Page 74 of Highlander's Wild Lass
They exchanged an excited look.
“Really?” Chester said.
“Aye, daenae be late,” he said, pushing open the doors to the courtyard. There was much movement in the courtyard as wedding guests made their way home and the normal castle business began once more. There was one young man who was not bustling about, he stood near the front of his horse, feeding it an apple.
Anthony strode up to him, rather quickly that the horse whinnied loudly and shook his head. The young man locked eyes with him, looking terrified. “Are ye Brannan McLean’s apprentice?”
“A-aye,” he stammered. “Jacob.”
This man was young and looked like a strong wind might whisk him away. Well, he was being unkind, he looked like any other young man Anthony had seen in his life.
“Are ye equipped with a weapon? Do ye have yer dirk with ye?” he interrogated, eyes scanning his belt for the blade.
“Aye, it’s here,” Jacob said, placing a hand over its hilt.
“Good,” he said, stepping away. “Do ye ken how to use it?”
Jacob nodded, his face reddening. “Of course, I do.”
Anthony stared at him. Jacob was looking a bit flustered, a bit put-off, and a bit affronted. It was the young man who pulled his gaze away first, checking his pocket watch.
“Do ye ken where Mistress Celestia is?”
“I will get her,” he said and retreated into the castle. The twins were coming down the stairs, presumably off to the hall. “Where is yer sister?” he said, once he came upon them.
“The stables,” Chester told him.
Anthony nodded, rushing back down the stairs, into the courtyard, and up the short path to the stables. He saw Grannus, Celestia’s roan-haired horse being led by...someone.
With each step, the person in question came into view.
Celestia.
Anthony stopped in his tracks. He couldn’t believe his eyes. She was dressed as if she were a man. Hair pulled away from her face in a braid that fell over her shoulder, and a white shirt like Anthony wore daily which was tucked into a pair of woven tartan trews.
“What the hell are ye wearin’?” he asked once he was close enough. He couldn’t pull his eyes away from the trews. Just like all trews, they were form-fitting, but to see them on a woman…
He hated the sight of it, yet... the way the fabric hugged her thighs and hips made him want to lift her up and carry her into the stables. He would burn all her skirts—all the skirts in the village and the entirety of Scotland, if he had to—if it meant she could only wear trews.
He answered for her, “Ye are wearin’ trews?” He circled around her, inspecting her.
“Aye, Hugo outgrew them, and I saw nay reason to be rid of them,” she told him, her head turning with him as he circled behind her, nearly running into her horse. “What are ye doin’?”
Anthony’s heart nearly stopped, his insides swirling with a mixture of awe and concern. Her round, supple, beautiful back on display for all to see. He groaned. “Celestia, ye cannae be wearin’ these out in public.”
“Why nae? They’re easier to ride in,” she said in a rather sensible tone. “I’ve seen other women wear them.”
“When?” he asked dubiously. “In yer dreams, lass?” He kept circling. He knew it was quite ridiculous, but he couldn’t stop looking. “I daenae think I can let ye leave the grounds lookin’ like this. I hate them.”
She sighed heavily. “It’ll be safer for me on the road, and I willnae have to fight with my skirts when I’m at the distillery.”
He stopped his idiotic circling and stood in front of her, blocking her path. She kept hold of Grannus with one hand and planted her hand on her hip with the other. Anthony’s knees went weak, he could see everything. The entire outline of her hip and how her hand fit perfectly at the notch of it.
“Ye are truly goin’ to kill me,” he said under his breath.
“What?”
“Nothin’.”
