Free Knight in Highland Armor by Amy Jarecki Page A

Glenorchy lands?”
    “The tower house is not yet finished. My family has governed Dunstaffnage since the time of Bruce.”
    “But building the castle needs supervision, does it not? I am quite able—”
    “A building site is no place for a lady and a bairn. I spent a great deal of time at Dunstaffnage as a lad. It is well fortified and far away from clan feuds and the threat of outlaws. You will be safe there.”
    “Kilchurn is unsafe?” Circumstances grow worse by the moment .
    He adjusted in his seat. “’Tis not yet fortified as Dunstaffnage is…and there is some unrest with the crofters which I need to address. But mark me, it will be every bit as impenetrable as Dunstaffnage by the time it’s ready for you and Duncan to reside there.”
    So he did intend to put her in a tower and forget about her while he sailed for Rome. Margaret heeded her mother’s words and chose to tread lightly. “You are aware I managed a great many affairs for my father.”
    “I’m sure you did quite well at it, too.” He leaned forward. “From the safe confines of your father’s keep.”
    “But—”
    “I’ll not discuss it. Your duty is the care of our son, and I’ll see to it you both are protected within well-fortified walls.”
    Margaret pursed her lips. Aye, she’d lived in a castle, but she’d worked hard to earn the respect of her father’s men, as well as the crofters who paid rent to till his lands. She could be a help to Colin if he was to leave the country for an undetermined period of time. She surveyed his presumptuous stature from head to toe. The Lord of Glenorchy didn’t appear a man who’d bend to a lady’s word. She must prove herself. She prayed an opportunity would present itself soon.
    He stood and stretched. The heady scent of pure male washed over her. His arms alone bulged with muscles she’d never dreamed existed in a man. Margaret’s heart hammered in her chest. She glanced back at the bed. Her palms perspired so, the needle dropped to the floor.
    His gaze met hers for an instant—the deadly one that turned her blood to ice. Margaret could scarcely breathe. If he tried to lay a hand on her, she’d tell him how much the saddle had hurt all day because of the previous night’s boorishness. He stepped toward her. Reflexively she clutched her fists under her chin.
    He frowned, his brown eyes turning black. “You should sleep,” he said gruffly. “We leave at first light.”
    Margaret watched him walk toward the door—broad shoulders, tapering to firm hips, supported by legs as solid as oak. At the fete I wondered how I would look upon such a magnificent masculine form with disinterested eyes. Now I know.
    Once he left, she hurried across the floor and turned the lock. Thank heavens he hadn’t mounted another attack .

Chapter Eight
     
     
    The Highlands, 10 th October, 1455
    The next day, the retinue continued on, slogging through miserable wind and spitting rain. Before dark, Colin led the procession into a clearing surrounded by tall birch and evergreens. Fortunately, the rain had stopped, though the ground was soggy. Colin dismounted and strode toward Margaret’s place behind the wagon, his black cloak slung across his armored shoulder. “Build a fire, men—if you can find anything dry enough to burn.”
    He sent out a hunting party and had the campsite bustling with activity before he reached Margaret’s mare. “Apologies for the weather, m’lady.” He grasped her waist, lowering her to the ground like she weighed nothing.
    She tried to laugh, but it came out like a snort. “As if you could do anything about the rain.” She was still angry with him.
    He inclined his head toward the wagon. “I shall make you a dry bed for the night. I’ll not see you lying in the muck with the men.”
    Shivering, Margaret studied the muddy ground, strewn with thick patches of moss. She wished they all could sleep in the wagon. The ground would be comfortable for no man. “Thank