Terri Brisbin - Possessed by the Highlander

“Fear not, Mara. I would but show her the horse. If you would permit it?” he asked before taking another step.

Marian watched as Ciara settled into his arms, leaning against his chest and examining everything in her world from this new height. Pointing to the horse, she uttered that word again. “Pretty.”

Then, the daughter who never talked to strangers and never strayed more than a step from her side abandoned her completely.

“What is his name?” she asked the man, even as she leaned toward the horse, forcing Duncan to move or risk dropping her on the ground. With a quick nod of consent Marian freed him and then followed right behind as they approached the horse.

“He has no name. I call him ‘horse’,” he answered.

Ciara laughed then and for a moment Marian could not decipher the expression in his eyes when he watched her daughter laugh aloud. The same ones she thought were so hard and ungiving melted, and yet now she witnessed a longing there so strong it made her knees almost buckle beneath her. And then it was gone as quickly as it happened. He carried her closer, but stopped a few paces away.

“We must let him learn us or he will try to run,” he explained in a calm voice. “Let him learn your smell.”

Ciara giggled then as though that was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. The horse’s ears pricked up and he snorted once and then again, watching them get closer now.

“‘Tis true, lass. We all smell funny to horses and you have to let them learn what you smell like before you get close.”

She watched as he took her daughter’s hand and held it out to the horse. Whether it was her daughter’s scent or its master’s that it recognized, the horse calmed and gently nudged both of them. Ciara turned back to her with the greatest smile on her face.

“He would become your friend if you gave him something to eat,” Duncan said seriously. “Horses like food.”

“I have none to give him,” Ciara said.

Shaking her head, she looked around as though she would find something on the ground. Before she could answer, Duncan reached beneath his cloak and took out the stub of a carrot.

“Ah,” he said, “here’s just the thing.”

Under his guidance, Ciara took hold of it and held it out to the horse, who first sniffed it and then pulled it into its mouth. Ciara laughed again, claiming it tickled.

In that moment, Marian’s world tilted before her.

No man had ever held her daughter so. No man had made her laugh this way. No man.

Now, there she sat in the arms of a stranger, feeding his horse and giggling over the way its wet tongue felt against her palm. Marian stumbled then, just a step or two, but enough that he noticed it and he reached his free hand out to steady her.

“Are you ill, mistress?”

“Nay, sir. Not ill, just a bit dizzy,” she said. Marian reached up to take Ciara from him, but he shook his head and stepped back.

“You cannot carry her if you are unbalanced.” He noticed Ciara staring at her, the enthusiasm of the horse now waning as she must have picked up on Marian’s concern. “Your mama is worried about us being so close to such a big horse. Come, let’s look at him from a bit further away then.”

He walked toward the cottage and crouched down to lower Ciara to her feet. Instead of letting her go, he spoke softly to her, telling her about how old the horse was, and how many teeth it had and its favorite foods. Marian felt as though she’d regained her balance by the time he stood and smiled at her.

“I am sorry if it made you worry. I meant no harm,” he said.

Looking at Ciara’s face and the pure joy that shone there, she knew he had not. “My thanks for such kindness to my daughter.”

“‘Twas nothing, Mara.” His voice poured through her and he turned his attention to her as he had to her daughter just minutes ago. “‘Tis not often I find a woman, although she is a wee bit younger than most I speak with, who likes my brute of a horse as much as I do.”

She laughed, for she doubted he ever had trouble finding women to talk to…or flirt with…or do the other things men and women do together. Marian met his gaze and wondered how she ever thought him stern or forbidding.

His eyes flashed with amusement as he watched Ciara talking to herself merrily about the horse. Marian was close enough to notice the small flashes of gold in their centers. And she noticed that his hair, worn loose around his shoulders, that had seemed all one color, now caught the sun as it shone through the trees above and gleamed with all the shades of brown.

When the direction of her thoughts struck her, Marian began to tremble. She purposely did not allow herself to notice such things and went out of her way to disguise any such attractive traits in herself so they would not be noticed by others. Being noticed meant trouble. And it was trouble she neither welcomed nor could afford.

“My thanks again for this small treat for my daughter, sir. We must not keep you from your duties any longer.” Marian reached out for Ciara’s hand and grabbed it when she did not move quickly enough.

“Ciara, thank Sir Duncan for letting you feed his horse.”

“Duncan is fine, Mara. She can call me Duncan.”

Ciara mumbled her thanks, still in awe of the horse and its owner and, with a nod, Marian led her to the cottage door.

“Mayhap Ciara can suggest a name when next I visit?” he asked.

She hurried inside, hoping her daughter had not heard his words. Closing it behind them, she resisted the urge to drop the bar and secure it. Such an action could be construed as an insult, since he’d offered nothing but pleasant company to her and her daughter. Even as Ciara went searching through her small box of toys for the horse made of sticks, Marian walked to the small window that faced the front of the cottage and peeked carefully through the covering to watch him leave.

He untangled the reins from the horse’s legs and pulled himself onto its back. The strength in his arms and legs was obvious as he brought the strong horse under control and turned it toward the village. If she’d thought him only a man of meetings and discussion, she’d been so very wrong. Duncan the Peacemaker was first a warrior and then a negotiator.

Marian watched as he leaned down and said something to the animal that made it rear up and shake its head and snort. Instead of trying to overpower the animal, Duncan laughed loudly and patted its head and neck in approval. Then just before he guided the horse into the path, he turned and nodded in her direction.

Had she been so obvious in her observation of him? What must he think of her gaping and gawking at him through her window? Shocked, she backed away but she knew it was too late. Her transgression had been witnessed. Luckily Ciara was completely engrossed in playing and reliving every moment of her horse experience and so she missed the embarrassing display her mother was making.

Tugging the kerchief from her hair and loosening the braid to allow her hair to fall freely, Marian moved about the cottage finishing tasks left undone when they’d been drawn out by the first flashes of sunshine in days. Now, she worried over the results and thought on his parting words.

Mayhap Ciara can suggest a name when next I visit?

A shiver pulsed through her body and claws of fear pulled at her as she considered all the dangers inherent in his words and possibly in his intentions, too. She knew how men thought, but her daughter did not. If Ciara became attached to this man, it would break her heart when he left…as he no doubt would.

She must discourage him somehow. Discreetly of course and in a way that did not offer insult to his honor. Although she kept apart from the machinations within the clan, even she understood the importance of his work and the alliance his laird offered her brother. Marian must turn his attentions from her, for whatever reason they were focused on her mattered not, and keep it on his duties and responsibilities.

She must convince him that she was not worthy of or interested in his concern and she must do it in a way that seemed like his idea. Regardless that he had stepped forward to help her rid herself of Laren. Regardless of the kindness he’d shown her daughter. Regardless that, as the clan’s honored guest, he should be granted any, any, measure of hospitality that gained his attention.

Discourage without insult.

Ignore without insult.

Direct his interest without insult.

Marian knew these were the tasks before her and she prayed that she was up to it. For the sake of her daughter and everyone she loved and for the multitude of sins she bore, she must be.

Duncan returned to the keep with a clear head and a much lighter spirit than when he’d left. Leaving the horse with a boy in the stables, he trotted to the great hall and found those he’d left behind readying for the noon meal. He climbed the dais, bowed to the laird and sat in the stool left open for him.

If anyone wanted to redress him for his abrupt departure earlier, none did. Platters of food were passed and cups filled and then simple and congenial conversation followed as they ate. Soon they all rose and prepared to return to the laird’s solar where the discussions were being held.

Mayhap he had been the problem? Mayhap his own attitude had been at fault and this short break would improve the business still ahead of them?

He spied Tavis in the corridor as he walked behind the laird and called him over. Tavis’s talent was just what he needed for a special gift he would need within the next few days. With a few instructions and a warning to speak of it to no one, Tavis headed off to find what he needed.

Duncan smiled then, thinking on the expression the child’s face would wear when she saw the surprise he was planning. And, if he did that, made the little girl smile, mayhap he could draw one from her mother as well?

Duncan allowed three more days to pass, three long, unending days, before he permitted his thoughts to drift from the numbers and the clauses of the treaties under discussion to the woman and the wee child who lived at the edge of the village. Yet, for every step forward the negotiations took, they fell two behind. If the pattern had not repeated itself three times so far, he would have doubted his assessment. But, even Hamish had noticed it.

This time, Iain had suggested a break, with some hunting to refresh their larder and their spirits. His men agreed rapidly, as he knew they would, for they tired of their close quarters and good behavior. A hard ride and some good hunting would burn off the building tension. That and the feast that the laird had announced for two days hence. Fearing that he’d kept them on too tight a hold, Duncan accepted the invitation and extended it to the MacLerie men.

The day was fair and the storm clouds that built on the horizon in the morn seemed to drift in other directions, giving them the perfect conditions for their hunt. The Robertsons seemed a congenial lot—mock battles of their hunting skills carried them through the day, with each clan proving themselves as worthy adversaries. Even the laird brought down a stag, to the wild cheering of his men. Duncan allowed him his moment of triumph, deciding that he and the tentative negotiations did not need him to demonstrate his own prowess in the hunt. By the time the sun began to slide down toward the dusk, the group was heading toward the village and the keep behind it.

It was as they rode over the bridge that Duncan’s attention shifted for only a moment, but it was time enough to be noticed by Hamish. Feeling under his cloak for the toy, he took leave of the laird, announcing his intention to visit with his clansman Ranald. After the others traveled on ahead, he did indeed go to the smithy’s cottage, for he had questions on his mind and could trust Ranald for honest answers and discretion.