The lass had braided her hair so that it ran down her straight back all the way to the gentle slope at the base of her spine. His hand would fit nicely there. Bloody hell, she was enticing with her snapping comments, clever mind, and soft curves. She was unpredictable in a world where most people were as easily maneuvered as pieces on a chessboard.

“The moon is not too bright, and I wish to show ye something. It will require a ride.” Although, with her rubbing against him in a saddle, it would prove hard to convince her that he was planning only to show her his favorite constellations.

She glanced at him. “If I can ride Gilla, then I am willing.” Problem solved.

He frowned over his reaction to her. His legendary discipline was affected by her nearness. Perhaps he should have Merida give her foul-smelling soap to use.

“This way,” he said, reaching under her arm to help her up the slippery rocks while she held the kitten.

She tried to yank away until he saved her from slipping. “Blasted seaweed,” she murmured, clutching the kitten close.

He released her arm as they emerged up the slope by the drawbridge. “Your horse is housed with our personal horses within Girnigoe’s walls. The rest of our horses reside in stables beyond.”

“You separate them by color.”

“A strategy set up by my father.” Their boots crunched as they walked across the hard-packed ground toward the white-painted building.

Ella lowered the kitten to the ground. “Now that he is gone, will you continue to separate them? It seems unfair to your last brother, since there are not too many green horses in the world.” Her words held a hint of ridicule.

“There are no green horses in the world,” Cain said. “Bàs takes the gray horses and some white horses. Our father had a green paint made from grasses and leaves, with which Bàs’s herd is wiped down before battles.”

Ella stopped to look at him. “He paints his horses green?”

“Presentation of the legend around the four Sinclair brothers makes our opponents panic enough to flee or, at the very least, undermines their confidence. Victory is often won by those who believe they will win.”

“And you always think you will win,” she said, looking straight ahead.

“Aye, of course.”

“Self-conceit,” she murmured.

“Self-confidence,” he countered, feeling a smile tug at his mouth.

Cain jogged over to the guard’s post where several stood watch, nodding to them as he took up one of their lanterns. Ella crouched at the stable door where she let Boudica run off. Lantern held high, Cain pushed the door to slide along well-oiled rollers. As the light filled the dark stable, Ella ran directly toward her mare, who resided comfortably in the first stall. She unlatched the door and slid inside to wrap her arms around the horse’s neck, pressing her face into her. “Gilla, sweet Gilla.”