The Bard (Highland Heroes #5) - Maeve Greyson Page 0,8
nonstop. The only way to communicate with the lass was to jump in and talk. “I havena seen Heckie, but ye ken as well as I that he’s usually in the stables ’round this time helping Mungo.” Sorcha circled her friend and attempted to catch hold of her long enough to swipe away the water droplets collected on her shawl. Jenny was always in motion, keeping her plentiful curves bouncing. The lass left a trail of enjoyable chaos everywhere she went.
“I tried the stable,” Jenny said, yanking her sleeves straighter as she moved closer to the fire. “Reckon he hid from me? He had to hear me calling. I’ll box his ears if I catch him doing such.”
Heckie MacIlroy completed their close-knit trio. The only son of War Chief Hector MacIlroy, the boy had grown up in the keep alongside Sorcha and Jenny. The three had played and fought like siblings for as far back as any of them could remember.
“If he promised to sit with ye, I’m certain he will. He’s gotten better about not pestering and breaking his word so much, hasn’t he?” Sorcha straightened Janey’s lopsided shawl across her shoulders.
“Maybe he’s left off pestering yerself, but not so with me. I wouldna be far off the mark if I called him a boldfaced liar whenever he opens his mouth on most days.” Jenny turned and backed closer to the fire. She frowned at the servants buzzing about the hall. “My bottom’s cold as death, but I reckon I better not lift my skirts to warm it with so many about.”
“Ye best not,” Sorcha warned. “Someone would surely tell Da, and he’s still not happy about ye being in the guardhouse ’til well past yer bedtime.”
“We were playing tables, and I was winning.” Janey’s innocent grin turned wicked. “Lined my purse quite nicely, if I do say so myself. I’ve nearly enough saved for that bolt of silk I saw in the shop at Edinburgh.”
“Well, Da’s not forgotten about it, so ye best behave for a while if ye ever hope to be allowed to visit Edinburgh again.” Sorcha immediately lost interest in shielding her friend from her father’s wrath as Sutherland and Magnus strolled into the room. “And there he is,” she murmured under breath.
Jenny followed Sorcha’s line of sight. “My goodness. The man’s even more handsome than he was last summer. How is it he’s not pale from the winter? He looks all…” Jenny grinned and wiggled like an excited puppy. “He looks all dark and dangerous.”
Sorcha agreed completely. “It must be the beard,” she mused aloud, knowing good and well that Sutherland’s close-cropped beard was the least of his dark and dangerous look. She pressed a hand to her heart, remembering how hard his broad chest had felt when he had embraced her. As tall as she was, he had cradled her completely as though she was a wee slip of a girl. Sutherland MacCoinnich was a full head and shoulders taller than anyone she had ever met. Well, anyone except for Da.
“He looks like a pirate. A mountain of a pirate. I think it’s the way he walks,” Jenny continued. “And wasn’t his hair more golden last summer?”
“It probably goes darker in the winter.” Sorcha watched Sutherland as he and Magnus meandered beneath the gallery on the other side of the room.
Jenny’s observation about his stride held merit. The braw warrior moved with the strength and surety of a man who conquered whatever he wished. She could see the flex and ripple of his huge legs as they moved beneath his kilt. Her breath caught as she remembered his massive arms doing the same when he’d held her. “Let’s move closer to the window. The fire grows too hot,” she said as Sutherland looked her way and smiled.
Jenny giggled. “I dinna think it’s the fire that’s heating ye.” She scurried along at Sorcha’s side. Not nearly as tall and long-legged, poor Jenny always struggled to keep up.
Sorcha shortened her stride for her friend’s sake. “And now ye understand some of the many reasons as to why I have chosen him to be my husband.”
“He’s coming this way,” Jenny said without moving her lips.
“M’lady,” Sutherland said in a way that made the words feel like a sensual caress.
The richness of his deep voice had affected her the same way last summer. She hadn’t revealed her weakness to it then, and she wasn’t about to show it now. “Master MacCoinnich.” She gifted him with a cool