“Well she is ugly,” Michael insisted. “And I do not trust her. ‘Tis probably her task to lead us into an ambush.”
“Notice her frock?” the bearded man asked. His accent rang different than the others to Faith’s ear, though she couldn’t say why.
“Aye, Tormey,” Roland replied. “’Tis an ugly garment that has seen better days to be sure, but the fabric is fine. We might get a few coins for her. You want to take her, laird?”
Faith gasped. “Why, you … you … you are not taking me anywhere right now. Ride down the trail and get butchered. See if I weep over your ungrateful hides.”
She whirled around and ran –- smack into a tree. She stumbled backward. Two giant branches reached out and caught her. Her eyes focused on a plaid strip crossing a tunic on a massive chest. Oh Lord, it wasn’t a tree, but a very solid giant.
Faith raised her gaze until her head tipped all the way back. Fiery eyes of the deepest blue seared into her. She couldn’t look away. Her breath hitched. A strange fluttering filled her stomach. She barely noticed the strong square jaw or the light-blond hair flowing over the giant’s shoulders. She couldn’t seem to get her mouth to shut either. What in heaven’s name was wrong with her?
Amusement gamboled in the blue eyes. The warrior’s hands tightened upon her waist then lifted her to his eye level.
Faith gasped as her feet left the ground. She quickly looked down then back at her captor and pushed against a pair of iron arms. “Put me down, you big … big … Oh Lord, you are big.”
“Who is the plump lassie to be calling a body big?” Roland chuckled.
The warrior, who held her, continued to stare. Faith couldn’t read his thoughts and prayed he wouldn’t see through her disguise.
