Free Snow Raven by Patricia McAllister Page B

argue with a Sassenach wench whose farthingale was tied in a knot.
     

Chapter Seven
    THE BORDER WAS THE daunting line drawn between English might and Scottish determination, and for centuries had seen all manner of bloodshed, strife, and treaties made and broken over tankards of heather ale. To cross in daylight was pure folly, unless one bore the protection of either Tudor or Stuart arms, and a brace of men besides. The border reivers were famous for their feistiness, and their genetic predisposition for a fight.
    Merry knew much of this already from gossip at Court, yet she saw no alarm on Ranald’s face as they made for the border. Indeed, he appeared bored as they navigated small streams and hillocks. Conversation had dwindled to inane subjects a long time ago, and Merry had given up trying to pry the barest civility from the man. It was not that he was a dullard. On the contrary, she suspected he would keep her on her toes if a match of wit and wills ever came to pass. Alas, he did not seem so inclined.
    For the longest time after his kiss, Merry’s lips throbbed with a cadence no less steady than the horse’s hooves. Such a brazen act was deserving of a slap, or perhaps a challenge to a duel. Certainly her father Slade would be outraged if he knew of Lindsay’s boldness. Her Irish mother was fiercer yet, but a secret romantic beneath her bluster. More than once she had hinted it would take a strong man to handle her flame-haired daughter. Merry suspected Bryony might approve of the laird of Lindsay, which made her all the more determined to detest him.
    In the beginning, she had given Ranald the benefit of the doubt, supposing his little brother an imp and Ranald serving as Gilbert Lindsay’s long-suffering guardian. But that kiss … ohhh, that wicked, willful kiss! Merry seethed, remembering how he’d seized her hair by the nape of her neck to hold her fast, baring her vulnerable throat and shaming her before the queen’s messenger. Worse, she had not struggled overmuch, too shocked at first. By the time she’d gathered her wits, the Scot had already released her, his hearty laughter making her cheeks burn like Greek fire.
    It was only for show, Ranald later implied … but was it? Merry simply could not fathom the necessity of such a thorough, punishing kiss. Yet she avoided the issue when she failed to acknowledge her body’s reaction. Her spine stiffened while her belly fluttered in anticipation, and a deep, sweet ache spread throughout her loins, culminating in a tingling she could not define.
    Aye, she had played at love before, dallying with bold knaves in the queen’s gardens and sneaking kisses in the halls. But never had a man so affected her as Ranald Lindsay did, with a single burning glance from those dark, dark eyes. She knew those eyes scoured the surrounding countryside now, ever alert though his relaxed posture did not betray any undue concern.
    Merry had just decided he was possessed of some magical cloak of invisibility when a fearsome shout rang over the hills.
    “ Bellendaine! Bellendaine! ”
    Echoing answers, the lusty cheers of a number of men. Merry panicked when she saw a dozen kilt-clad warriors riding down upon them. These men were fierce, armed with pikestaffs and short swords. She glanced back at Lindsay, expecting to see fear or concern sketched across his saturnine features at last, but to her surprise his lips parted not in shock but mirth.
    The slow grin spreading across his face transformed the brooding laird into a winsome dark knight for a moment, and Merry felt the familiar coil of tension in her belly. La, but the Earl of Crawford was comely! She had never seen him truly smile until this moment, and it seemed the years fell away, and she glimpsed a darker version of the mischievous Gilbert.
    The band of Scots circled their ponies about Uar, several shaking their fists in their air. Merry realized it was all for a show of bravado when Lindsay laughed outright, his deep