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clan—if he was to be free of her and on his way.
    She hiccupped and whispered, “Birdi?”
    She sounded none too sure. “Birdi it is then.” Obviously he need take another approach. “And yer sire?”
    She pressed her lips into a hard line. “Shame.”
    Shame? To his knowledge there wasn’t a clan of that name. And she certainly couldn’t mean nairich—debasement. Surely. He studied her for a moment then decided she’d coshed her head when she fell. She wasn’t, after all, a stout lass. Aye, ‘twas most likely a blow to the noggin that caused her current confusion. He resigned himself to being patient and asked, “Are ye in pain, Birdie?”
    Her eyes grew round as an owl’s. Aha. Had their roles been reversed he wouldn’t have answered either, for fear of giving his enemy another tool to use against him. “I shall take that as an aye, but fear not. I shall take ye to yer people.”
    If possible, she appeared more frightened and vehemently shook her head. “Nay! Please, sir, turn me loose.”
    “Did ye run away from home?” No doubt, intent on thwarting a liege who wanted to marry her to someone she found distasteful.
    Her mouth dropped open. “Nay, ye took me from home!”
    “Humph!” Well, time was fleeing. He’d already lost a day and couldn’t very well go courting with the likes of her—an incredibly bewitching though thoroughly disheveled wench—at his side. Had he been closer to Blackstone he would have left her under Duncan’s protection, but that wasn’t an option. Staring at her lush lips once again, he heaved a resigned sigh for things that might have been.
    She hiccupped as she nibbled her lower lip. “I have need of privacy.”
    He frowned before realizing why. “Ah, but are ye sure ye can manage on yer own?”
    She nodded like a sandpiper. He rose and offered his hand. She looked askance, and he couldn’t help but grin. “I promise I’ll not bite.”
    Looking none too sure that he’d keep his word, she took his hand. He pulled her to her feet and pointed to the sheep crib. “Back there, lass, behind the hay. I’ll stand guard at the gate.”
    She wobbled off, a hand clutched to her side. Mercy, even hobbling she was a sight for his travel-weary soul. Her hair billowed like gossamer jet about her hips and caused his hands to clench as they had when he’d first spied her by the pool.
    He turned his back to her. With his gaze raking the valley for Macarthurs, his memory conjured up the image of her emerging like a mythical kelpie, dripping and glistening from the pool; recalled the delightful tilt of her rose-tipped breasts and the roundness of her very bonnie hurdies. Lord, she had the finest arse he’d ever seen, and he’d seen a good few in his nine-and-twenty years.
    He fervently wished he could keep her.
    And why couldn’t he?
    He wasn’t yet promised to another. He had no idea what awaited him at Beal Castle. For all he kenned, the available MacCloud lass would be another sorry sight. Or wode, as crazed as the last lass offered to him. “Humph.”
    Too, his family did have a long history of reeving brides. Wasn’t his own ma once a reluctant Border bride? And look how well that turned out—his da had been chasing her skirts the day he died. Aye, there was something to be said for keeping with family tradition.
    But then he’d wagered he could bring home a lady, a chatelaine for Donaliegh. And Angus was a man of his word. Grunting, he decided the only right thing to do was to keep with his plan. He looked into the shadows of the crib. An inordinate amount of time had passed; more, certainly, than was needed for a wee lass to hike her skirts and piss. Fearing she might have fainted, he ducked under the rafters and called her name. Getting no response, he peeked behind the hay pile.
    She was gone. 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

Chapter 3
     
    O ut of breath, Birdi plopped down in the middle of her blurry gold world. She was lost. Just minutes from the sheep