bit back an angry retort for his reference to her lack of size and held out her wrists. The marks his hands had left were already livid and clearly delineated. She smiled slightly at his shock.
“As I said, I bruise most easily. ’Tis a fault of the skin. They will fade as quickly and they dinnae hurt. Truth tell, I think the bruises I gifted him with are far worse,” she murmured, a faint color tinting her cheeks.
Looking at the awkward stance of the young man, Parlan bit back a grin. “I will let it pass this time, Alex, but if I hear even a whisper of the like occurring again, ye will suffer twofold. I ken ye will be weel reminded for a day or twa of your error. Aye, and for far longer will ye be hearing the jests of the men concerning your defeat at the hands of such a wee lass. T’will do as punishment.”
He grasped Aimil by the arm. “We will return to the keep now. Malcolm, ye will lead her stallion.” He sighed when Malcolm reached for Elfking only to be greeted by a horsey snarl. “M’lady, wouldst ye be so kind as to direct your beast to follow Malcolm?” he asked with exaggerated politeness.
She obeyed with an equally false politeness then stood embarrassed and angry as he laced her shirt much as if she were a child. On the ride back to the MacGuin keep, she sat before him on Raven and said nothing, disappointed by her failure to escape. But she was also fighting the way her body was reacting to the closeness of his, to his strength and his maleness. When they reached the keep, she dutifully told Elfking to stay and set off to see Leith, but was steered into the hall, sat down, and given some ale.
“Ye are plainly not Shane Mengue so who are ye?” Parlan asked when they were all seated at a table, with food and drink set before them.
“Aimil Siubhan O’Connell Mengue, Lachlan Mengue’s youngest daughter.”
“Then ye will still fetch a fine ransom. I had feared ye were naught but the lad’s woman thus not worth a groat.”
He did not have the slightest inclination of letting anyone know there was more to it than economics. Parlan suspected that the restlessness and dissatisfaction he had suffered of late would soon end. It had bothered him to think that this tiny woman was no more than Leith Mengue’s whore. Her youth, lack of wedding ring and position indicated that she was very probably a virgin which also pleased him. For once, he not only wanted to be the first, he avidly desired it.
The problem, he mused, would be in getting her into his bed. She was small and delicate but recent incidents had clearly revealed her strength and courage. Seduction might take a long time for he sensed that she had the wit to see through such a ploy and he could not trust his patience. Not only the rules he enforced on his men stopped him from taking her but an absolute loathing of forcing an unwilling woman. To get her into his bed, he needed something to bargain with, a choice to give her that would, hopefully, cause her to come to him with at least a token willingness.
Studying her, he tried to find one particular attribute of hers that could account for his strong desire. Her figure was not without draw, especially her exquisite breasts, yet he had always preferred a fuller shape. Her face was lovely, but he had known many as lovely, even lovelier although her eyes, with their extremely long and dark lashes, he deemed peerless. Delicately arched brows, a small straight nose, and the way her small oval face tapered into a stubborn chin had their appeal but should not cause a man to ache with need as he was.
Suddenly he smiled to himself. He was searching for what could not be seen with the eyes. Although no romantic, he knew it was neither face nor form that caused a man to forsake all other women for one woman or stirred a desire that demanded satisfaction. In the short time he had known her, Aimil Mengue had revealed several characteristics he had begun to think women no longer possessed. Skill in riding and consideration for her mount came to mind for he was first and foremost a knight, a man of battle who knew how valuable a good horse could be. She had courage amply displayed by her attempt to escape and her refusal to quail before him. He had felt her strength when he had wrestled with her. Her intervention in Alex’s case had shown she had a sense of justice. He was eager to discover other facets to her character.
“Will ye send my father the ransom demands now, Sir MacGuin?” she asked, breaking into his musings. “He must be sore worried by now.”
“Aye, it must seem as if ye have been swallowed up by the earth itself. My brother should have at least sent your father word that ye were held here. I must assess your value however,” he added. He then watched her intently as he said, “There will be enough time before the ransoming is done for ye to turn your horse to my hand.”
“Nay, there will never be enough time for that.”
“Lass, I intend to have that horse.”
“Weel, ye just try but ye will gain no aid from me. Elfking is mine. He was born second in a twin birth and was weak and looked runty. He would have been left to die as such beasts are but I took him. I handfed him the mare’s milk his stronger sibling denied him and I raised him. He is mine and there is naught that will change that, not even the great Black Parlan himself,” she sneered.
“Ye have a knack for trying a man’s patience.”
“So it has been said.” She watched him as she ate some of her food.
Parlan leaned back in his chair. “So ye willnae help me to win the stallion’s favor.”
“Nay, I willnae help ye to steal my horse.” She thought the way he quirked his brow over one eye an impressive gesture then blushed and stared at her ale when barely-stifled laughter and Parlan’s grin told her she had spoken her thoughts aloud.
“Thank ye, mistress.”
“Ye are verra welcome,” she grumbled with a distinct lack of grace while wondering if she would ever learn to control her tongue.
“Ye do ken that I can keep the beast whether ye do as I ask or not.”
“Aye, but t’will gain ye naught. He will come to me as soon as he is able.”
“There are ways to secure even that brute.”
“But weel secured he will do ye little good as a mount.”
“Mayhaps, but he could still be put to stud. I would wager he has weel proven himself in that area.”
She thought about lying but knew the man would simply test the truth for himself. “Aye. He hasnae had a miss yet.” She could not restrain the impish twinkle that entered her eyes. “Another year or twa of letting Elfking do what comes naturally and I will be a rich woman.”
“Ye claim a fee?” Parlan asked in mild surprise.
“Do ye not if a man uses Raven for stud?”
“Aye, but”—he frowned—“payment went to Lachlan, did it not?”
“Nay. Elfking is mine. I take money or one of his offspring. The horse Leith was on is one of Elfking’s spawn.”
“Whose mare?”
“One of Alaistair MacVern’s.”
Parlan gave a soft whistle for the man was well known to have prime horseflesh. Then he chuckled to himself. It must have been a sore trial for the stiff-necked Alaistair to deal with a slip of a girl. That he did at all only verified Elfking’s worth.
“Then he could weel richen my purse,” Parlan observed, and met her glare with a smile.
“Aye, that he could but t’would be a waste to use such a fine horse for naught but that.”
“True but who is to say he will never turn to me? Given long enough away from ye and good care at my hands and the bond that ties him to ye could slowly weaken, even break.” He took careful note of the fear that briefly flashed in her eyes. “’Tis worth a chance.” He let her think on his words for a moment before drawling, “I may be willing to bargain.”
Her impulsive start of hope was quelled briefly by the strange glint in his eyes. “What sort of bargain?”