Highland Raider by Amy Jarecki

Author:Amy Jarecki
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781648390265
Publisher: Oliver-Heber Books

As the weeks passed, Angus grew increasingly agitated. Not only was the weather foul, every time he looked up, Anya O’Cahan managed to be somewhere nearby. His mother repeatedly sent her to the solar with frivolous gifts. The lassie was always in the hall when he broke his fast. And he knew she tried her damnedest not to look his way at the evening meals because he continually watched her out of the corner of his eye. Without a doubt, she tried to ignore him. Hell, he’d done his damnedest to ignore her. Except doing so had proved utterly impossible.

Frustrated beyond reason, Angus paid a visit to the chapel, finding Friar Jo alone.

“Ah, m’lord. ’Tis fine to see ye this lovely day.”

Angus grumbled under his breath. “Today is as dreary as yesterday and the one afore that. In fact, the rain hasn’t let up in the past fortnight.”

“’Tis a good sign, I say. Spring will soon be upon us.”

“If it doesn’t drive the entire clan mad afore then.”

“Judging by your high spirits, I take it there’s something needling your craw.” The friar started back to the small chamber where he kept his pallet and writing table. “Come join me for a tot of fine MacDonald whisky, blessed in this very chapel, mind ye. ’Tis the cure for foul moods, I’ll guarantee.”

“Mayhap this wasn’t the worst idea I’ve had today,” Angus mumbled to himself. He chose one of the two seats at the table and stretched out his legs. The chamber was cozy. He and the friar oft solved the problems of Christendom over a wee dram or ten.

“Ye’ve no cause to worry, m’lord,” said Jo, returning with two cups in his hands. “Everyone grows a bit sore-headed by the end of winter. ’Tis why we sinful souls feel a wee bit tipsy when the weather turns—the birds are merrier, the glens greener, the hunting better, the flowers happier.”

“Ye needn’t tell me about bloody spring.” Angus took the offered cup and raised it in toast. “This will douse the fire within.”

Smirking, the old friar sat opposite. “Or turn it into a raging flame.”

Angus sipped and let the amber liquid slide over his tongue. “Mm. There’s no spirit finer than a peaty Islay brew.”

“On that I will agree.” Jo returned the toast and drank in kind. “Now tell me, what has ye scowling like an angry bull?”

“Och, give me the spray of the sea on my face and a week of sunshine and I’ll be fit.”

“Aye? Wait a month or two and the good Lord will provide. But I reckon ye are skirting about the cause of your consternation, m’lord. I’ll wager your woes are on account of a wee Irish lassie flitting about the keep—the very lass who sits beside me at the evening meals.”

“A bloody O’Cahan she is.”

“But ye like her.”

Angus shrugged. “I have no business liking her. I ought to lock the chit in the wee tower chamber. She is my prisoner, after all.”

“Nay, she’s the king’s prisoner, ye are simply her jailer.

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