Highland Scoundrel (Highland Brides) Read Free

too long confined.
    "Do ye want to run, then, lassie?" Shona asked, still holding the reins taut.
    The mare stopped prancing. Arching her regal neck, she mouthed the bit, her muscles tense and quivering.
    "Then run," Shona yelled, and leaning over Teine's withers, she loosened the reins.
    Suddenly they were winged, flying like falcon across the verdant moor, swooping like swallows, as if they might catch the very essence of life, if only they flew fast enough. Shona gripped the mare's barrel with leather clad thighs, dropped the reins into the swirling flaxen mane, and lifted her arms to the wind.
    The voluminous sleeves of her white tunic flapped like wild sails. Her hair streamed behind her. Caught in the glory of freedom, her fiery tresses crackled against the steed's chestnut hide like a cat o' nine tails, whipping the mare to greater speed.
    On and on they ran until finally, tired and sated, they wandered into a quiet dell where a stream rolled along beneath the sinking sun. Perhaps she should return to the castle, Shona thought, but the water called to her, and she answered, letting the mare graze unfettered on the grasses that grew beside the chattering burn.
    There was much to think about, much to dwell on. Shona had returned to Dun Ard less than three days before, but even here in her haven she could feel Scotland's turmoil. The Highlands were not immune to the troubles that bedeviled the country. For with the last king's death at Flodden Field some five years before, his son had been crowned, a boy far too young to take the government into his own hands. A French regent was elected, but the regent had returned to his homeland, leaving Scotland rudderless.
    It was that state of unrest that caused her father, called Roderic the Rogue by those who knew him, to plan a gathering of the Highland clans. At least, that was what he said, though Shona firmly believed it was just another attempt to find her a suitable husband. Lord William, duke of Atberry, had long been a strong contender for her hand, but no vows had yet been exchanged.
    Shona sighed and sat down, her legs curled under her on a rocky ledge. Bending forward, she let the brisk waves wash over her fingers. She was one of a lucky few, she knew, for she was nearly a score of years old and still she had not been promised away. Indeed, her parents would not give her to any man unless she herself approved the union, thus the delay. Whom could she approve when she had basked so long in the love of Roderic the Rogue?
    Removing her soft half boots, Shona swung her legs over the stone and dipped her toes into the waves. In all the world, this spot was her favorite. There was a tiny cove here where the warm water was trapped by a bar of sand. It felt like sunshine to her soul just to sit thus, away from the tension of court, the bother of prying eyes. Would she ever feel such freedom again if she married? And how could she decide on a spouse?
    Cousin Sara had thought herself well wed, and now she was. But her first husband had proved to be a cruel man.
    Perhaps she would not marry at all, Shona thought. Perhaps she would join a cloister. But that was laughable. Shona MacGowan, in a holy order! Twould be rather like housing a badger with goslings.
    Shifting her attention, Shona gazed into the new lacy foliage of the trees around her. Overhead, a tree pipit sang to her, and against her heart her amulet seemed to purr contentedly.
    She lifted it from beneath her tunic and examined it. Dragonheart, she called it. Twas in this very spot she had found it some months before, but even then it had not been new to her. No. Many years ago, Liam the Irishman had found it. This was the same amulet Rachel had stolen from him and that the three cousins had made a sacred vow on.
    Shona smiled at the memory. She had been young and carefree then and had almost believed in the incantation. Indeed, crafted of silver and set with a single ruby in the center of its chest, Dragonheart looked