Free Highlander's Prize by Mary Wine Page A

were dancing now that the cider had made them all merry.
    “Go on, men. I’ll join ye when I have the lass.”
    ***
     
    The supper the Chisholms retainer brought her was cold, but it didn’t stop her belly from rumbling. Her hands shook with anticipation as her nose picked up the scent of the broken bread sitting on top of the bowl. A small ceramic pitcher of milk was left on the table before the door closed once more. With no candle, the room became nothing but shadows. Slim fingers of golden light from the hallway teased her from beneath the door. They didn’t penetrate even halfway across the room.
    Well, she didn’t need to see her meal. Sitting on the narrow bed, she broke off some of the bread and tasted it. Spring was new, so the flour would have been ground from last year’s harvest. But it wasn’t musty or stale, proving the housekeeper knew her craft well. Unlike the staff in the keep in which Clarrisa had met the king.
    Clarrisa tried to slow down, because she heard her own lips smacking. Maybe it was the darkness or the fear that she’d never see the sky again. Every sound hit her as louder, more intense while she consumed the meal. The milk was chilled from being stored in the cellar, the pottery cold against her fingers. She forced herself to leave half of it in the pitcher in case no one remembered to bring her breakfast.
    Her thoughts wanted to whirl like a snowstorm, but with her belly full, her body longed only for rest. She lay down and pulled the single blanket over her body. Damn Maud for insisting she dress in summer linen to better display her curves. She doubted James had cared what she looked like; it was her blood he was drawn to.
    What drew a man such as Broen to a woman?
    She was mad to think on such a topic, but her mind was half-gone into slumber, and discipline seemed to have vanished. An image of him crouching down near her surfaced from her memory and followed her into sleep. What surprised her was how much she was drawn to the details that set him apart from civilized men. She should detest him; instead, she dreamed of him.
    ***
     
    “Come, lass…” The voice was husky and dark. Her eyes flew open as Faolan’s promise to prove himself to her filled her thoughts.
    “You will not have me!” She shoved at the man sitting on the edge of the bed. He stumbled, giving her the opportunity to kick the blanket aside. “I am sick unto death of everyone’s desire to be in my bed.”
    “Be silent, woman.”
    “I will not help you commit this atrocity, Faolan Chisholms.” She picked up the pitcher and flung it at him. He moved faster than she did, clearing the path she sent the pottery sailing along. It smashed into the stone wall, shattering into bits.
    A hard hand grabbed her and sealed her next retort behind it. He yanked her up against his body as she struggled to escape. There was too much iron strength in the man holding her. She strained with all her might but remained held securely.
    “’Tis Broen, and I’ve come to—”
    His identity was too much for her to bear. It must have been her dreams of him while falling asleep, but her cheeks flamed and her heart raced the moment he revealed his name.
    “Ye bit me,” he accused in a soft snarl. For a moment the iron cage of his arms opened as he shook his hand.
    “I thought you were that devil of a friend you handed me over to.” Clarrisa sent her best punch toward his face. Pain erupted all along her arm when her knuckles connected with his jaw. “Well… I will not submit to him or you or your king! Do you hear me?”
    “Sweet Christ, half the castle heard ye,” he swore in a raspy tone. “Quiet down before ye truly have to deal with Faolan. He’s got a notion to keep ye, but I am here to keep me promise to ye.”
    Broen pushed her against the wall, pressing his body against hers from head to toe. One moment she was trying to rub some of the pain from her hand, and the next moment the huge lout was closer to her than any