Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91636 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91636 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
She would have love and she would have it her way.
She shook her head. Good lord, she sounded like a spoiled child, but then did she not have a right to love and not just settle? She realized how unreasonable she could be at times; she could even irritate herself, but her stubborn nature had seen her through many difficult times. Or perhaps those difficult times created her obstinate nature.
Whatever the cause, she had to be true to herself or she would surely be disappointed.
Annoyed at her frustration she did what she had not done in some time. She dug into the small satchel she had brought with her and pulled out a pair of tan leggings and brown shirt.
With a quick change, she was wearing male garments. She twisted her hair up and pinned it to the top of her head, yet not all her massive curls could be contained. Most protested and fell in a frenzy around her head and shoulders.
She grabbed a brown wool cloak off the hook before leaving the room and hurried down the steps and out of the keep, straight for the stables that housed her mare.
In no time she had her saddled and walked her to the edge of the village.
“We are going to fly across the meadows, lassie.”
She broke into a run as soon as she mounted the mare, flying by Tarr’s encampment at top speed.
“Someone is in a hurry,” Raynor said from where he sat in front of the campfire.
Tarr stood abruptly. “She wears men’s garb and she is going to break her neck at that speed.”
“She sits a horse more securely in men’s garb, and from what I have seen, Fiona looks to be an excellent horsewoman.”
Tarr ignored Raynor’s comment and, tossing away the half-eaten biscuit in his hand, he headed straight for his stallion. He mounted the horse and was off after Fiona before Raynor could get to his feet.
“This day should prove interesting,” Raynor said, and walked toward the keep.
Tarr misjudged Fiona’s riding expertise. He had thought to catch up to her without difficulty. He trailed behind her much farther than was to his liking. She maneuvered her mare with such grace and skill that she appeared to travel on the wind itself. He should have known better, having seen her skill firsthand and admiring it on many occasions.
He was not certain if he should be angry with her, worried that she would break her neck at such speed or take pride in her talent. She appeared in an intent pursuit, and he decided to see where it took her. He tempered his stallion’s pace to keep chase.
Her blazing red hair broke free of its confinement and raged like wildfire around her head while the wind caught her cape and made it appear like giant bat wings. From behind she looked as if she were a demon racing anxiously over the land in search of souls.
She finally slowed her pace and, with a strong hand, lead her snorting mare in the direction of a small brook bordering the north end of the meadow, keeping the excited horse from drinking until she calmed. Then she slipped off her and permitted her mare to approach the stream.
“You could not catch me?” She laughed when Tarr caught up.
“You ride as if being pursued.”
Fiona turned, slipping her cloak off and tossing it over her saddle. “Am I? Being pursued, that is.”
For a moment fear rushed over him. He thought on Raynor’s comment that the twins may still find themselves in harm’s way. Quick enough he wondered if it was he himself in question.
Did he pursue her? Was that why he was so hasty to follow her? Was he trying to catch her? He had assumed she was his from the very first day he had arrived at clan MacElder. Realization had finally struck that Fiona belonged to whomever she chose.
His answer came with a smile. “The choice is yours.”
Her green eyes twinkled with merriment. “Finally you realize that.”
She walked away from the horses, Tarr joining her.
“I needed a reprieve.”
“From?”
Fiona shrugged. “Myself, though I dare not admit it.”
“Then I did not hear it.”
“It is hard not to hear me when I speak.” She laughed at herself.
He defended her. “I admire your tenacious strength.”
“Tenacious strength.” She nodded. “That sounds better than stubbornness.”
“It takes strength and courage to survive in this world.”
“It also takes strength and courage to love in this world.”
“You can survive without love,” he said.
“Can you?” She stopped, planting her hands on her hips. She waited for his answer.
“Love is not a necessity in life,” he said annoyed, uneasy speaking with her on something he was just beginning to experience. He felt like a novice warrior, weapons in hand but without the practice to use them.
“It most certainly is.”
“Why?” He damn well, once and for all, wanted a sensible explanation to the recurring question.