Highland Warrior Read Online Free

dangers surrounding him and his family meant that he was never allowed to go off on his own. He also knew he would do no hunting, would only catch something if it was unfortunate enough to stumble across his path. It annoyed him to admit it, even if only to himself, but he was trying to escape the temptation of Gregor’s suggestion.
    Seduce a woman as beautiful as Fiona? It was laughable, or would be if it did not stir up so many thoughts and feelings he was trying so hard to bury deep within himself. He was a big man, dark of looks and nature. Fiona was all sunlight, beautiful, spirited, and so very alive. She was so far above his touch, it was almost dizzying to look at her.Only hours in her company and he was already fighting a craving for what he knew he could never have. Somehow he was going to have to find out who she was, ransom her, and get her out of his life before he succumbed to his desires, tried to reach for her, and made an utter fool of himself.
     
    “Where did a weelborn lass learn to cook so weel?” asked Simon, taking a deep, appreciative sniff of the rabbit stew Fiona was making.
    “Now, why would ye think me weelborn?” Fiona asked as she stirred the stew, wondering if it would be enough for so many people. She had two full pots bubbling over the two fires Simon had made, but twelve men could probably devour it in minutes.
    “Ye may nay be dressed as a lady or act much like one, but I ken ye are one. Your clothes and weapons, e’en your mount, are those of a weelborn lass or lad. Ye e’en speak verra weel. And”—Simon blushed—“ye are clean and smell verra nice.”
    “Ah, weel, aye, I am weelborn, but the first years of my life were spent living like the poorest crofter.” She tossed the wild onions one of the men had gathered into the stew, and smiled at Simon, who obviously expected a tale now. “For too many years our clan and two others tore each other apart. Finally, there came a time when there was naught left but rubble, burned fields, slaughtered livestock, widows, and orphans. We who survived the last battle which killed the lairds and too many of the grown men rose up from the destruction and swore that it would end on that day. No more feuding, killing, raiding, and all of that. And so it was. Howbeit, for many years, survival and rebuilding took all our few resources. All of us, from the poorest to the laird himself, turned a hand to whate’er work needed doing.”
    “Is that why ye were taught to fight?”
    “Aye, although, praise God, the peace held and there was little of that. Howbeit, we were so weakened, we would have been easy prey for anyone. It was a hard life, verra hard, yet I can see that some good came of it. We all have gained a wide array of skills, and I believe we are, weel, closer than others. We no longer have to fight each day just to survive, but we ken we can do so if we must, and we ken that every mon, woman, and child in the clan can do the same, willingly and skillfully. Tis a good thing.”
    “Aye,” agreed Simon. “Yet, ye must have a laird, aye? One who stands above the others?”
    “One who leads the others, aye. But because of what we suffered, everyone is certain our laird will, if necessary, work side by side with his people, whether tilling a field or thatching a roof. They also ken that he will ne’er fill his belly whilst they hunger or sit warm in his great hall whilst they shiver in the cold. There is also the rather comforting knowledge that their laird willnae thrust them into war at the slightest hint of insult, that he willnae allow pride to stop him from trying to reach some compromise or less bloody solution. That, too, is most comforting.”
    “Twould be nice. Our old laird fights with everyone, or did. Five years ago Ewan took o’er as laird, and he works mightily to make alliances. Tisnae going weel. Our father made some hard enemies.”
    “Oh, ye are Sir Ewan’s brother, too?”
    “Half-brother. Bastard born. There