If You Dare Read Free Page B

though he’d recognize it. He did feel as if he’d heard it before but couldn’t place it.
    â€œWhere did you find me? And how far are we from the village?”
    â€œStraight down this mountain on the banks of the Valira, four mountain passes to the south.”
    Four passes away? He wondered if his men thought him dead. He needed to send a message—
    â€œI would ask the name of my . . . guest.” She indicated him with a nod.
    He studied her face, noting the high cheekbones and bright hazel-green eyes that matched the green-gold stone at her neck. She looked familiar to him—though he didn’t see how he could ever have met then forgotten her—and he had a vague impression that she didn’t like him. So why was she “caring” for him? “I’m Courtland MacCarrick.”
    â€œYou are a Scot.” “Aye.” At his answer, he could have sworn there was a flash of sadness in her eyes.
    â€œAnd you are in Andorra because . . .” She trailed off.
    The truth whispered in his mind: Because I was hired to tyrannize the people here. “I was just passing through.”
    The sadness he’d sensed disappeared, and she said in ahaughty voice, “You chose to pass through a tiny country in the Pyrenees known for some of the highest mountain passes in Europe? For future reference, most simply go around.”
    Her condescending tone annoyed him, and his body was rapidly becoming a mass of pain. “I’m a Highlander. I like high lands.”
    She glared at him, then turned to leave, as if she couldn’t wait to be away from him, but he needed information.
    â€œWas I out for an entire day?” he hastily asked.
    She looked longingly at the door, but then faced him. “This is your third day here.”
    Christ, three days? And from the feel of his ribs, he’d be another week healing before he could even sit a horse. “How did I come to be here?”
    She hesitated before saying, “I found you on the shore and dragged you up here.”
    She looked like a stiff wind could blow her away. “You?” “My horse and I.”
    His brows drew together. “There was no man who could do it?”
    He was nearly six and a half feet tall and weighed more than seventeen stone. He could imagine how difficult it had been to haul him back even with the horse—especially if she lived high on the mountainside.
    â€œWe managed fine.”
    Court owed her a debt of gratitude; he despised being indebted in any way. He grated, “Then you saved my life.”
    She peered at the ceiling, appearing embarrassed.
    Forcing the foreign words, he said, “You have my thanks.”
    She nodded and turned to go, but he didn’t want the lass to leave yet. “Annalía,” he said, unable to remember anything else from her catalog of names.
    She whirled around, eyes wide, no doubt at the use ofher given name. In a flash, he remembered her. Her beautiful countenance and curious expression had waned into sharp and glaring by the riverside. He rubbed his forehead with his good hand. In fact, she’d lamented the fact that he lived.
    â€œThat is Lady Llorente to someone such as you! You would do well to remember that.”
    His eyes narrowed. He’d been right. “Why did you call me an animal? Because I was so beaten?”
    â€œOf course not,” she said with an incredulous look. “I could tell you were Scottish.”
    Court wrestled with his temper. “Scottish?” Many people held prejudices against Scots, and some hated them sight unseen, but no context on earth gave an Andorran the right to look down on one. “Then why would you save ‘someone such as me’?”
    She shrugged her slim shoulders. “I would spare a mangy, rabid wolf suffering—”
    â€œSo now you think me a mangy, rabid wolf?” His head had begun pounding on both sides of his skull.
    She