Page 55 of Desire's Ransom
“Sit,” she told the hounds.
They did.
With exaggerated ceremony, she cleared her throat and said primly, “Lord Bran, how nice to see ye. How are ye this fine evenin’?”
She extended her right hand. Bran placed his paw atop it, then licked the back of her hand.
Ryland chuckled in approval.
“And Lord Flann, ye’re lookin’ quite handsome.”
She repeated the trick with Flann, who sat back down with a bark.
“What’s that?” she asked. “Ye’d like to perform a song? Well, by all means. Sing. Go on. Sing.”
Ryland shook his head. He’d been gulled. The hounds raised their noses and made soft and miserable howls.
“Oh, isn’t that beautiful?” Gray cooed. “But can ye sing a bit louder? Come on, sing.”
They howled again, this time in an atrocious interval that grated on the ears and the nerves. Ryland simultaneously laughed and winced in pain.
“Exquisite!” Gray praised them. “But can ye put more heart into it this time? Sing, lads, sing.”
Once more the hounds bayed at the sky, as if in horrible mourning. This time, the entire camp roared with laughter, which changed the dogs’ howls into confused barks.
“All right,” Gray told them, soothing them with a pat. “Ye can hush now.”
Ryland clapped. “Brilliant. I fear you’re right, Ronan. I’ve beensoundlydefeated.”
“Ha!” Ronan exclaimed, appreciating the jest.
Inspired by the lively atmosphere, some of the others volunteered their talents.
Young Fergus juggled three pine cones with great dexterity, tossing them into the fire at the end, where the pitch snapped and crackled as they went up in flames.
Maelan played a quick tune on a wooden flute while Aife spun around in a gleeful dance that left her in giggles.
Cambeal and Lady Mor followed with a more stately dance.
Domnall was coerced into dragging out his bagpipes and playing a battle song, though the sound made the hounds howl in complaint. When he stopped, Bran laid his head down in relief, and Flann yawned as if bored.
When Conall and Niall returned from delivering the Englishmen to the main road, Gray rose. “We have an early morn and a busy day. We should all get a good night’s rest.”
Ryland watched while the others banked the fire and staggered off to their beds under the stars. To his amusement, most of them slept in the trees.
Just about the time he was going to ask where he should retire, Gray said, “Ye’ll sleep out here, with the hounds and me.”
Clearly, despite his vow, she meant to keep a close watch on him to prevent his escape. But Ryland couldn’t say the idea upset him.
He liked the gangly, howling wolfhounds.
He liked their mistress even better.
Temair knew the wolfhounds were excellent guard dogs. They’d chuff and nudge her awake if Sir Ryland tried to steal away.
But the idea of spending the night so close to the handsome knight was unnerving.
It shouldn’t have been. For the last six years, she’d been living with men. She’d seen them in every stage of dress and undress. Certainly, Sir Ryland was no different from any of the woodkerns.
