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  He started to answer, but the drink drew his attention. “This is really good. I think it’s making my head stop hurting.”

  She frowned. “I didn’t know your head was hurting.”

  “It hasn’t stopped since your brother’s arrow creased it.” He dismissed the subject. “I just had an idea. Were these lichens hard to find?”

  “Not at all,” she said, curious.

  Stephen’s eyes began to glow. “Today Donald told me about a town near here. He wants to take his son to be baptized. If you and I could make up a tub of this stuff, maybe we could sell it.”

  “What a clever idea!” she agreed, already making plans.

  They spent the evening hunting lichens. Donald took what money there was and used one of the wagon horses to go into town and buy more ale.

  It was late when they rolled their plaids on the ground near the dying fire and went to sleep. Bronwyn stayed close to Stephen, happy enough to be near him without needing to make love. This feeling of closeness was new to her and made her feel warm and content.

  Very early the next morning they hitched the wagon and rolled into the little walled town. There seemed to be hundreds of shops as well as tiny houses inside the walls, and the air was heavy and hardly worth breathing. The whole place made Bronwyn long for the out-of-doors.

  She’d been to few towns in her life. Instead the merchants had traveled to Larenston to sell their goods.

  Donald pulled the wagon off the narrow main street, just in front of an alleyway, and unhitched the horses. They set up a pot of the drink they’d made, then started to call to people to buy. Kirsty and Bronwyn sat inside the wagon and listened. Stephen’s deep voice boomed out over all the noise of the town. He made some rather extraordinary promises for the drink, talking about his own slight experience with it as if it’d cured him from leprosy.

  But no one bought from them.

  People paused and listened, but they offered no pennies to buy the miracle liquid.

  “Perhaps you should do some of those body flips like you did for Tam,” Bronwyn teased.

  Stephen ignored her taunts as he tried to coax a young man to buy by telling him the drink would improve his love life.

  “Maybe you need some help, but I don’t,” the young man replied. The crowd laughed and began to move away.

  “I think it’s time I gave this a try,” Bronwyn said as she began unbuttoning her shirt.

  “Bronwyn!” Kirsty protested. “Are you planning to do something that’ll make Stephen angry?”

  She smiled. “Probably. Is this low enough?” She glanced down at the generous curve of her breasts exposed by the unbuttoned shirt.

  “More than enough. Donald would have my hair if I walked about like that.”

  “The Englishwomen wear dresses cut as low as decently possible,” Bronwyn replied.

  “But you’re not English!”

  Bronwyn only smiled in answer as she climbed down the front of the wagon, on the far side of where Stephen stood.

  Stephen smiled in surprise when he first heard Bronwyn call out. “This will cure anything from boils to the sweating sickness,” she was saying. He watched as the crowd began to move to the side of the wagon.

  “Is your wife unhappy?” Bronwyn called. “Maybe it’s your fault. This drink will make you the most powerful of men. And as a love potion it’s unsurpassed.”

  “Do you think it’ll get me something like you?” a man shouted.

  “Only if you were to drink a whole hogshead of it,” Bronwyn replied instantly.

  The crowd laughed.

  “I think I’ll try it,” another man shouted.

  “I’m going to buy some for my husband,” a woman cried before she hurried to the end of the wagon, where Donald and Stephen waited.

  For a while Stephen was too busy filling the townspeople’s containers and taking pennies to really listen to Bronwyn. He was proud of the way she was selling and pleased that the people liked her. He chuckled once at the idea of an English lady acting as a barker with so much success.

  It was when he began to hear the low, suggestive laughter of the men that she really got his attention.

  One of the men holding out a cup turned to his companion. “She half as much promised to meet me by the town well.”

  Stephen’s face turned cold. “Did she tell you that I’d be there too?” he asked in a deadly voice.

  The man looked up at Stephen, at the challenge in the handsome face. The man backed away. “Don’t blame me, ’twas her that gave me the idea.”

  “Damn her!” Stephen said viciously and threw the ladle into the drink. Just what the hell did she think she was doing?

  He stopped when he rounded the corner of the wagon. Her shirt was unbuttoned, exposing a great deal of her high, firm breasts. She’d removed her concealing plaid, and her skirt clung to her hips. She walked back and forth in front of the ever increasing crowd of people. And the way she walked! Her hands were on her hips, and her hips swayed seductively.

  For a moment he was shocked, too stunned to move; then he took two long strides toward her. He grabbed her arm, pulled her into the alleyway behind the wagon. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” he said between clenched teeth.

  “Selling the tonic,” she said quite calmly. “You and Donald didn’t seem to be doing such a good job, so I thought I’d help.”

  He released her arm, then angrily began to button her blouse. “You were certainly enjoying yourself, weren’t you? Parading yourself like a joywoman!”

  She looked up at him and smiled happily. “You’re jealous, aren’t you?”

  “Of course not!” he snapped, then stopped. “You’re damn right I’m jealous. Those dirty old men have no right to see what’s mine.”

  “Oh, Stephen, that’s…that’s, I don’t know, but I find I’m quite pleased by your jealousy.”

  “Pleased?” he asked in bewilderment. “Next time I hope you depend on your memory and don’t try to provoke the feeling afresh.” He grabbed her in his arms and kissed her fiercely, hungrily, possessively.

  Bronwyn responded, pushing her body against his, letting herself go to his possession of her.

  Suddenly a bellowing voice that fairly shook the houses around them interrupted their kiss. “Where’s the wench selling the tonic?”

  Bronwyn reluctantly broke away, looking in puzzlement at Stephen.

  “Where is she?” the voice boomed again.

  “That’s the MacGregor,” she whispered. “I heard him once before.”

  She turned toward the voice, but Stephen caught her arm. “You can’t go out there to meet the MacGregor.”

  “Why not? He’s never seen me. He won’t know who I am, and besides, how can I refuse? This is the MacGregor’s land.”

  Stephen frowned but he released her. A refusal would make them seem suspicious.

  “Here I am,” she called as she left the alleyway, Stephen close behind her. The MacGregor sat on his horse, looking down at her in an amused way. He was a big, thick man, his hair gray at the temples, his jaw especially strong. His eyes were green and alive above a prominent nose. “And who wants me?” she asked arrogantly.

  The MacGregor threw back his head and bellowed laughter. “As if you didn’t know your own laird,” he said, his eyes deepening to a shade of emerald.

  She smiled up at him sweetly. “Is that the same laird who doesn’t know his own clan members?”

  He didn’t lose his smile. “You’re a saucy wench. What’s your name?”

  “Bronwyn,” she said proudly as if the name were a challenge. “The same as the laird of Clan MacArran.”

  Stephen’s hand clamped on her shoulder in warning.

  The MacGregor’s eyes turned hard. “Don’t mention that woman to me.”

  Bronwyn put her hands on her hips. “Is that because you still bear her mark on your person?”

  Suddenly there was dead silence around them. The crowd stilled, its breath held.