Fairy Tale Read Free Page B

down on her feet and reached up to shove the hood back on her shoulders. She flinched, throwing up her hands to stop him. The movement deterred Duncan as much as a pair of butterflies would stop an ogre. Still, for a moment he hesitated, hearing a collective groan of apprehension from the clansmen hovering around them.
    Was she in fact a monster? It would not bode well for him to humiliate one of life’s mistreated in front of the clansmen who obviously cared for her. But there was a principle to consider here. Compassion for whatever deformity that may mark her did not matter.
    He forced her backward until she stood trapped between him and the horse. “You’re going to be sorry, my lord,” she warned him again, a split second before he wrenched off the hood.
    He stared at her, his eyes narrowing in confusion. He forgot what he was supposed to be doing. He had not expected the little outlaw’s heart-shaped face to reflect such an incongruously poignant combination of sweet vulnerability and indomitable will.
    Gray-green eyes that looked more resigned than resentful. Well-defined cheekbones. He noted strength in her jawline, more than a hint of sensuality and humor in her soft, mobile mouth. He wouldn’t call her beautiful, not with that tangled mop of glossy auburn hair and tip-tilted nose, but she was unique, a child-woman who could have passed for a fairy princess. If he had believed in such fanciful creatures.
    “You should not have disobeyed me,” he said as he recovered, injecting a note of sternness into his voice. “Now I’ll have to make an example of you.”
    She sighed quietly. The powerful beating of wings filled the air. A shadow darkened the enchanting brightness of Marsali’s face, obscuring her expression of alarm.
    And then the hawk came at Duncan.

 
     
     
     
     
    Chapter
    2
     
    W ell, the MacElgin could only blame himself for his troubles. If he had surrendered immediately upon being ambushed, if he had identified himself and worn Highland clothing instead of that garish red jacket with al l those boastful gold epaulets, then the mistake would never have been made. Marsali supposed she could make him suffer. She could order Eun to peck off the chieftain’s proud aquiline nose, not to mention other parts barely covered by Owen’s plaid.
    Still, he was too fine a specimen of maleness to let Eun attack. From the privacy of her hood, Marsali had caught an unwilling glimpse of the chieftain’s physical strength in action. Actually, it had been impossible not to be impressed by his prowess, the way he fought and tossed the men about, like a Greek god dropped to earth to play ninepins with the mortals.
    Marsali had never seen anything like it in her life. She had almost applauded his aggression, forgetting he was supposed to be the enemy, the oppressor. Good Lord, it had taken seven men just to pull down his breeches.
    Even watching him now as he swung his thick-muscled arms above his head to deflect the hawk’s swift descent, Duncan was a masterpiece of male beauty in action. What a pity he was the most hated Highlander in anyone’s memory. Still, everyone deserved a second chance, and excitement coursed through Marsali’s veins as she wondered if he might prove the answer to her prayers. Was he the one she had been waiting for?
    “Stop it, Eun!” she cried in a sharp voice, coming to her senses. “That’s our chieftain you’re attacking.”
    At her scolding tone, the hawk wheeled abruptly and circled to settle down on her shoulder, digging its talons into the softest flesh of her collarbone. She closed her eyes, cringing at the discomfort. After a moment the bird hopped up upon her head, tucked in its great wings, and fixed Duncan with an unblinking stare.
    Tears of pain welled in Marsali’s eyes. Duncan slowly lowered his sword, his black hair disheveled as he stared in disbelief at the predator perched on the delicate woman’s head, her neck wobbling like the stem of a flower too