Claimed by the Laird Read Free Page B

felt a wave of shame that he could not defend himself and a fierce, hot tug of emotion toward her that he did not understand.
    The silence in the cave was absolute, but the atmosphere still simmered with violence. Lucas could feel it in every cell of his body. He could sense, too, some ripple of feeling in her that belied her confidence.
    Fear? No. She was not afraid of these braggarts and bullies.
    Revulsion.
    Lucas’s heart bounded. Extraordinary as it was, he sensed in her a hatred of brutality.
    The smugglers’ words made sense now. This was why the more bloodthirsty amongst them had not wanted her to know of his capture.
    They were afraid she would save him.
    He felt as close to her as though he could read her thoughts, closer, as though he shared the sensations and emotions that drove her.
    He had never felt like this before. He hated the intimacy of the feeling and he hated that he did not understand why he felt it. Most of all he hated his own powerlessness.
    “Begging your pardon, ma’am.” One of the men sounded abashed, like a naughty schoolboy, but there was rebellion beneath his brusque apology. “We caught him on the track above the bothy. He was following us—”
    “Spying,” one of the others put in.
    “We need to get rid of him.” There was a rumble of agreement.
    “Over the cliff,” the first man said. “Now.”
    “Is that so?” Unlike the men, her voice held no trace of a Scots accent. It was low and smooth, as rich and soothing as honey. She truly was a lady born and bred.
    “Stand back.” There was a rustle of skirts as she shifted beside him. Lucas could not rise as he was once again pinned by the large boot of one of the men, which was lodged in his aching ribs. The boot pressed harder and he sucked in his breath on another wave of pain.
    “If you could restrain your tendency toward violence, please.” She sounded weary now but the boot eased its pressure a little.
    Her hand was beneath Lucas’s chin. He imagined she was turning his face to the light. She wore no gloves; her skin was soft and her fingers felt gentle against the roughness of his stubble. For a moment they brushed his cheek in a sweet caress. Lucas felt a shiver down his spine of something that was not fear. He fought it back angrily. His life was on the line and all he could think about was her touch.
    Get hold of yourself, Lucas.
    “What sort of a spy would be caught so easily?” There was mockery in her voice.
    “A bad one,” one of the men said dourly.
    “Or an innocent traveler,” the woman said. Her tone was sharp. Her hand fell. Lucas sensed she was sitting back on her heels.
    “Innocent or not, the sea is the place for him,” the man growled. He seemed to be the spokesman. The others were content to let him talk. “It’s the only thing to do, ma’am.”
    “Nonsense.” She sounded angry now. “Our quarrel is not with the likes of him and you know it.”
    “And you know he’s a danger to us.” The man was curt. “We’ve no choice.” He was standing his ground and the others supported him. Lucas could smell their stubbornness and their fear. It was in the air and on their unwashed bodies as they pressed closer. They wanted him dead.
    He knew the woman could feel it, too. One false step and they would both be in trouble. It was extraordinary to sense with absolute certainty that she was on his side.
    “No one will know,” the man said. “Who’s to miss him?”
    “Only he can tell us that.” Her voice betrayed no feelings, nothing of the quick, careful calculation Lucas could sense behind the words. “Perhaps it’s time to learn a little more about him.” Her hand touched Lucas’s arm, conveying a warning even as her tone warmed into mockery again. “What’s your name, handsome?”
    “Lucas,” he said. He was aware that as repartee went it was far from sparkling.
    One of the men laughed. “We could spoil his pretty face. That would teach him a lesson.”
    “Don’t you dare,”