by Alisa Adams
Gillis laughed lightly. “That is my Aunt Hextilda, and ye met her dog, Duke. Ye should meet my other two aunts, giant Aunt Agnes Gunn, who has an enormous draft mule named Iris. Well, my friend Cat and her husband Caden have Iris now. Caden could not bear to be parted from Iris after their adventure together. And then there is Aunt Burnie, who has a tragic-looking cat named George.” She laughed softly again until she noticed that Rane looked very serious.
“I like her small dog,” he murmured. “Duke...” He smiled at the name.
His voice was so low and deep Gillis barely caught it.
“She named him after my cousin Ina’s husband, Beiste,” Gillis explained. “He is the Duke of Beaumont and Brandon.”
Rane grunted. “I am glad she dinnae name the wee thing Beast.”
Gillis nodded. “If ye like dogs, my good friend Swan MacKinnon has a huge wolfhound named Beans. He is aptly named,” she said with a soft laugh.
Rane looked at her. “I know of Swan’s husband, Steil MacKinnon. He has the great black Frisian stallion, Ben Nevis. And the man named Beiste. He has a magnificent white stallion named Victorious.” He nodded in approval.
“Ye know them?” Gillis said with surprise.
“If they have outstanding horses, I know of them,” Rane stated.
He looked back towards the stairs. His face turned serious. Almost melancholy.
“What is it?” she asked him softly.
He shook his head as he looked towards the stairs again. “I cannae remember how long it has been since someone kissed me good night.” He sounded melancholy.
Gillis’s heart started pounding as her breath caught. She did not think. For the first time in her brilliant-minded life, she let her heart lead. Not her mind.
She reached up to grasp his jacket lapel and kissed his lips.
Then she froze there, for his hand—his entire arm—had wrapped around her waist and held her to him.
Gillis closed her eyes and sighed. She sank against his body, against his lips. Sank into the depths of her heart as she let the feelings pull her under into a warm, hazy tangle of nothing but feeling and tasting. She let her lips lazily flutter across his.
She could not think. She could only feel. She parted her lips when he demanded it of her with his own silky tongue. She felt him slide within. Felt the liquid heat of him and matched it with her own. She felt the rough wetness as his tongue stroked hers. She did the same to him, learning and mirroring his every move for if anything, she was a most excellent student. She took in his gasps and groans and shuddered and trembled with her own. As his breathing became heavier, so did hers. His taste enveloped her and she reveled in it with utter joy and abandonment. She did not care if this was another lesson. She would take his fire and these kisses from this man, knowing they would never last, and enjoy them.
Slowly, he eased her body away from him, even as his lips still chased hers. Finally, he put his hands on her arms and stared at her with his chest heaving, his eyes wide and dilated with desire as his nostrils flared, still taking in the scent of this woman who had managed to break through his stone-like exterior.
“Sards, Gillis...”
Gillis stepped away from his hands. “I apologize. I dinnae know what came over me. I just wanted to kiss ye. I know that I shouldnae have taken advantage of ye at that moment as ye were overcome by my aunt.” She took a breath and rushed on. “I know ye kissed me earlier only to teach me a lesson about stallions but...”
Rane’s brows rose at her statement about him kissing her only to teach her a lesson. Reason left him. Need remained. Desire remained. Only this woman remained to fill his senses. This woman, who had been driving him mad since she arrived with her sharp wit and intellect, her obvious love for horses, and the floral, peaceful, calming smell of her that made him want her next to him.
He slammed her back against his chest and wrapped both of his arms around her and held her there. He kissed her deeply with years and years of pent-up hunger. With all the passion of a man who had finally found the one woman—the only woman—who would understand his life and his love for the powerful, graceful, beautiful animals he cared for. Because she was like him, and she was a powerful, graceful being. He lost his mind around her, lost his ability to put words together. Lost all the tension inside of him—of war and training and caring for everyone and everything in this keep. With her, he felt only peace, only calmness.
Only the need to go on kissing her.
Forever.
10
Gillis tossed and turned on her small cot in the grooms’ quarters. That kiss! What dae I make of that kiss? Why would a magnificent man like Rane MacLeod want to kiss simple, plain Gillis?
She had to stop thinking of him. The taste of him, the feel of him, the smell of leather and horses and the outdoors and some mysterious, spicy scent that was imbued in his bronzed skin.
She was here for the horses. She must think of the horses. Not him.
She could hear every rustle each horse made in their stalls. Slowly, finally, she drifted off to sleep.
She slept briefly and fitfully.
Too many noises. Too many rustlings.
She finally rose from her cot and tiptoed to the door and peeked out into the stable aisle.
Aria was sitting there, leaning against the opposite wall, asleep.
Gaufid was there as well. He had his arms across his chest, and his chin was slumped on his chest as he snored softly.
Gillis closed her door as quietly as she could and padded back to bed.
Gillis could feel the morning twilight’s warmth on her eyes and cheekbones. Gillis opened her eyes slowly and stretched in the shaft of morning sunlight coming through the window.
She had finally gotten some sleep last evening.
So much had kept her awake.
Rane’s kiss, for one thing.
Mr. Nisbit’s murder for another.
And the horses stirring in the stalls outside her door.
She rose from her cot, straightened her chemise, and pulled a fresh linen blouson shirt over her head and then a pair of leather trews that Aria had brought to her. They fit snug but felt wonderfully soft as Gillis ran her hands over her hips. They felt smooth as butter and fit like a second skin. She stretched her legs out and bent her knees and twisted and turned this way and that. No wonder Aunt Agnes likes to wear trews, she thought with a broad grin. She made sure her linen blouse covered her hips, and then added her large apron. No one will even know I have trews on, she thought smugly.
She quickly fixed her light brown hair back in a knot and went to the door. She opened it slowly and quietly to see that Gaufid had moved over, and Aria was now nestled against his chest. Her cap had fallen sideways as Mr.Gaufid’s bald head rested on top of hers. A glorious fall of curly, dark locks had escaped her cap and spilled down onto Aria’s leather vest.
Gillis tiptoed over to them. She held her breath as she lightly nudged the toe of her boot against Aria’s foot. Gillis watched as Aria's eyes fluttered once, twice, and then a third time before she noticed Gillis.
Gillis quickly put her finger to her own lips and pointed with her other hand to Aria’s hair.
Aria looked down at her vest and saw that her hair had come free of its cap. She moved very slowly and carefully away from Gaufid and then quickly shoved her hair back under her cap. She stood up as quietly as possible and smiled at Gillis with relief.
The two young women walked down the aisle to the far end of the stable as quickly as possible.
Gillis raised her eyebrow at her friend, but Aria shook her head. “Dinnae ask for I dinnae know how I got there!” she said quickly.
Ingelram and Pilop walked into the stable with two other young grooms.
Aunt Hexy was behind them with two mugs of tea, one for her niece and one for Aria. Hexy tried to get a good look at the lad under the floppy cap but Aria buried her face in the steaming mug of tea.
Pilop handed Gillis and Aria a basket of oatcakes,
breads, and milk meats with a small smile. “Thank ye for stitching up me Ant,” he whispered. At Gillis’s blank look, he added, “The small red horse in the second stall.” He pointed to one of the horses that Gillis had taken care of the day before. “I call him Ant as he was so vera small compared to the other colts born that spring. And because he was red, like an ant. Do ye see? He was so small, no one wanted him. But I thought he was perfect, on account of me being so small. Ye see?”
Gillis nodded and smiled. “I do see. And he will be fine, Pilop,” she said calmly. She touched his shoulder before he could walk away. “Pilop? Dinnae ye have a black eye on yer other eye, just yesterday?”
He blushed and looked down at the stone floor of the stable. “Och, aye. Ingelram and I got into a tussle. There was word that Laird Rane will have a guard for ye and I wanted to be one. But Ingelram thought I was being foolish. We havenae even gotten to the level of warrior yet, ye see?” He smiled bashfully. “But we will. Jest ye wait. We will!”
Pilop hurried after Ingelram to clean the stalls while the young grooms refilled the horses’ buckets with fresh, clean water.
“Ye best eat now, dear,” Aunt Hexy said. “There is a line of men and horses out front waiting for ye tae look at their horses.”
Gillis turned from watching Pilop hurry off. She looked startled for a moment.
“Ye made an impression on them last night,” her aunt said proudly.
“Goodness, I did?” Gillis searched through her bag and placed several healing instruments in the pockets of her apron. “First I must recheck these horses. Then I shall go outside. I fear this will be a test of some sort…” she murmured as she turned to examine her work from the day before.
Gillis walked out of the stable when she was through checking her patients. She stopped at the sight that she beheld.
The courtyard was full. There was a line of men and horses just in front of her. Waiting for her. She raised her chin and proceeded to the first new patient.
One after another, she patiently looked at the horses and listened to the men’s descriptions of what was wrong with their horse.
Some of the men had come with legitimate questions and concerns. Others had come to challenge her with medical issues, or even training problems.
Gillis had looked in horses’ mouths when asked about mouth pain due to the incorrect size or shape of the steel bit in its mouth. She had called the blacksmith over and was able to describe to the blacksmith the type of bit that certain horses may need. The blacksmith proved to be very willing to try some new ideas and went away, eager to start.
She had checked the eyesight of several of the old warhorses, for Kinloch Castle also had its own army and warhorses. These riders also trained the up-and-coming young warhorses and a few were quite opinionated, Gillis thought.
She had seen many saddles that were the cause of terrible pain to the horses and had immediately sent these horses and their riders to Aria.
A particularly huge man came forward. A bushy, wiry beard seemed to take up almost his entire face. It was grey and his eyebrows were bushy and grey as well, reaching up like tendrils to touch the tousle of grey hair that fell over his forehead. The man was as round as he was tall. Beside him, he led an enormous black draft horse with four white-feathered feet. The horse’s face was grey and his eyes looked soft and old and very wise. Gillis knew this pair had seen many years together.
“Big Bertie cannae walk straight,” he said briskly in a deep, baritone, gravelly voice.
Gillis had already noticed that the horse could not walk evenly; one of its hind legs seemed weaker than the other. “Was he injured?” she asked politely.
The big man made some sort of deep growling sounds. She could barely see his mouth. It was covered by his enormous, bushy, wiry beard, but it was moving. He was talking in the deepest voice Gillis had ever heard. So deep and gravelly was his voice that she found it hard to understand.
Gillis stepped closer. She looked up at the huge man and studied his mouth. She could see his lips, just barely, and what she saw explained why she found him hard to understand. He had an injury to his mouth; it was horribly scarred, the lips distorted off to one side. And he was missing many teeth on that same side. She concentrated on watching his lips to help her understand what he was telling her.
“...so the other horse on the team was killed. Turrible, it was. The battle was getting closer and closer and men and horses were dropping all around me. There was smoke in the air and the sounds of men crying out with their last breath for their mithers. Och, and the screams of the horses I shall niver forget as they struggled to rise from bloody injuries tae their heads or bodies, or legs blown off or cut off or broken.”
Gillis continued to listen, though she was struggling not to cry at the image he was showing her with his words.
He continued on. “The head of me regiment told me tae leave the ammunition cart, tae leave Bertie, that there was nae time tae unhitch the dead horse or Bertie and retreat. The horse and wagon of ammunition could be left as they would slow us down. We were being slaughtered there on that battlefield. I started tae run, but I heard Bertie call out tae me in that high-pitched, frightened way that horses have.” He looked down at her to see if she understood.
Gillis nodded. She knew that sound.
The man continued with a nod. “I looked over and saw Bertie’s wise, sad eyes staring at me. He knew I was leaving him there. Leaving him tae die. He just looked at me with all the cannon fire going off all around, bullets flying, fire, and all that noise. He just stared at me silently. Then he made a quiet nicker and started to pull that wagon and his dead mate my way, all by hisself. And I thought, ‘If Bertie isnae going tae give up, I cannae give up on him either.’ So I went back, almost got one side of me face blown up, but we pulled taegether and we got far enough out of the line of fire that I could unhitch him. I got on his back, and passed out from this injury.” He lightly touched the side of his face and mouth. “Bertie got me oot of there. He saved me when I was gaunnie leave him there tae die.” He finished and swiped at his eyes. “Bertie’s a guid horse, milady. I dinnae want tae see him hurting.”
Gillis noted the wetness in the big man’s lashes. She had not been able to understand or hear everything he had said in the beginning. But she knew that Bertie was part of a wagon team. The other wagon horse was killed, still in his harness. She had heard the rest of his story. She cleared her throat and sniffed, knowing tears were springing to her eyes.
“Perhaps he hurt his hip or leg, pulling the cart in that way. It would have put him very out of balance, losing the other half of his team.” She smiled kindly at the huge man. “What was yer name, sir?” she asked softly.
“I am known as Large Bernard,” he said gruffly. “I am not a sir, milady,” he said softly.
Gillis nodded. “Big Bertie is a beautiful and brave warhorse, sir. I want you tae spend some time rubbing his lame hip and his back. Take this.” She pulled a tin of salve out of her bag. “This may help ease any pain he may have.”
“I thank ye, milady,” Large Bernard said quietly. He led Big Bertie slowly away.
Gillis cleared her throat and looked to her next patient.
And on the day went. Some of the men who brought their horses forward to her had a smug look on their faces. Gillis learned that look. These were the tests
A horse that was mysteriously losing weight was found to have poor teeth because of the simple reason that he was so very old, not that he had some mysterious disease as its rider was so sure of. She told the man to feed the old warhorse a mash.
There was also a training issue.
A man with a hostile look on his face walked forward, leading his horse by the reins over to her. He told her that the horse seemed incapable of halting unless you pulled severely on the reins. This horse, she was told, “just likes tae keep goin’, an’ he dinnae like stoppin’ or turnin’ or anythin’—he just wants tae run and run.”
“And tha
t becomes dangerous in battle,” she said to the man.
“Aye, he must stop, he must turn!” the man yelled at her as he jerked angrily on the horse’s reins where he stood beside him. “And his saddle is fine,” he shouted into her face.
Gillis asked the man to get on his horse and show her this “problem” over in the sand menage training area. The man pointed out the “enemy dummy” to Gillis, explaining the training exercise. Gillis nodded and asked him to proceed.
The warrior mounted his horse and held his sword in one hand, pointing the horse towards the dummy. Gillis watched as the horse opened its mouth, its tongue hanging out of the side of its lips as it pulled against the rider’s hand with its head straight up in the air and proceeded to go even faster. It ran straight for the dummy target and flew past it so its rider never had a chance to swing his sword at his target. The horse flew around and around the rectangular sand menage, out of control and unable or unwilling to listen to its rider’s commands.
He managed to finally turn the horse and bring it back to her, but still at an alarming speed. Gillis took a chance and stepped almost in front of the horse, holding her hands out to the sides and softly crooning “Whoa” over and over. The horse slid to a stop just in front of her.
Gillis looked up at the angry, out-of-breath rider. “May I?” she asked quietly.
She walked over and examined the horse’s mouth as well as the bit attached to the reins.
“There is blood in this horse’s mouth. It is coming from his jaw. Yer bit, as well as yer hands, are tae severe. Change this bit and lighten yer hands.” Gillis knew that she spoke harshly. The sight of the horse’s poor mouth was horrible. The man was lucky he had not broken its jaw.
There came a murmuring from the men that had gathered to watch.
“Ye dinnae know what ye are talking about!” he snarled down into her face.
“Ye say I dinnae know what I am saying? Look in his mouth, see for yerself.” When the man continued staring mulishly at her, she took a breath. “Well then, will ye dismount, please? I should like tae ride this horse,” she said matter-of-factly as she stared calmly at him.
