Highland Destiny Read Free Page A

for her to see the grief, weariness, and pain on their begrimed faces, she knew she had to make her final decision.
    A once defeated ally was better than none, she told herself as she slowly rose to her feet. If nothing else they might have knowledge she did not, knowledge that could help her gain what she sought—Beaton’s death. That was if they did not kill her first. Praying fiercely that she was not just inviting a quick death, Maldie stepped out onto the road.

Chapter Two
    Maldie prayed that the tall, dark knight coming to a cautious halt before her could not hear how swift and hard her heart was beating. He made no threatening move toward her, and she fought to calm her fear. When she had first stepped out of the shelter of the thick brush to stand before the battered, retreating army, the possibility of gaining a few allies had made such a rash move seem worth the risk. Now that she was actually face to face with the men, seeing the cold looks on their faces, the mud and blood of battle smearing their clothes and bodies, she was not so sure. And, worse, she was no longer certain she could adequately explain her presence there, alone, on the road to Dubhlinn, or that she could immediately reveal her dark plans of revenge. These men were warriors, and she was not contemplating a battle, but a righteous murder.
    “Might ye explain what a wee lass is doing alone on this road?” Balfour asked, shaking free of the hold of her wide, deep green eyes.
    “Mayhap I just wished to get a closer look at how badly old Beaton has defeated you,” Maldie replied, wondering a little wildly what it was about the broad-shouldered, dark-eyed man that prompted her to be so dangerously impertinent.
    “Aye, that bastard won the battle.” Balfour’s deep voice was rough and cold with fury. “Are ye one of those carrion who seek to pick o’er the bones of the dead? If ye are, ye had best step aside and keep walking down this road.”
    She decided to ignore that insult, for it was one she had earned with her own ill-chosen words. “I am Maldie Kirkcaldy, just down from Dundee.”
    “Ye are a verra long way from home, lass. Why have ye wandered to this cursed place?”
    “I seek a few of my kinsmen.”
    “Who? I may ken the family and can aid ye in the finding of them.”
    “That is most kind of you, but I dinnae think ye can help me. My kinsmen wouldnae have much call to ken a mon as highborn as yourself.” Before he could press for a more informative reply, she turned her attention to the man on the litter. “Your companion looks to be sorely wounded, sir. Mayhap I can help.” She stepped closer to the wounded man, ignoring the way the large knight tensed and made a subtle move as if to block her. “I make no false, vain boast when I claim to have a true skill at healing.”
    The firm confidence weighting her words made Balfour step aside, and then he scowled. It did not please him to be so easily swayed by a woman’s words, nor was it wise to so quickly put his trust in a complete stranger. She was unquestionably beautiful, from her wild raven hair to her small booted feet, but he sternly warned himself against letting his wits fall prey to a pretty face. He moved to stand on the opposite side of Nigel’s litter and watched the tiny woman carefully as she hiked up her skirts and knelt by his brother.
    “I am Sir Balfour Murray, laird of Donncoill, and this mon is my brother Nigel,” he said, crouching so that he could watch every move of her pale, delicate hands, and lightly resting his hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword. “He was cut down when our enemy used guile and treachery to lure us into a trap.”
    As Maldie studied Nigel’s wounds, quickly deciding what needed to be done for the man and silently cursing her lack of the right supplies, she replied, “I am ever and always amazed o’er how men think every other mon will follow the honorable laws of war. If ye would all tread a wee bit more cautiously, ye