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collect my horse now?”
    He gazed down at her, momentarily startled by her appearance; she was scrubbed and groomed, appearing completely different from the disheveled creature he had associated with since yesterday.  Somewhere in his mind, his inherent male instincts told him that she was an exquisite beauty; sweet face, striking coloring, and a body that was as round and pleasing as any he had ever seen. Better, in fact. Though very short of stature, she had full breasts and a narrow torso that put all other women to shame. 
    He had to make a conscious effort not to gape at her. But the logical male instincts were stronger that the lustful ones.  So was his sense of self protection. He refused to allow himself to entertain a pleasant thought where it pertained to her. She was a hostage; nothing more.
    “There is some trepidation about your horse, my lady,” he said, his enormous arms folded across his chest. “We have concern that it is a violent horse, something a young lady should not be riding.”
    She appeared genuinely surprised. “Bress? I have raised him since he foaled. He is not a violent horse.”
    “He has already caused quite a few problems with the other horses.”
    Her emerald eyes flashed. “’Tis because they are Sassenach horses,” she spat. “He smells the enemy and reacts in kind. He knows they want to kill him.”
    He lifted an eyebrow. “Horses do not know if they are English or Scots.”
    “But they know if they are enemies.”
    “That may well be, but the commander feels that it would be best if you rode with me.”
    Her reaction was not pleasing; she scowled deeply as if he had just suggested something horribly offensive.  “I am not a bairn in need of constant attention. I have been riding longer than I have been walking. I can ride better than ye.”
    He almost smiled at her indignation. “Perhaps. But with your horse reacting badly to the chargers, his behavior could be out of the ordinary. The last thing we need is for the horse to throw and injure you.  It would be in your best interest to ride with me.”
    Her pretty mouth pressed into a thin, angry line.  “Dunna believe for one moment that I dunna know what ye’re up to.  Ye’re trying to keep me caged by denying me the right to travel on my own horse.”
    Creed was coming to realize that she flared faster than any woman alive.  But if he possessed one particular personality trait above all else, it was that he was a calm man.  The world could explode around him and murder could be rampant in the streets, but still, he would be calm and collected.  He had never been known to lose his temper, even when all of the madness with Isabella was going on.  He had simply remained collected and struggled to deal with it. In fact, he blamed that particular trait for getting him into trouble in the first place; he’d been calm when the girl-child who would be queen tried to seduce him. He had been calmer still when he had refused her.  Nothing could have upset the girl more.
    It would therefore stand to reason that he was wary of flaring women.  He did not trust them. But he remained characteristically cool as she grew more agitated.
    “We are simply concerned for your safety, my lady,” he said evenly.  “It would be safer for you to ride with me.”
    “I willna do it.”
    “You have no choice.”
    “If I refuse?”
    “Then I shall tie you up and you can ride in the back of the provisions wagon.”
    She glared at him for several long seconds before very nearly throwing her satchels to the ground.  They ended up at Creed’s feet.  Her little fists worked as if she was contemplating going to fisticuffs against him; Creed was so surprised by her body language that he very nearly laughed. In fact, it was a struggle not to grin.  He did not think she would take that reaction too well.
    But she did not strike him.  She did, however, continued to clench and unclench her fists.  When she spoke, it was through