The Highlander's Touch
Page 23

“Ye may call me Eirren, but in truth I’d answer to anything from ye,” he said with a flirtatious grin.
She shook her head in mock reproach. “How old are you?”
He cocked an eyebrow and grinned. “Old enough to know yer a bonny lassie. I may not be a man yet, but one day I will, so I better be getting all the practice I can.”
“Incorrigible,” she murmured.
“Nay, just thirteen,” he said easily. “The way I see it, a boy can get away with a lot a man can’t, so I’d best do it all now. What else did ye wish to ken, lassie?”
“Is he married?” What kind of wife could handle a man like him? She could have kicked herself the moment she said it, but then she decided Eirren surely wouldn’t understand her interest.
“Ye wish to tup him?” he asked curiously.
Tup him? Lisa puzzled over that for a moment. “Oh!” she said, as she realized what he meant. “Stop that!” she exclaimed. “You can’t think like that! You’re too young. Tup, indeed.”
He grinned. “I grew up hearing it from the men, how could I not? I haven’t had me a mam in a long time.”
“Well, you need one,” Lisa said softly. “No one should be without a mother.”
“Did he kiss ye?”
“No!” she lied hastily. She ducked her head, bringing a fall of hair forward to hide her blush from the too-perceptive boy.
“Fool he is, then,” Eirren said with his gamin grin. “Well, lassie, ye better be deciding what ye wish to do. If yer not going, yer staying, and if yer staying ye best go back to yer room afore he discovers ye missing. He doesna like rules bein’ broken, and ye escaping yer room would fair give him a fit.” He rose to his feet and dusted off his scabbed knees.
“You need a bath,” she informed him, deciding that if she had anything to say about it while she was there, he’d have a mother of sorts.
“Aye, and there are some things I dinna miss about me mam being gone at all,” Eirren said cheerfully. “Come on with ye. I see ye’ve decided to stay in the cave with the bear, which isna all bad; his growl is much worse than his bite, once ye get him to relax.”
Lisa smiled as she followed him from the stairwell. Young Eirren saw far too much for her comfort, but he might prove a useful ally for that very reason. Scampering about like a busy mouse, the inquisitive lad probably knew every nook and cranny of the castle. She would do well to cultivate his company, surreptitiously of course. As if he’d read her thoughts, Eirren spoke, as he gently pushed her back in her room. “Doona be telling the laird about me, lassie. He willna like me speaking with ye. It must be a secret between only two. I ken ye wouldna wish to get me in trouble, would ye now?” He held her gaze.
“Our secret,” Lisa agreed.
CIRCENN SMACKED DUNCAN’S THIGH WITH THE FLAT OF his blade. “Pay attention, Douglas,” he growled. “Distraction will kill a man in battle.”
Duncan shook his head and frowned as he counted off five paces and faced Circenn. “Sorry, but I thought I saw a child dart into the bothy behind the keep.”
“Most likely that young serving lass Floria, who scarce reaches my ribs,” Circenn said. “You know no children are permitted at Dunnottar.”
“If so, it was a bloody small lass.” Duncan leveled his sword with a smooth flick of his muscled forearm. “And although you and Galan think I like ’em all, I doona like ’em that young.”
Their swords met in a clash of steel that sent sparks cartwheeling into the mist as dawn broke over Dunnottar. Dimly visible beyond damp low-hanging clouds, the sun bobbed on the shimmering horizon of the ocean, and the mist that had blown in with the night tide began to steam off slowly.
“Come, Douglas, fight me,” Circenn goaded. Duncan had trained with Circenn since youth and was one of the few men who could hold his own in battle against him, for a short time, at least; then Circenn’s superior strength and endurance finished him.
Parry and thrust, feint and spin. The two performed an ancient warrior’s dance around the courtyard until suddenly Duncan penetrated Circenn’s protective stance, the tip of his blade resting at the laird’s throat.
The circle of knights flinched collectively as Circenn froze, his gaze fixed not on Duncan’s blade but high on the east face of the keep.
“She is walking calamity. The lass is absolutely without wits, I vow it,” Circenn said. He released a string of curses that caused even Duncan to raise a brow.
All eyes turned to the east where a slender woman clung to the stone wall, fifty feet above the ground. Knotted linens flapped in the breeze, dangling a dozen feet beneath her. It was obvious what she was doing, dropping down the dozen feet to the window beneath hers, preparing to enter it.