Highland Hope (Wild Thistle Triology Book 1) Read Free Page A

every word she spoke, every step she took. If Hope didn’t pass their observations, ’twould it be the end of her lairdship?
    “And you are?” she questioned as she arched her brow and settled her fist at her waist.
    The prisoner was lifted to his feet. When he stood, he surpassed Duncan by a few inches. She couldn’t help but appreciate the strength of him. He was broad shouldered, admirably so. And his face proved pleasing with a firm jaw, large expressive eyes, and a mouth that looked . . . appealing. She shook her head. By Saint Michelina, how could she even look at a captive as if he were a man ?
    She swept her gaze clean of everything but loathing. “You are?” she repeated.
    “Aidan MacKerry.” He bowed, arrogant and mocking. “If you would find my things, you’d see I’ve told you the truth of it.”
    None too pleased with his tone, Hope said, “Take him to the dungeons. Then bring his belongings to the main hall.”
    “Aye, m’laird.” Duncan bowed and grabbed onto MacKerry. “Come ye wee scrub.”
    Hope watched them drag the man away. Duncan tall with flaming hair, MacKerry taller yet with hair so dark, she swore it matched his soul.
    He looked over his shoulder, a tuft of his hair fell over his brow, his gaze full of intense scrutiny. A shiver ran up her spine. He was not to be trifled with, the glance conveyed. Despite the unease MacKerry had wrought, she’d not allow this infidel to jeopardize her lairdship. Of that she was certain.
    “Duncan,” she called, “make sure Honor or Nora sees to him. I think his head is addled.”

Chapter 3
    Aidan sat on the crude stool in the cell and leaned against the damp wall. His plan had gone awry at some point and now he ’twasn’t quite certain the summons hadn’t been another ruse devised by the bastards of Clan MacKerry.
    ’Twas probably Anne trying to rid herself of the sight of him. His former fiancée betrayed him, mayhap she wanted him gone so she wasn’t reminded of how she’d treated him. Regardless, he was glad to be rid of the conniving woman. He scowled at the iron bars, even if he landed in a pit of a dungeon. Aye, ’twas better than living in the daily presence of her betrayal.
    Water dripped from the next cell, but otherwise, little sound permeated the thick walls. Certain he was alone, Aidan stood and paced across the small cage. Anger filled him as he stepped in a puddle. The arrogant laird had sent him to the dungeon. The arrogant female laird. Why hadn’t he believed the current laird was a woman? He wiped the back of his neck and sighed. Damn them all. He needed to escape and then approach the laird. She needed to ken he would be replacing her.
    Light squeezed through thin cracks in the masonry. It did little to allow him a clear view of his prison, but a faint skitter in the distance told of the mice or perhaps rats that were his cellmates.
    He rattled the cell door. The moorings didn’t budge. He gripped the metal harder and shook with all of his strength. The metal bars loosened.
    Here he was, being treated as a burden.
    Once again, all because of a woman.
    “Bollocks,” Aidan swore as he kicked at the iron bars. Women weren’t to be trusted, especially this one. The way she looked at him down her straight, fine nose, aristocratic and aloof, ’twas too much.
    Aye, her dark auburn hair was deep and rich enough to befuddle a man. Her tresses were pulled back from her face, allowing a clear view of her long neck, high cheekbones, and brilliant green eyes. Even Aidan had to admit she was lovely. Beautiful.
    The vision of the woman walking the battlements came to him. Was she the laird? Nay, it couldn’t be. That woman had acted carefree as she let her hair wave behind her.
    Aidan shook his head. The low sweep of her voice as she commanded her men, sounded anything but carefree. Strong, with the indelible crest of power in the tone. And they obeyed? How could they allow her to rule them? Had she bewitched their ale with a