Highlanders Read Free Page A

competitors in the games. Truly, the castle was appropriately nicknamed Dragon’s Lair, for the knight, like the mythical dragon, decimated his enemies. 
    They drew closer, and an eerie yellow glow haloed the torches in the fog up on the battlements. Despite her resolve, her belly clenched with fear. She mouthed a silent prayer to Saint George for strength to bind her dragon as St. George had his a millennia ago.
    The keep loomed, a shadow in the fog that became a visible wall when they stopped. Something familiar niggled at her.
    “’Tis I,” her captor shouted, in a cultured English accent.
    No simple man-at-arms had been sent to collect her. Only a knight of the first order would do to kidnap Sir Talbot St. Claire’s wife.
    “Open in the name of peace,” he called.
    Peace? St. Claire represented anything but peace.
    Fury swept through Rhoslyn. “Ye speak of peace when you kidnap innocent women and slay men in the dark? Neither you nor your master shall know peace the remainder of your days.”
    Her captor gave a low laugh that sent a chill down her spine.
    “What man knows peace when he takes a wife?” he said.
    Rhoslyn stiffened. The man was a dog. How fitting that a dog should serve a dragon. 
    Wood creaked as the gates began a slow swing inward. He spurred his horse forward when the opening was barely wide enough to accommodate entrance. The fog obscured their surroundings. He stopped and hugged her close as he swung his leg around the pommel. She threw her arms around his neck for fear of falling as he slid from the saddle. Rhoslyn jolted when his feet hit solid ground. Another warrior appeared beside the horse as her captor strode away from the animal.
    “Put me down,” Rhoslyn demanded.
    He lengthened his stride in response.
    “Did ye hear me, Knight? I am Lady Rhoslyn Harper—”
    “St. Claire,” he cut in.
    “What?”
    “Lady Rhoslyn St. Claire.”
    “How dare you?” She slapped him.
    They reached the castle. He stopped short and she tensed. Would he strike her back? Did his master countenance the abuse of women?
    Her heart pounded. “Have ye something to say, Knight?”
    “What should I say, my lady?”
    “Put me down,” she ordered.
    He pushed through the door and Rhoslyn drew a sharp breath upon realizing why she had experienced the sense of recognition. They weren’t at Dunfrey Castle. This was Castle Glenbarr.
    “What thievery is this?” she demanded. “Your master has no right to claim my property. We are not yet wed.” But she knew the vows—and consummation—were a mere formality. Edward’s decree held as much power as did the priest’s benediction. Still, that gave him no right to occupy her home before even meeting her.
    The monster carrying her gave no answer. She had expected none. He was an Englishman, and Englishmen considered their women chattel. St. Claire would soon learn that Lady Rhoslyn Harper, granddaughter of Sir Hugo Seward, Baron Kinsley, daughter of Ihon Seward, was no man’s property. 
    At the far end of the room burned a low fire in a large hearth. Flickering tongues of flame cast light across the room, revealing the forms of warriors sleeping on the floor. English men-at-arms, she would wager. Where were her men? Had there been a battle? Rhoslyn thanked God she had sent her stepdaughter to stay with her grandfather while she resided at the convent. The girl would have been terrified if she’d been at Castle Glenbarr when St. Claire took possession.
    Her captor crossed left, to a narrow staircase. Rhoslyn expected to be put down on her feet, but he threw her over his shoulder and took the stairs two at a time.
    “Beast,” she muttered, but kept still for fear of hitting her head in the narrow space.
    He reached the second level and ascended another set of stairs to the third floor where lay the too-familiar private quarters. He took several paces, then pushed through a door that opened upon her late husband’s bedchambers. Rhoslyn was abruptly