Good heavens, she was sitting on top of Braden MacAllister!
Again.
Scrambling to get up, she accidentally elbowed him in the stomach and kneed him in the side. He groaned, then captured her arm in his hand.
“Easy now, lass, let me get us out of here afore you damage me any further.”
“Forgive me, my lord,” she said hurriedly. “I didn’t mean to kill you.”
“I’m not dead yet.” He laughed again. “Though I’m beginning to suspect being around you might be hazardous to a lad’s health.”
Maggie bit her lip as she remembered the last time they had met, just a sennight ago. She’d been up a tree gathering apples when Braden and her brother, Jamie, had come along. She’d overreached her balance and had toppled out of the tree directly onto Braden’s poor head.
Jamie had called her rotten fruit ever since, and had warned her to keep a fair distance from the laird’s son afore she killed him. She’d tried to do as Jamie asked, for she liked Braden a great deal. He oft brought her small trinkets whenever he came to visit her brothers Jamie and Anghus, and unlike her brothers, he never tried to truss her up or make her eat worms or other despicable things.
With a few tugs, Braden managed to uncover them.
The first thing Maggie saw was Ian’s enraged face as he lunged for her.
Shrieking, she started to run, but Braden caught her to his side with one hand, while he held Ian back with the other.
“Here now,” he said to them. “What is all this about?”
Ian held up his toy horse that had only three legs. “She broke my horse and I’m going to break her head for it.”
“I didn’t mean to do it,” Maggie quickly defended herself. “I told you it was an accident. I fell with it because you were trying to hit me.”
“I wouldn’t have been trying to hit you had you not been playing with it, you reeky, mouse-eaten cot-quean!”
Braden threw his head back and laughed mightily. “Cot-quean? Lad, do you even ken the word?”
Ian poked his lip out. “Aye, me da uses it all the time.”
“And it means?”
“Faint-livered.”
Braden shook his head. “How old are you now, Ian?”
“Seven, same as her,” he sneered the word as if Maggie were the lowest of low.
“Well then, for future insults, you should know cot-quean is a man who does women’s work and hardly fit for insulting your wee sister.”
“Oh,” Ian said sullenly. “She’s still mouse-eaten though.”
“I’m not mouse-eaten,” Maggie said. “You toad’s pizzle.”
Braden choked on her insult. “Where on God’s precious soil have the two of you been to pick up such language?”
“Me older brothers mostly,” Maggie said.
“Someone should have a talk with Jamie and Anghus.” Braden handed the horse back to Ian. “I tell you what, Ian MacBlar, I have a painted horse in my bower. If I give it to you, do you promise to leave your sister alone?”
“Only if she promises not to touch it.” His glare intensified as he stared at her. “Ever.”
Maggie pursed her lips and felt tears prick at her eyes at his words. She wasn’t a bad girl, and she never meant to hurt his toy. “It’s not my fault. I only wanted to hold it.” She looked up at Braden. “They never let me play with their toys. And since our mother died last winter, I haven’t had anything new to play with at all.”
“It’s because you’re a girl,” Ian spat the word. “Girls don’t play with horses. Girls don’t deserve them.”
