But I promise. I shall not give ye away.”

  Aria looked curiously around the stable, her eyes settling on the horses whose heads were hanging in pain and whose coats had blood on them. “I heard the horses were getting hurt. I had no idea it was like this, though. Does the laird have an enemy that would dae such a thing?”

  Gillis frowned. “I do not know. But I mean tae find out. I dinnae believe Mr. Nisbit killed himself. ’Tis not like him.”

  Aria started to say something but Gillis made a slashing motion with her hand. “I knew him well. He believed in me even though I am a female. He taught me all that I know of being a healer. I believe he was murdered and it has something tae dae with whoever did this tae the horses.”

  Aria touched her arm. “Perhaps he was that upset about the horse he could not save. ’Twas one of the laird’s favorites. That is what the men of the keep are saying. But I know he kept to himself so no one really knew him. He kept to his rooms in the stable.”

  Gillis shook her head. “Nay, he wouldnae take his own life. I will find out the truth, and I will stop whoever is doing this tae these poor horses, whether the laird helps me or not.” She looked down the aisle to the far end of the stable. “Tonight I will search his rooms for some answers tae all of this.”

  Gillis and Aria spent the day cleaning the horses’ wounds and stitching them up. These were all stallions in this stable. The geldings were in another stable, and the mares were in on the other side of the courtyard in a stable to themselves. So far, the mares had been unhurt by the evil hand that had done this.

  It was exhausting, exacting work. Aria proved to be very precise and unshakeable with her needle.

  At the end of the day, they had a quick meal of tea and oat cakes, with a selection of milk meats and a hardy, delicious bread.

  Gillis insisted to Aunt Hexy when she came to check on her that she would be staying in the stable to work longer. She worked until very late, until she could no longer keep her eyes open or hold her hands steady to see to a horse's wounds. It was only when she could no longer hold the needle and thread steady that she finally decided to bed down in an empty stall so she could be by the horses if they needed her.

  In the middle of the night, she felt someone put a blanket over her.

  She looked up to say thank you with sleep-bleary eyes, thinking it was her Aunt Hexy, only to see the departing figure of Rane MacLeod walking away.

  In the morning, Ari brought Gillis some porridge and hot tea. They had a quick meal together, and then Gillis got back to work on the horses’ injuries. Unfortunately, these were the more suspicious and fearful horses. Some of these horses’ injuries had shaken their trust in a human coming near them.

  A young stallion was proving to be extremely wary of letting Gillis touch his painful wounds. He had backed himself up into a corner and was threatening to rear and strike out at Gillis. He held his head high and was showing the whites of his eyes. He was grey, his sooty black coat turning more and more white here and there, and the red blood on his grey fur was heart-wrenching to see.

  Gillis crooned and spoke softly to the young stallion as she backed away and moved to the side. She held her hand out slowly, offering a handful of oats. He lowered his head and sniffed her hand warily, gently lipping the offering in her hand.

  Gillis kept up her soft banter until the stallion finally let her stroke high up on his neck.

  This one has lost so much blood, she thought as she glanced at the seeping wound just above his shoulder on the side of his lovely arched neck. The blood had dribbled down his shoulder and all down his leg, masking his beautiful grey coat in ugly, orangey-red blood.

  She bit her lip. I should have taken care of this one the day before, but he had not looked sae bad then. He must have aggravated the wounds, tearing them further in the night.

  She looked down to see that the straw bedding in the stall around his hooves was soaked and smelled of rusty, coppery blood.

  Gillis bit her lip harder. My fault. I should have seen this!

  Gillis moved slo
wly, trying to put his halter on so she could have a hand on his rope as she got a better look at his wound. His frantic antics seemed to be making the bleeding worse.

  “Easy now,” she said in a soothing voice. “Please let me help ye…” she said softly, over and over, offering him more oats, even a small piece of carrot.

  Finally, the grey horse calmed and let her place the halter over his head.

  Gillis held the rope to the halter to still the horse as she examined the wound. She frowned.

  “Ari?” she called out calmly. “This one will take two of us.”

  “I shall help ye.” Rane opened up the stall door. “Aizle is young and wary, and this has only made him worse,” he said with a calm, deep timber in his voice as he entered the stall.

  “You are lucky he didnae try to kill ye,” Rane said as he took the horse’s lead rope out of her hand. “He is a fierce one. He will be a fighter in battles.” His calm voice changed then as he frowned at her. “He is not safe for ye tae be in his stall,” he said in a short, curt voice. It was a stark and noticeable change from how he talked to his horses.

  Gillis arched her brow at him and frowned. Her voice belied her anger at the man who said the horse was not safe for her, for she spoke soothingly while gently cleaning Aizle’s wound. “So this one is Aizle,” she crooned softly. “The name means ashes. Such a clever name for a pretty, sooty-colored boy,” she crooned. She eyed Ranes’s tight jaw. “I have already been in here with him for some time, M’Laird,” she said as she kept her voice soft and melodious—for the young stallion, not the laird who had just insulted her.

  “I managed to quiet him enough tae get his halter on, as ye can clearly see,” she said in a quiet, singsong voice meant to soothe the horse. She smiled and continued to speak in the same lulling, crooning voice. “I am not the foolish girl ye make me out tae be. I grew up around horses and have devoted my life tae helping them. I am not afraid tae be around stallions as ye seem tae think I should be.”

  Rane held the stallion’s rope and slowly stroked Aizle’s neck. “I have seen stallions trample women and children, crush their skulls under their hooves, pick up full-grown men with their teeth and fling them about.”

  Gillis stilled and looked at Rane. He had spoken as she had—in a soft, crooning voice to keep the stallion calm—but what he had said was chilling.

  She bent back to her task of cleaning and stitching the wound. “Surely no horse trained by ye would dae such a thing,” she said quietly. “Surely not Aizle. He is a fine, good horse.”

  “He is a battle horse, Lady Gillis, trained tae fight. Ye know the way of this. Your Ross cousins know this,” he said as he continued with his gentle, slow strokes on the other side of the horse’s neck.

  “So ye know of my cousins, the Ross sisters, and their Clydesdale warhorses?”

  “Of course, doesnae everyone in the Highlands?” Rane answered. “We may be isolated here in Kinloch and not part of any battles, but still, our purpose is warhorses. The breeding and the training of the best of them. The tales of yer cousins and their fierce horses are well known.”

  Gillis glanced at him and then back to her stitching. “Our horses dinnae fight each other. And what they dae in battle, they dae on command.”

  “Stallions must fight each other in close combat battles,” he replied as he affectionately ran his hand over Aizle’s face. “The king demands it. If ye are fighting another rider, ’tis a benefit if yer horse is fighting the other rider's horse as well. Except if yer horse is mortally wounded by the other…” His velvety voice droned out to silence.

  Gillis looked up at Rane’s face. She saw the sheen of unshed tears in his eyes. She glanced quickly away as she swallowed. “Ye dinnae train this, do ye?” she whispered.

  Rane looked at her. “Nay,” he said firmly. “But a stallion will naturally defend himself and his rider. But nay, I dinnae train our horses tae fight one another,” he said staunchly. “We would lose half of the herd. ’Tis foolish what some dae.” He went back to caressing Aizle in long, slow, strokes of his neck.

  Gillis watched his large hands, so gentle and soothing on the young stallion. “I am finished,” she whispered. “Can ye ask someone tae pick up this bloody straw and put some fresh straw down? The smell alone could make him upset.”

  Gillis quickly gathered her things and was about to leave the stall when Rane closed his hand around her arm to stop her.

  He looked down into her eyes. “A long, long time ago, I was betrothed tae a young girl. She got on one of my warhorses, assuring the groom she could ride. The young stallion startled at her skirts on his back and threw her. He kicked out at her, then she fell and died.” His jaw tightened. “Women shouldnae be around stallions.”

  His eyes roved over her face, slowly, detailing the curve of her cheeks, her full lips, to her graceful brows and then back to her calm, grey eyes. He reached up to stroke one finger down her cheekbone. “I never got tae know her...” he whispered.

  Gillis swallowed. She realized she had stopped breathing. He had been betrothed at one time. She was stunned at the thud she had felt in her stomach at that. Then she had stood, captivated and captured by his eyes as they had moved over her face in a way that she could only describe as hungry. The hidden flames that smoldered somewhere deep inside him were bursting to life.

  “I am sorry,” she breathed out. She swallowed again and spoke more forcefully. “I am sorry, but I am not a young girl. I am a healer. And I know my way around all horses, even stallions.” Gillis watched as Rane’s dark eyes blazed, and his nostrils flared.

  “Do ye?” Rane challenged her. “Do ye know what stallions want? What they need?” he said as he came closer to her. “What drives them? What they think about day and night?” he whispered savagely. “Do ye, Lady Gillis?”

  Rane moved closer to her. So close that he pressed his body to hers, crowding her against the stall door. He waited for her to look up at him with those clear grey eyes of hers. He leaned down closer to her, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled the scent of flowers and peace that enveloped her like an angel’s halo. His mouth was a breath away from her full, rosy lips.

  “It is their desire tae mate,” he said hoarsely, just before he took her lips with his.

  He groaned at the contact as he swept his lips across hers like a man starving, like a man desperate and thirsty for cool, calm waters in a hot desert. She arched against him and sighed into his mouth. She opened her lips further for him and made a sound of pure pleasure, as if she was tasting something so new and delicious and heady to the senses that she could not get enough.

  Gillis felt the heat and fire in him and was drawn closer, like a fragile moth to a flame. She craved that heat. She dared to touch the fire.

  Suddenly she felt his body slam harder against hers while their mouths were joined. Rane pulled abruptly away and looked behind them to see Aizle waving his head at them. He turned back to her with an embarrassed frown.

  “Aizle is jealous,” he said as he pushed the stallion who had bumped him away from them. He reached around Gillis to open the stall door. He guided her out as he followed her, and turned and latched the stallion’s stall door. “I will let ye get back tae work. I’ll fetch Ingelram and Pilop tae put fresh straw down.”

  Gillis stared at him as he nodded to her with a smoldering look on his face. He is containing his fire once more, Gillis thought. He turned around and walked down the aisle away from her. She stood frozen with her fingers on her lips as she marveled at his broad back and narrow hips. At his long, muscular legs. The way he walked like a man leading a legion of soldiers into battle, knowing he would win. She watched as the shafts of sunlight he walked through caught his dark hair, which swung as he walked and grazed his shoulders. The sunlight loved him, for it touched on his tanned skin and made it glisten.

  Gillis ran her finger over her lips. This magnificent being had kissed her. Me! Gillis Ross, plain and simple looking, bookish and odd. A girl who loved to colle
ct sayings and change them to what made better sense to her. Aye, I am definitely odd!

  Gillis sighed. She took a deep breath and turned around and went back to work. She glanced towards the stall where Aria was working on a horse.

  Aria grinned at her over the back of the horse she was stitching.

  Gillis shook her head at her and laughed. It wasn’t a real kiss. She knew Laird Rane MacLeod was teaching her a lesson about stallions.

  She did not care.

  It was her first kiss.

  And very sadly, probably her last.

  She could not think of a saying for this.

  Gillis sighed and went into the next injured horse’s stall.

  8

  Gillis worked very hard throughout the next few days. Aria was there with her some days; other days, she had her own work to see to. Either Aria or Aunt Hexy would bring some food to Gillis, knowing she would not take the time to take care of herself. Aria also showed her the way to the back of the keep into the kitchens to find some food.

  Any time Gillis left the stable and walked out into the courtyard, the men would stop and stare and then hurry back to their work.

  Quite often, she saw Rane directing one of his men in the training of a horse. Her steps would slow as she could not help but be pulled by his presence as he stood with legs braced in his tall black boots and black kilt. The sleeves of his shirt were always mostly torn off as he held his sweaty arms across his broad chest, calling out commands. He seemed to sense her presence himself, for he always knew when she was in the courtyard. Their eyes would meet and linger until one of his men would call to him. He would answer the man without taking his eyes off of Gillis, and then he would watch her as she made her way to the stables.

  Gillis spotted him working a horse one day, and she stopped, frozen. He was pure muscle and grace on the horse's back. It was clear that he was at one with the young stallion he was working. He praised the youngster often, patting his back and speaking to him in a quiet voice as he controlled him with strong legs and his seat.