Free Snow Raven by Patricia McAllister Page A

uncle’s wrecked coach lay in grim splendor amidst the greenery, and a royal messenger would recognize the crest on the door.
    The other man nodded at Lindsay’s advice, but made no move to press on. He obviously was not in any hurry; doubtless returned from delivering a message or royal summons, and malingering on his way back. Merry shifted uneasily in the saddle when his gaze fell on the hem of her skirt, visible beneath the long tartan. She saw his eyes narrow, as he recognized the quality even through the mud stains.
    Sensing the change in atmosphere, Ran spoke quickly “Och, mon, we must be pressing on … make the border before dark.”
    The other man’s gaze had risen to study Merry’s features by then. “Aye,” he said, as if he aimed to memorize her face, just in case. Perhaps he did not recognize Merry, but Ran sensed his curiosity and suspicion mounting by the minute. His right hand slipped down to the hilt of his claymore, hidden behind the mound of Merry’s skirts, while the other still cradled her about the waist in intimate fashion. There was only one way he could think of for throwing the other man off guard, but it required the woman’s cooperation.
    When the queen’s messenger made no move to press on, Ran moved his left hand and ran it lightly, caressingly, over Merry’s form through the layers of tartan and silk. She gasped, loud enough for the other man to hear and yet did not betray her identity with some foolish remark. She and Ran both knew she had too much at stake.
    The other man’s eyebrow arched slightly, but as Ran hoped, a smirk curved his lips. The old image of the lusty Highlander groping a comely lass did help serve his cause. Now, if only he could make Merry squeal and squirm a bit …
    “Canna blame a mon for wantin’ to hurry home wi’ his blushing bride,” Ran said, adding what he trusted came across as a suitably crude laugh. “Welsh mud dinna serve half so well as a pile of rushes in the stables. Aye, hinny?”
    Ran pulled Merry back against him, wrapping his fingers in the flaming hair. He held her immobile while his lips crushed down on hers in a passable imitation of a rough, emphatic kiss. She was too shocked to struggle at first, and by the time she gathered her wits again, he had already released her to the coarse laughter of both men.
    Merry’s gasp this time was laced with outrage, and Ran knew there would be hell to pay later. Still, he enjoyed a fleeting moment of the woman’s discomfiture, knowing she dared not react openly without betraying her identity. That did not stop the little witch from digging her sharp little elbow into his ribs again, more emphatically than called for. Ran grunted with surprise, his ringing laughter cut short by the lancing pain in his side.
    The queen’s man chuckled, his suspicion abating. A wedding explained a fine gown on a mud-stained Highland lassie. He touched the brim of his cap and his heels to his horse at the same time.
    “Travel swiftly,” he said, grinning at the flushed maiden as he passed. Maid no more, indeed, judging by her fine Highland blush. He envied the Scot his flame-haired prize, but not the trials he’d endure in taming her. One did not envy the doomed.
    As the gray galloped off behind them, Merry twisted in the saddle and glared at Ran. “Cad! How dare you presume to manhandle me …”
    “Would you have preferred the alternative?” Ran calmly rejoined. “The man was on the verge of challenging us. If I had been forced to defend us, the outcome would not have been pretty.”
    She angrily tossed her burnished curls. “Whatever can you mean?”
    “I was ready to cut him down.”
    “A queen’s messenger! Are you mad?” Her voice echoed in the little clearing, but when she glanced into Ranald’s dark eyes she saw they were twinkling. “You … you are naught but a barbarian, sirrah,” she sputtered.
    Ran grinned and touched his heels to Uar’s sides. “Aye, lass.” He would not presume to