The Highlander's Lady Knight (Midsummer Knights #2) - Madeline Martin Page 0,8

“You should care for your pet properly, Sutherland. The poor thing is thin as a skeleton and covered in dirt and fleas.”

Cormac’s skin went hot at the chastisement. He should never have claimed the dog as his own.

“Good evening, Sutherland.” This time when Lady Isolde departed with her lady’s maid, Cormac did not try to go after her.

“Pip isn’t for sale.” Alan’s jaw was clenched with determination. “I’d never sell him. Not for all the coin in England.”

“He’s yers,” Cormac confirmed. “But I’d like ye to ensure he’s bathed and fed.” He surveyed the mercenary. “Ye too.”

Alan held out his palm.

Cormac sighed and dug out his purse. This lie about the dog being his was by far one of the most foolish ones he’d told. He set a coin in Alan’s hand.

“And you’ll only pretend he’s your dog,” Alan said slowly.

Cormac nodded.

The mercenary gave a more relaxed smile, picked up Pip and carried him from the Great Hall to comply with Cormac’s request. At least that was one small task seen to. The following day, he would have to smooth over what he had so terribly ruffled today with Lady Isolde.

He hoped Graham was having a better time with Lady Clara, as Cormac didn’t hold much confidence in his own ability to woo Lady Isolde. Especially when he’d had such a terrible start.

Isolde’s stomach twisted in a series of anxious knots. The nervous energy humming through her veins left her restless, but she forced herself to remain still while Matilda dressed her in the heavy chainmail and surcoat.

It had taken her maid a fortnight of finding excuses to be around the guards to learn how to get all the straps and buckles fastened correctly. Now, she implemented that knowledge with fingers made deft through the days of practice they’d run through before leaving for the Rose Citadel.

Matilda finished securing the blue-and-white surcoat over the chainmail and regarded Isolde with a worried crinkle to her otherwise smooth brow. “Are you certain this is safe, my lady?”

Isolde shoved aside the fear trying to edge into her resolve. “It most assuredly is not safe, but I cannot marry Brodie.”

Matilda’s large gray eyes reflected her concern. “What if—?”

Isolde shook her head vehemently. “Do not say it. Don’t even think about it. We must be confident. Without a doubt.”

Matilda nodded and pressed her lips together, as though sealing away her misgivings. She lifted the bucket-shaped helm, and Isolde’s world went dark as it fit over her head. A thin band of vision showed before Isolde’s eyes but little else. It wasn’t ideal, of course, but it was necessary to hide her identity.

“I shall return posthaste,” Isolde said in a lofty tone, imitating the nasal speech of her brother.

Matilda’s worry dissolved into a grin. “You’re almost too good at that.”

“Impossible,” Isolde snipped. “Remain here and cover for my wayward sister while I defend her honor as I should have done weeks ago.”

Matilda offered an exaggerated curtsy. “As you wish, my lord.”

Isolde straightened her back and strode from the room, not only adorned in Gilbert’s armor but also his pompous arrogance. She located the practice field on the outskirts of the sea of tents without difficulty. It was easy when one followed the clangs, clatters and grunts. Locating Brodie, however, would be far more challenging around so many men.

She strode through the crowd, searching with her obstructed vision. To no avail.

“Are you looking for someone?” The lanky man who had been with Sutherland the night before put himself into her line of sight. His brown hair had been combed and gleamed cleanly in the early morning light.

“Brodie Ross,” Isolde answered in her brother’s petulant tone. “Have you seen him?”

The man shook his head. “The Chieftain of the Sutherland clan is getting ready to practice with several men. Perhaps you’d like to join them while you wait?”

He indicated a gathering of several Scotsmen in armor. Sutherland was easy to identify with his height and the breadth of his shoulders. Something bumped at Isolde’s knee. She glanced down to find a dog nudging at her for attention. Not just any dog, this was the one belonging to Sutherland, now so thoroughly washed she could see that the muddy hair was actually a shiny buttery gold.

Sutherland had taken her advice. She didn’t bother to hide her smile, knowing it couldn’t be seen under her helm. She did, however, smooth her gloved hand over the dog’s head. The beast gazed up at her with adoration, its pink tongue lolling from the