Free Lady Miracle by Susan King

Then he turned and galloped onward. The ease and speed with which he rode made her long to move with the same freedom.
    As a child in the hills of Galloway, she had known such freedom while playing with her closest friends, all lads, and her younger half-brothers. With them, she had ridden astride, climbed trees and castle walls, had sworn mighty oaths, and had fought mock battles with wooden swords. But her years in Italy as the wife of a prominent man had changed her in countless ways. She had lost her spontaneous nature, always conscious of the proper behavior for a lady and a professional medicus.
    But this brief journey alongside Diarmid Campbell had affected her unexpectedly. The scent of autumn grasses, of heather and pine and clear water, the sweep of the crisp Highland air against her skin, had stirred wonderful memories of the simple happiness she had known as a child.
    Watching Diarmid ride ahead, she decided to reclaim at least one of her Scottish ways or be left behind. Yanking her skirts above her knees, she swung her right leg over the saddle and found the opposite stirrup with her foot. Balanced lightly on the horse’s back, she leaned forward and rode into the wind.
    She caught up to Diarmid in moments, her black cloak whipping out and the skirts of her surcoat and gown fluttering over her bare thighs. The veil and wimple sagged and she snatched them off, feeling her braids tumble down. The chilly breeze stung her cheeks. As she neared Diarmid and reined in the horse, she laughed aloud, thrilled by those few wild, abandoned moments.
    Diarmid turned and slowed, watching her as she approached. His gaze traveled down her body to her legs, encased in black woolen hose gartered above her knees, and then up, taking in her face and pale, untidy hair. He tilted his head leisurely.
    “You know how to ride properly after all, I see,” he said.
    She sobered in an instant, pulling her skirts down to cover her legs and shoving back her hair. “I rode straddle as a child,” she answered, glancing away from his compelling gaze toward the steep, rugged hills and the misted blue mountains far beyond them. “How far is Dunsheen from here?”
    “At the foot of that tallest mountain,” he answered, pointing at a distant peak. “We’ll arrive after set of sun. I assume you would rather ride in the dark than spend another night in the hills.” He urged his horse forward in a steady canter. Michaelmas pressed her knees into her own mount, keeping pace.
    As they rode, she watched the pale ring of clouds that covered the highest mountaintop, and wondered what waited beneath those slopes. She wondered, too, who else lived at Dunsheen with Diarmid and the little injured girl. And she wondered if Diarmid Campbell’s wife knew that he had gone to fetch a healer.
    “Does your family know that you mean to bring another healer to Dunsheen?” she asked.
    “My family?”
    “Your wife, your kin.”
    He watched the pathway. “They do not know that I went to Perth to fetch you. I have been in the Lowlands with the king’s troops for nearly three months. But my kin will not be surprised that I have hired another healer.”
    “You have not hired me,” she said. “I come willingly.”
    He laughed, short and curt. “Is that what you call it? As I remember, you accused me of abduction—several times.”
    “Well, you did neglect to ask for my services,” she pointed out. “You ordered me to come with you, and then took me out of the hospital like a sack of meal, without courtesy.”
    “You were in trouble,” he said firmly, “and I saw the need to remove you. I was not going to bother with bowing and waiting on your will. That may do in Italy or France, but in the Highlands we deal directly with matters.” He slid her a glance. “And do not forget that I sent Mungo back for your things when you demanded it without much courtesy. Nor did I burn your breakfast,” he added. “All that is courtesy enough, I