Free The Rogue by Sandy Blair Page B

in her life. Hissing “Sheet, sheet, sheet,” she clawed at the saddle as Angus’s horse pranced.
    Her initial terror—of being discovered by heavily armed strangers—had dissolved as quickly as a puff of smoke listening to their and Angus the Canteran’s conversation.
    Now, not only was she naked—thanks to the blasted horse stepping on the velvet and yanking it from her body as he shifted this way and that, thwarting her efforts to climb upon him—but the Canteran had done the unthinkable.
    He’d called her his woman!
    He hadn’t, apparently, been satisfied with taking her from her home and tearing through miles of forest with her. Oh no! He had to claim her— aloud —before Goddess and three strangers! Twice!
    She was now handfast to Angus MacDougall.
    Oh, aye, she kenned handfasting all right. Two summers before her mother passed, she’d brought Birdi to the annual Beltane gathering—the last Birdi ever attended—where a young man and woman became handfast. Minnie had explained it all in depressing detail.
    Did Angus the Canteran think her an idiot?
    When she got to him—if she ever got to him—she’d give him what for. Oh, yes, she would! Thanks to his obstinacy, she no longer had a roof over her head, hadn’t food nor clothing, and now no freedom.
    She was his for a year and a day.
    Holding onto the stirrup for dear life with one hand, she slapped the horse’s side. “Halt, ye blasted beast!”
    To her amazement the animal froze in place.
    Sputtering her limited list of profanities, most of which referred to cattle droppings, she grasped the leather dangling from the saddle with both hands and hauled herself up, hand over hand. When her foot caught the stirrup, she vaulted into the saddle. Relief flooded her. She took a deep breath, wondering how one steered the beast so she could drive it toward home after she rode over Angus the Canteran.
    A whistle pieced the air, and the snorting horse lunged forward, its neck arched, hooves thudding like thunder. Birdi yelped and grabbed onto the saddle pommel for dear life.
    As the beast closed on its master, Birdi silently cursed it, the strangers, and Angus MacDougall.
    She came to an abrupt halt. Hair billowing about her, she straightened, took a deep breath, and heard a collective gasp. Metal clanged as it fell to the ground.
    Eyes blazing, she turned in the direction of the sound and hissed, “What are ye staring at?”
    The dark lump, a man, to her right murmured, “Merciful mother of God,” and backed away.
    Humph!
    The saddle suddenly shifted beneath her and Angus MacDougall engulfed her. As his arm clasped her waist and the horse bolt forward, he laughed, “Ye are a wonder, lass.”
    Ha! Wonder or not, she would have a word with him as soon as she could breathe again; his arm had a death grip on her. Not only had he declared them handfast, he’d left her clothes and the costly velvet behind. The man was totally wode!
    After an interminable reckless ride, they came to rest beneath a treed canopy where the shadows felt cool and the air hung heavy with the scent of sap and fern. Birdi asked, “Are we now safe?”
    Angus shifted behind her and dropped to the ground. “Aye, lass, for now.”
    Raking hair out of her eyes, she muttered, “Thank ye, stars.” She’d had her fill of strange feelings—of odd flutters and heat—as they rode.
    Initially, the Canteran’s calloused hand had grasped her waist in a tight hold, but as the miles passed and the danger ebbed, their pace had slowed, his grip had relaxed. With every jolt of the horse, every dip in the trail, his broad palm and long blunt fingers shifted. And his touch was far more disturbing than any of her dream-induced yearnings had ever been.
    Aye, and the feel of his hard thighs and chest brushing her naked thighs and back...
    Ack !
    The sooner they parted ways, the better.
    Angus grasped Birdi’s waist.
    As tempting as it was to press Birdi’s delightful nakedness to his chest, he held