Highland Captive Read Free Page A

hide the full curves she knew were attractive to men.
It was ending far too soon. She needed more time to entrap him completely. Her
family was urging her to take another husband. Parlan MacGuin would suit her
fine. She could not catch him by crying over lost virtue or seduction, for her
lack of celibacy since her husband’s untimely death two years ago was far too
well known. There were, however, a number of routes to the marriage bed. Yet
each one required time. She could not allow this chance to slip away.
Unfortunately, it looked very much as if Parlan was going to yank it away.
    “Come,
Parlan,” she crooned, reaching out to caress his manhood and hiding her anger
over his evident disinclination, “what is one more night?”
    “Too
long,” he replied succinctly as he put on his pourpoint and stepped out of her
reach. “All is readied for the journey. I cannae forestall it.”
    Gritting
her teeth against the curses she wished to hurl at him, she queried, “When do
you plan to return this way?”
    Parlan
wondered if the woman knew how obvious she was in her ploys. “I cannae say.
‘Tis a busy time of the year.”
    “I
must return home soon myself,” she lied smoothly. “Mayhaps I could stop at
Dubhglenn on my way.”
    “If
ye like.” He hoped fervently that she would not as he gave her a light kiss. “Take
care, Catarine.”
    As
soon as he was gone, Catarine gave vent to her fury, demolishing her quarters,
then keeping her servants busy most of the night restoring it to order. Parlan
would not get away so easily with using her like some tavern wench, she vowed.
She would give him time to settle his business then go to stay at his keep.
Once there and in his bed, she was certain she would win the game.
     
    Dawn
found Parlan on the road and riding hard for Dubhglenn, his keep. Although he
partook of the delights of town, he did not like being away from his home. If
Artair was older and less rash, he would be sent on some of the necessary trips
to town. Unfortunately, Parlan knew Artair would either spend his time soaked
in drink and wenching, or make them new enemies they did not need. It saddened
him but Artair’s unreliability was why Lagan Dunmore was the man most often at
Parlan’s side. He could only hope that during his absence Artair had done
nothing too terrible.
    When
Parlan finally reached Dubhglenn two days later, he knew immediately upon riding
into the bailey that something was not right. The people he met greeted him
jovially but with a poorly disguised air of relief. There was also that air of
someone waiting to speak but not wishing to be the one to carry tales. Parlan
was about to demand explanations when he espied the horse.
    Speechless
with admiration, he did not even inquire about where the animal had come from,
but merely spent long moments studying the fine points of the stallion. The
animal was at least a hand taller than his own, very impressive mount. The
horse’s lines indicated strength as well as speed. The white coat of the beast
was startling in its purity. Parlan was ready to test how far the stallion’s
tense, aggressive stance could be tried when Malcolm and Lagan returned to
Dubhglenn. They wasted no time in moving to speak to Parlan.
    “Have
ye seen this magnificent animal?” enthused Parlan, slowly becoming aware of the
men’s tension.
    “Aye,
I have seen him.” Malcolm turned to one of the men lurking nearby. “How fare
the laddies?”
    “Nae
too weel. The older one be sickening something fierce and the wee one has
condemned the lot of us to seven kinds of hell.”
    “And
weel we deserve them,” cried Lagan who got no argument. “Has naught been done?
Has no one tended to them?”
    “Aye,
they be fed and watered regular,” protested another man but weakly.
    “I
gave them extra blankets last eve but I fear the wee one be right when he says
they will only be used as a shroud,” added the first man.
    “Hold!”
The silence that immediately met Parlan’s