Marston reached into a saddlebag and brought to Alasdair a small silver flask, which he then placed in Fiona’s hand. “Drink, lass,” he ordered softly.
“What is it?” she asked, looking up at him.
“Brandy. ’Twill warm you till I can get you home.”
“I don’t—” she began, but broke off when, gently, he put his hand on hers, brought it and the flask to her lips, and tipped her hand just enough to allow some of the brandy to flow. Pungent and slightly sweet, with a tang of old wood, it burned a little in her mouth and down her throat, and then, as she accepted more at his urging, and then a little more after that, a welcome warmth seeped languorously through her limbs, bringing with it also a calm, hazy relaxation, very pleasant after those many long hours of tension.
“Better?”
She smiled. “Better.”
“Good.” To Crannog he said: “Are all your people in a similar state?”
“Aye, laird,” replied the younger man, a healthier color in his emaciated face, and briefly explained just how his clan had fallen into such desperate straits.
Alasdair listened, nodded, then said: “We will leave you now. I’ll not give you the cattle, for they belong to my farmers. But tomorrow I’ll send several wagons with food. Write to me with a list of the supplies you need. Dispatch your bailiff here if you like, to confer with mine. We’ll ensure your survival through autumn and winter, and assist you in the spring as you need us, so that your clan may thrive again.” He held out his hand, which Crannog, tears in his eyes, came forward to clasp.
“I thank you, laird,” he said. “And you as well, gracious lady.”
Fiona smiled at him, and Alasdair replied, “Farewell. You’ve made a good beginning as chieftain.”
Much later, Fiona would only fuzzily recall being placed before Alasdair on his big bay horse. “I can ride on my own,” she protested, vaguely surprised to hear the words running together a little.
“And likely fall off,” said Alasdair, his breath warm at her ear. “You wouldn’t want to do that to Gealag, would you?”
“No,” she answered, allowing him to wrap a clean dry blanket around her, allowing his arm to come firmly about her middle, and watching as Crannog’s shabby mantle was given back to him.
Goodbye, smelly thing, she thought. Hello, lovely strong chest. Out loud, she said:
“Laird.”
“Aye, Fiona?”
“I’m worried.”
“There’s nothing to worry about anymore. You’re safe.”
“I know that.”
“Well then?”
“I’m worried that I smell like that nasty bundle of furs. Or worse.”
He laughed. “If it’s a comfort to you, I’ve been riding all day and I doubt that I smell much better.”
“It is a comfort to me,” she replied, quite seriously, leaning back against him, and it occurred to her then that she was, perhaps, more than a little drunk. She listened contentedly as Alasdair gave orders to his men, and watched as their party broke up into different groups: one man sent ahead to the castle, riding fast; another to accompany Alasdair and herself and to lead Gealag; the others to bring the cattle back at their slower pace.
He clicked his tongue and his horse began to move.
“We’ve a few hours’ ride,” he said. “Will you be all right?”
“Yes.” Fiona could feel her body relax, almost as if it were melting against the solid muscled hardness of Alasdair’s, both of them perfectly in tune with the steady rhythmic movement of his big bay. Suddenly, something funny floated up in her mind and she laughed. Actually, she giggled. Which was very uncharacteristic of her. But what a cheerful sound it made.
“What is it, Fiona?”
“Oh, Alasdair, I’m angry at you,” she answered, smiling, a little loopily, at his arm draped firmly around her. “Don’t you remember that terrible fight we had the other night? I’ve been angry at you ever since. So angry. Not,” she added punctiliously, “that I wanted Faing to harm you.”
“That’s nice to know. Are you still angry at me, lass?”
She thought about it. “I should be. My head says I am. But I don’t feel it, really.”
“That’s nice, too. How do you feel?”
She thought some more. “I feel . . . happy. Happy that everyone’s all right.”
“Happy is good.”
“Yes. Were you worried about me, before?”
He brought his arm yet more snugly around her. “Aye,” he said, and she heard in his deep voice the unmistakable ring of truth.
She smiled again, and he went on: