Page 7 of Highlander of Steel
The problem was, Laird MacNairn was huge, his legs far longer than hers, with tremendous thighs to power them. She had felt the hard muscles against the back of her thighs as they had ridden together, flexing to steer the horse or quicken its pace.
No matter how fast she sprinted—and she wasn’t exactly a natural sprinter—the Laird would catch her. And no doubt be all the angrier when he did.
The stallion nickered, as if to confirm her thoughts. A warning not to do anything stupid.
I wonder if ye’d let me control ye?
She considered it, her hand reaching for the reins.
Would ye take me back to the castle?
The warhorse tossed his head in what seemed to be a resoundingno. Or, rather, a resoundingneigh.
Just then, the Laird found what he had been searching for. He pulled a thick rope out of a channel in the earth, camouflaged with leaves and mud and sticks, and began to heave.
Ailis sat, jaw slack, as she watched the impressive scene. The sleeves of his saffron shirt were rolled above his elbows, his powerful biceps straining against the fabric as he pulled with all of his breathtaking might. The muscles in his back also rippled with the exertion.
Her eyes widened as she realized the strength that had been holding her in the saddle. He could have held her tight enough to crush her if he had wanted to.
However, her awe was short-lived, as she realized what he was pulling.
From the opposite bank, a railed platform scudded across the water, large enough to carry two carts with ease.
The size didn’t make Ailis feel any better. Indeed, the very thought of crossing the river was enough to make her do something stupid. Or try to, at least.
She grabbed the reins and squeezed her thighs, muttering, “Come on, wee beauty. Please… please, take me home.”
The warhorse didn’t move, though he turned his huge head and stared at her judgmentally with one warm, brown eye.
“Please,” she begged. “I cannae cross the river.”
The stallion snorted, its ears twitching in annoyance as she continued to squeeze her thighs and tug on the reins. She rocked back and forth in the saddle as if that would be enough to coax the beast, but still, he wouldn’t budge.
And the platform was almost to their side of the river.
With a few more tugs, it arrived.
Laird MacNairn dropped the rope and slowly walked back to his horse. There, he carefully took the reins from Ailis’s hands, gaveher a serious look, and led the stallion straight onto the waiting platform.
“Ye’ll want to hold on and close yer eyes,” he said as he grabbed another rope and began to pull.
She didn’t need to be told twice, though she went a step further. Flattening herself against the horse’s back, her arms wrapping around its thick, muscular neck, she hugged the stallion for dear life as the platform began to move.
The journey could have taken five minutes or five hours. Ailis neither knew nor cared, refusing to open her eyes. She didn’t care about the Laird’s prowess as he smoothly pulled them toward the other side. She didn’t care that she was heading into enemy territory. She didn’t care about how long he meant to hold her captive. She didn’t care about anything other than not drowning in the river.
She mayhave screamed a little when the horse lurched forward, gripping its thick neck even tighter.
“Dry land,” came Laird MacNairn’s gruff voice.
She cracked open one eye to find that she was, indeed, on the opposite bank.
“Ye can stop stranglin’ Beithir now,” he added.
Flushing with embarrassment, Ailis loosened her hold on the warhorse and slowly sat up. “Apologies, Beithir.”
The stallion’s ears twitched again.
Rather than climb up behind her once more, the Laird stayed on the ground, with the reins wrapped around his hand, his knuckles colored with fading bruises. With his other hand, he pointed across a sea of heather and wind-bent trees to a forest in the distance.
