Free Only For A Knight by Sue-Ellen Welfonder Page B

the farthest shore, to Eilean Creag and . . . home.
     
He stared hard at the island stronghold, let his gaze caress the massive walls seeming to rise from the loch’s glinting surface. He swallowed again, indecision beating through him with the same erratic pumping of his heart. Little nigglings of ill ease to temper the elation of his homecoming and send chills of foreboding sliding down his spine.
     
If only he’d taken a different route, hadn’t happened upon this beauty.
     
If only he could peel back the hours and ride home with his heart as unsullied as his valor, rid himself of the enchantment she’d wrapped around him.
     
He cursed softly. As if he would change a single moment of the day even if he could. Nay, he’d keep her—even if he paid the highest price!
     
With an inward grimace at the trials awaiting him, he glanced up at the broad night sky. The clouds had thinned to wisps and a swath of twinkling stars glittered across the heavens, nary a one winking him mercy. Far from showing sympathy, their cold brilliance, so distant and aloof, only underscored his plight.
     
A dilemma he could easily solve by wheeling round his garron and riding away with his beauty. Absconding with her across hill and moor until they’d reached the edge of the world—a place where no living soul would care if she bore a name or no, and where he could do as he was wont without calling down certain ruination upon his clan.
     
A folly of a notion he considered no longer than the space of a breath and an exhale.
     
“Would that it could have been otherwise,” he swore again, the softly muttered words snatched away by the wind before they could fall upon impressionable ears.
     
Then, without further thought, he tightened his arm around his treasure, dug in his spurs, and set his mount thundering down the rugged slope, into the night—and in the only direction his honor allowed him.
     
Honor.
     
The word slipped through the darkness, teasing the edges of Juliana’s sleep but not quite waking her.
     
She tossed uncomfortably, snuggled deeper into her unusually soft plaid, and wondered when the Highland wind had started gusting so ferociously that it shook not only the rough-planked door of her mother’s cot-house but also the hard-packed earthen floor beneath her bed-pallet.
     
Faith, even the heavy iron cooking pot swung on its chain—she could hear the commotion, an incessant jangle. And, surprisingly, the unmistakable creaking of leather.
     
But before she could puzzle over that oddity, or the unaccustomed solidity and warmth of her most-times cold and lumpy pallet, the voice she’d heard earlier spoke again, penetrating her dream.
     
Her brother Kenneth’s voice, it was, and he was at home once again—however briefly. A journey he made whene’er he could, generously delivering the siller he’d earned at sea and supplying them with provender and goods he’d gathered in the months he’d been away.
     
His usual type of visit in which he’d stay only long enough to address whate’er tasks required a man’s strong arm. But also taking precious time to reassure them of his love, see to their well-being, and, he would always insist, to steel Juliana’s backbone.
     
To fire her mettle and make her strong . . . lest any smooth-tongued fool dare attempt to hurt her.
     
Use her as their mother had been used, however willingly.
     
“See you, lass, honor belongs to all whose heart is pure. Never you forget it, for I tell you true. Such glory is not the sole privilege of knights and lairds,” his well-loved voice minded her, the comfort of his words making her forget the annoying rolling motion of the floor.
     
He’d caught her muttering dark oaths as she’d stitched yet another patch onto her best kirtle’s thread-worn skirts. And, as he was e’er wont to do, he’d fixed her with a calm and steady gaze, then assured her she possessed sound wits and a stout, goodly heart—a generous heart.
     
Qualities that cloaked her in honor as