Taming a Highland Stallion: A Scottish Medieval Historical Romance (Beasts Of The Highlands Book 8)

by Alisa Adams

  The man looked horrified. “You are gaunnie ride this horse?”

  The courtyard became quiet at the rider’s exclamation.

  When Gillis nodded, the rider dismounted and shoved his horse’s reins into her hands.

  Gillis moved closer to the horse just as a breeze made her long apron skirts flap around her legs. The horse immediately shied away from her.

  The men started laughing and making rude comments about women riding.

  Gillis looked back at them with a determined look. She untied the apron from around her waist and pulled it over her head. There came loud murmuring from the men, who were now gathered all around the sand menage.

  “She’s wearing trews!” someone yelled.

  “A woman in breeks! ’Tis shameful!” another said angrily.

  She looked over at the crowd of men. “’Tis not shameful. ’Tis safe,” she said as she led the horse over to a bench and lightly mounted it.

  Gillis reached forward to pat the horse’s neck. She made sure the reins were held loosely and lightly in her hands.

  The man sneered up at her. “If the bit is so bad, why are ye on his back and touching those reins?” he demanded. Then he looked back at the gathered crowd and laughed.

  Gillis smiled serenely down at him. “Bandar ke haath me ustra.”

  The man frowned at her and looked back at the other men with a laugh. “Whot is that supposed tae mean?”

  Gillis lightly picked up the reins and nudged the horse into a walk. She patted the horse’s neck again and said, “Never put a razor in the hands of a monkey.”

  The man looked at her curiously. “Whot is a mon key?”

  Gillis blinked at him. She shook her head, patted the horse, and trotted away, still patting the horse’s neck with her left hand. She held the reins lightly in her right hand as she moved the horse around the sand menage with only her seat and legs, patting the horse frequently with her left hand. She then changed direction, putting the reins in her left hand while patting him with her right hand. She was able to speed him up and slow him down with just her seat, letting the reins hang in a loop at his neck. She cantered the horse back to the man, who stood there with his mouth open.

  “Yer sword, sir?” she asked.

  The man silently handed it up to her, still with his mouth hanging open.

  Gillis took the heavy claymore and almost dropped it. She heard the men laugh again. The big sword was not made for a woman.

  The man took it back from her with a smug look on his face.

  “Does anyone have a smaller sword by chance?” she called out to the crowd of men.

  Pilop shoved his way forward out of the crowd.

  “I do, milady!” he called to her as he hurried forward. With him came the strong waft of manure.

  The men started laughing at the small man and his sword.

  Gillis watched as Ingelram caught him by the back of his collar and pulled him roughly back into the crowd, who readily parted for the two fragrant men.

  The crowd of men laughed harder.

  Gaufid shoved the laughing crowd out of his way as he came forward. He stopped and looked at Gillis. He turned and looked back at the laughing men with a fierce frown. Silence immediately followed his frown. He nodded with satisfaction then turned back to Gillis.

  “Are ye going tae slay Maldouen?” he asked her.

  Gillis frowned at Gaufid. “Maldouen?”

  “The man that cannae ride this horse,” he said, pointing one huge finger at the horse that Gillis was on.

  Gillis’s eyes widened. “Of a certainty, I am not,” she said in a shocked voice.

  “He deserves the same treatment he has given his own horse,” Gaufid said into the silence.

  Gillis sat there, stunned, and unsure of what to say.

  The crowd of men started rumbling and murmuring again as the man named Maldouen grew very red in the face.

  “That is enough,” came Rane’s voice.

  The crowd of men parted like clouds for the sun as Rane walked slowly forward.

  Rane walked right up to Gillis, where she sat on the horse. He looked at her. “Ye showed him that he must learn tae ride off his seat and not with his hands. Ye may dismount,” Rane said stonily.

  Gillis blushed as she saw Rane’s eyes travel down her leather trews and then back up to linger on her hips and buttocks.

  Gaufid slapped his thigh. “I wanted tae see what she was going tae dae with a sword!”

  The crowd of men nodded in silent agreement. No one dared speak out to the laird, but they were curious.

  Rane looked up at Gillis. She was staring at the men, calmly petting the horse. She looked down at him with a small smile and a raised brow.

  Rane shook his head, almost imperceptibly. “Ye’ll get hurt, Gillis. Get off the warhorse. He is a young stallion.”

  Gillis continued to smile at him. “Let me,” she whispered very quietly. For his ears alone.

  Rane smiled tightly as he looked into her determined and fierce eyes. He saw intelligence and gentleness for the young horse, and absolute confidence. He reached over and took a sword from a smaller man near him. He held it up to Gillis with a challenge clear in his eyes.

  “Be careful what ye ask for,” he said quietly as he handed the sword up to her.

  Gillis made a harrumphing noise as she hefted the smaller sword in one hand.

  She wasted no time and pirouetted the horse around and asked it to canter off toward the dummy. Just as she neared the dummy, she slowed her seat, asking the horse to slow down just as she sent her sword into the straw sack that made up the dummy’s belly.

  Then she spun the horse back around and trotted back to Maldouen. She stopped in front of him and looked straight at him.

  “He is a good horse, but ye are a bad rider,” Gillis said, holding Maldouen’s eyes. “Balance over yer seat and heels, dae not balance on his mouth.”

  With those words, she got off of the horse, patted his neck, and handed the man back the reins.

  There was utter silence in the crowd.

  Rane stood with his arms across his chest, looking steadily at her. He reached over and took the reins from Maldouen’s hands.

  Rane spoke quietly but firmly. “Ye will no longer train this horse or any other. Ye have not been at Kinloch Castle long, but ye have been here long enough tae know that this is not the way of training in Kinloch. We do not train or control horses by using pain. Nothing good is ever created out of force, anger, or inflicting injury. In the chaos of battle, the horse must listen to its rider out of loyalty and respect—and trust. The battlefield is already a fearful place. Yer horse must not also be afraid of its rider. Ye will pack yer things and leave.”

  Malduoen hung his head in shame.

  Gillis took a small step forward. “Laird MacLeod, perhaps he can learn? He can strengthen his own body so he doesnae depend on the horse for balance?” she said quietly, with respect.

  Rane’s jaw was tight as he stared at her. He waited and then waited some more as his eyes went to Malduoen, who was looking hopefully at him. He made a barely perceptible nod of his head as the tick worked in his cheek.

  “Vera well,” he growled in a deep voice. “But ye wilnae get on another horse until I have seen that ye have mastered yer balance on the wooden horse. Ye must train harder in yer own body.” He stopped and started to turn away from the young man, but then whipped back around to him. “If ye ever, ever speak to Lady Gillis the way ye did before, ye will leave Kinloch that very moment, but ye wilnae leave alive,” he said through gritted teeth.

  Malduoen nodded respectfully.

  The men watching did not dare say a word. Their laird still looked furious as he walked away from the crowd of his men. They knew to hurt a horse was a certain dismissal from their excellent life as a warrior and trainer for the renowned Laird of Kinloch’s warhorses. Malduoen had gotten an unusual second chance, thanks to the woman healer.

  Silence came back over the sand menage.
It was Gaufid who finally broke it. He bent over and slapped both thighs with his hands and then straightened up and threw back his head and laughed a deep, booming laugh.

  “Maldouen! The lady healer said ye cannae ride!” he said with his booming voice choked with laughter. “She is right!”

  The men started talking loudly.

  Gillis realized she had been standing there; frozen, tense. She let out a breath and relaxed her shoulders as she looked past the men and saw Aria standing behind the crowd, smiling a huge smile at her.

  Gillis straightened her back, raised her chin, and silently made her way through the crowd, who immediately parted to make a wide swath for her. She walked to Aria, who followed her back towards the stable. She could hear Rane’s deep voice calling back to the men to get to work, and then there was silence.

  11

  The meal in the great hall that evening was as loud and boisterous as the evening before. Debates raged up and down the table. Every debate was about something that Gillis had told the men who had brought their horses to her. Some agreed with what Gillis had said and others did not. The conversations became heated and intense.

  Gillis was too tired to engage in conversation. She ate her dinner, pushed back from the table, walked down to where her aunt was sitting, and kissed the top of her wispy, grey-haired head as she whispered a good night. Then she turned and headed towards the doors of the great hall to return back to her room in the stable. She was so very tired.

  Rane watched her go.

  She was still wearing those leather trews that showed off every single curve of her legs, every perfect taught muscle of her thighs and round buttocks. The leather showed off the gentle, graceful swing of her hips and made her legs look as impossibly long as a foal.

  He swallowed tightly.

  He then realized the great hall had gone quiet. He looked back at his men, who were staring at Gillis’s retreating figure as well. They watched as she pulled open the doors to the hall and walked out, closing them behind her.

  Rane stood up slowly and scowled at his men.

  “The healer helped yer horses today. She is also trying to find out the cause of these attacks on our horses. Ye will treat her with respect,” he demanded.

  Gaufid stared at Rane. He ran a hand over his bald head as his eyes narrowed on his older brother.

  “Anything else, Laird?” Gaufid asked with a small, tight smile.

  Rane looked at Gaufid with one brow raised. His dark eyes glinted in the candlelight as he looked around the table at all his men.

  “Aye,” Rane said stonily. He slowly looked down each side of the table to all of his men sitting there. “She is mine,” he said in a low, commanding voice. “I am keeping her.”

  With those words, he left the table and walked towards the doors of the great hall, following Gillis.

  The great hall began buzzing once again with conversation.

  He did not see the satisfied smile of Aunt Hextilda.

  Rane walked down the aisle of the softly lit stable. The horses were all quiet in their stalls. They looked calm, content. No longer in pain.

  This was thanks to her, he knew.

  She had amazed him this past day. He had been stunned to see her lithely mount Maldouen’s horse. He had tensed at the sight of her, ready to run forward and pull her off the stallion. He had been terrified and worried that the young stallion would hurt or even kill her. Just as the young girl he had been betrothed to all those years ago had been killed. But Gillis had seen why the horse had acted so terribly for its rider. She had known how to manage the horse, whose mouth had been hurt so severely. Instead of just showing the stubborn Maldouen the horse’s injured mouth, she had shown him how to ride lightly without causing pain and having the horse become out of control with fear.

  Watching her had been like a punch to his gut—not just because she was in leather trews that fit her like his own loving hands, but because she was pure, lissome, supple grace and control on top of that stallion. Her hair had come free of its knot and fell down her back as she rode. He had never seen a woman such as her. She had handled that young stallion better than most of his men.

  She was a Valkyrie.

  She was everything he had ever dreamed of.

  She would be his.

  He tapped on the door to her quarters and waited.

  Gillis opened the door and stilled.

  “Laird MacLeod,” she said in a rush of breath.

  The look on his face had set her heart to racing. The fire was back in his eyes. Smoldering, burning brightly. The way he looked at her, her mind went blank as her breath caught.

  Rane walked forward. Intent as a predator, sure of its prey.

  Gillis knew instinctively that she could either step backward or he was going to come right up against her. She took a step back, but he kept coming until the backs of her knees were against her cot. She put her hands to his chest.

  “What—” she started to ask but his mouth was on hers as his hands cupped her face.

  He kissed her with a hunger and raging fire that she had not felt in his other kisses. His mouth took ownership of hers. His lips took possession of her mind, her heart, her whole body. He took her lips slowly, fiercely, deeply. She felt teeth nip and bite, felt the tip of his tongue as he thrust between her lips and dared her tongue to tangle with his as he thrust deeper, his tongue penetrating her mouth over and over. He never yielded his possession, never gave her a moment to breathe, only to whimper and sigh for more.

  This was pure, carnal hunger as he ravaged her mouth and then moved on to her neck as he bit and licked his way down to her shoulder and then back up again. He was a storm of hunger and passion and demands as his mouth took and took some more.

  And she gave all he demanded, willingly.

  His hands traveled down her hips, over the taut curve of her buttocks, and down the backs of her thighs to press her closer to him. He could not stop his hands from touching her. He wanted more and more of the feel of her as he ran his hands over her arms, her back, her stomach and pert breasts, and down her elegant, long legs as far as he could reach.

  Gillis's knees weakened at the intensity of his kisses. She clung to his fiery heat as he pushed her back, pressing her further against the cot. She murmured something unintelligible as she tried to regain her balance but he wrapped his arms around her and nudged her down, down onto the cot, falling with her, falling slowly as he cradled her gently and then settled on top of her without stopping his kisses.

  Their hands traveled over one another's bodies as they murmured and kissed and whispered and sighed. Rane reached up and caught both of her hands in his as he covered her from her toes to her luscious, generous lips and kissed her some more while their fingers tangled together.

  He held her hands as he reveled in this woman and gave thanks with his kisses. This was a woman to cherish, a woman to hold forever.

  He knew it.

  He would not lose this.

  They kissed until the moon shone through the windows, turning the room to silver.

  Until silence came over the sleeping castle.

  Until the candle’s bright flame burned out, and the hot wax settled in a spent puddle.

  12

  He was on the practice field first thing in the morning, calling out orders to his men as sweat glistened on his face and arms as he led them through the battle drills for that day.

  “Laird MacLeod!”

  Rane heard his name shouted. He turned on his horse to see Aunt Hextilda scurrying as fast as she could onto the field. Her hunched body moved awkwardly as her old legs carried her along in a jumbling gate.

  Rane leaped off his horse and ran to her. He had a terrible feeling in his gut.

  “What is it? Is something amiss?” he said urgently with dread in his belly.

  Hextilda looked up at him, holding his arms to steady herself as she gasped for breath.

  “She is gone. My niece is gone!” she said as she looked up at
him.

  “What?” he said as he tried to grasp what she was telling him as his mind screamed, Sards, dinnae let the evil that took Nisbit touch my love!

  “She is gone!” Hextilda said firmly as fear shone in her eyes.

  “She cannae be gone,” he said with dread. “She cannae be gone!” he repeated in a shout at the diminutive old woman. “I have only just found her. I love her!” he shouted.

  Aunt Hextilda grabbed his shirt. “I know ye dae. But someone took her. Her room—there was a struggle, it looks like. Her things are gone, tae.”

  Rane stared down at her with wide eyes. He shoved away from her and leaped on his horse and kicked it into a gallop back towards the keep.

  The horse slid on the stones as it galloped full speed through the gates and turned towards the stable. Rane steered it straight into the stable, ducking his head as he galloped down the aisle, sliding again on the stones as he slid to a stop in front of the open door to Gillis’s room, where just the night before...

  He swallowed tightly as he jumped off his horse and ran into the room. He was breathing heavily as he spun around, taking in the unmade cot with the blankets looking like they had been dragged across the room. A chair was overturned. Her apron was pushed under the cot, almost out of sight. Rane pulled it out. Her healing instruments were still in the pockets. Her bags were shoved under the cot, to the very back. Rane stood up and looked around again, willing himself to calm down, to slow down. To notice everything.

  He looked at her desk. Laying on the floor, peeking out from her bed linens, was the small book she made her notes in. He reached down to pick it up and found a second book lying with it. He put both books on the desk and looked around the room again. It was very sparse. There was nothing else to be found.

  He saw signs of a struggle, but an attempt to hide her apron and healing instruments and bag had clearly been made. The bed linens and overturned chair were the only sign of the struggle.