Free Lady Miracle by Susan King Page B

moment, to resist whatever he asked of her out of sheer stubbornness. But he asked the impossible. She had learned to suppress her gift until it hardly stirred within her anymore. Quite simply, she could not do what Diarmid asked.
    “Miracles cannot be ordered,” she said.
    “You can do this,” he said, unperturbed.
    She could not tell him the truth, and she could not convince him. The man was made of stone. She blew out an exasperated breath and slid a dark look at him. “Perhaps I should ask a miracle of you ,” she snapped in frustration.
    He smiled, a slight, crooked lift of his lip, as if he welcomed the challenge. “Name it. Within my abilities, of course,” he added drolly.
    His confident manner sparked her anger further. She grasped at the greatest challenge she could think of immediately. “Win a castle for me,” she blurted out. “Surely waging a war is within your considerable abilities.”
    He stared at her. “Do what!”
    “Win a castle for me,” she repeated. “One of my choosing.”
    “Not much of a miracle, that. Any castle can be broken.”
    “Do not break it,” she said earnestly. “Win it whole.”
    “I see. And if I do?”
    “Then I will try to do what you ask of me.”
    “Try?” His voice was low and strong.
    She shrugged. “It is all I can promise. Win Glas Eilean for me, and we will have a bargain.”
    “Glas Eilean! I know the place,” he growled.
    Too late she realized that his castle was not far from Glas Eilean. Perhaps he would even welcome the opportunity to claim such a valuable property for his own. She lifted her chin to cover her distress at the thought. “I hold the charter to it—but you must take it from the man who holds it, and then give it over to my half brother’s keeping.”
    A muscle jumped in his cheek and his eyes glittered cold. “I will not lay seige to Glas Eilean,” he said flatly.
    She had not expected that answer. “Why not?”
    “My sister lives there. The man who holds it is Ranald MacSween. Her husband.”
    She gaped at him as he dug his heels into his horse’s sides and rode ahead. If MacSween, the man who had defied Gavin’s men, was Diarmid’s brother-in-law, then perhaps Diarmid and Gavin were not friends after all, as she had assumed.
    She groaned inwardly. She should not have been so hasty to devise a miracle for him to perform. She should not have come with him; perhaps her actions would now make worse trouble for Gavin in his attempts to win back Glas Eilean.
    Diarmid rode far ahead of her again. She leaned forward, skirts flying, to catch up to him. “I did not know,” she said.
    “There are some bargains I will not make,” he said, staring straight ahead.
    “Then you understand my position. There are bargains I will not make either.”
    “Ah,” he said. “Then we have no agreement.”
    “None,” she said decisively.
    He rode beside her without speaking. As her anger cooled, she slid a glance toward him. Sunlight glinted bronze through his brown hair, and the muted colors of his green and black plaid blended with the hills and moorland around them. She studied the smooth carving of his brow and nose, the clear gray of his black-lashed eyes, the proud lift of his strong jaw and the firm set of his mouth. Even the small muscle that tensed in his lean, whiskered cheek seemed determined.
    No agreement. She was relieved, in a way. If he had promised to fulfill her impulsive demand, she would have been obligated to match his request. She glanced at him, curious and fascinated. Diarmid Campbell was a warrior, strikingly handsome, powerful in demeanor, intelligent and deeply secretive. He was a chieftain with obligations and duties to fulfill.
    Yet he set all aside to fetch a healer for the sake of his niece. He would do anything—nearly anything—to help Brigit. She marveled at the depth of such compassion, such devotion, and wondered at its source.
    “I think you would trade your own soul to save this child,” she