Page 56 of Laird of Flint
She had to stop the warrior. She had to force him to keep his promise. She had to convince him to turn around and return Hamish to Kildunan. No matter what it took. Shame. Guilt. Begging. Insults. Threats.
And she had to do it before her father caught sight of him.
For one lovely, lingering moment as he approached Dunlop, Hew imagined the beautiful enchantress in blue was rushing toward him out of eagerness. She’d seen him bringing Hamish, and gratitude had overwhelmed her.
His heart leaped. His breath caught. A familiar, warm tingling started in his belly. The sensation of being loved.
In that moment, he forgot about all his past broken hearts. His swearing off women. His vow of chastity.
He smiled.
Carenza’s skirts rippled behind her like the caparison of a galloping warhorse. Her breast heaved as she narrowed the distance between them. Breathless from exertion, she had the pink-flushed cheeks and open mouth of a lass freshly swived.
In that lovely, lingering moment, he believed she was going to leap into his arms. Declare her undying love for him. Gratefully cover his face with kisses.
Then the moment vanished.
Instead, she skidded to a stop before him.
Her smooth brow was crossed with lines of worry. Her mouth was tense. Her wide eyes reflected an emotion he couldn’t discern. Dread? Confusion? Disappointment?
But all she could gasp out was, “Don’t do this. I beg ye. For the love o’ God, go away. Go back to Kildunan, and don’t come back.”
He blinked. The warmth that had been tingling inside him congealed into a cold, hard lump. Like his ballocks when he dove into the icy loch.
Before he could respond, she continued in a hiss. “Have ye no honor, ye bloody traitor? Did your word mean naught? Is this how the craven knights o’ Rivenloch keep their vows?”
Now she’d pricked his temper. There was no need to call his good name into question. “Now wait a—”
“To think I came back for ye, ye churl, that I let Hamish save your worthless life.” She shook her head, adding in a murmur, “I should have let ye fall.”
That felt like a punch in the gut.
Suddenly, from across the field, the laird of Dunlop sang out, “Welcome, Sir Hew!”
Hew dragged his gaze to the laird and managed to give him a weak wave in return.
“Shite,” Carenza muttered under her breath.
Hew’s brows popped up. He assumed the delicate flower was incapable of cursing.
“What’s this?” the laird asked as he loped up, nodding at the coo. “A sacrifice for Samhain?”
Hew froze. A sacrifice? Of course. Why else would a guest bring an animal to a harvest celebration? No wonder Carenza had been reduced to nasty expletives and trying to shoo him away.
“Oh. Nay. Nay.” He glanced at Carenza, who waited for his explanation with her lip caught under her teeth. “’Tis…a gift.”
“A gift?” the laird echoed.
“Aye.” Hew licked his lips, preparing to make up yet another sketchy story for which he’d owe penance. “’Tis a Rivenloch tradition. At Samhain, a visiting guest is expected to bring the gift of a single coo to the lady of the household,” he explained, adding quickly, “a coo that must be kept and ne’er slaughtered—to appease the gods and bring good luck in the coming year.”
Carenza was staring at him as if he’d grown an extra head. She clearly didn’t believe him.
But her father did. And that was all that mattered.
“Is that so?” the laird remarked.
“Aye.”
