Pride of the Clan Read Free Page B

last she now understood Robert Stewart’s lack of interest in their betrothal.

CAPTURED

    The men under Rheade’s command surged forward upon hearing his order, no doubt assuming they’d apprehended the assassins. He wished he’d been less enthusiastic. The startling sight of a beautiful lass descending from the cart had momentarily stolen his wits.
    The simpleton carried on his incessant wailing. The driver urged him to be calm as the two were dragged from the wagon and forced to lie on their bellies on the frozen ground. The elderly knight protested as he was hauled from his panicked horse and herded into the wagon. The large woman who must be his wife lay in a moaning stupor, bundled in blankets.
    “Logan,” Rheade yelled as he slid from his horse to gather up the young woman who’d faltered, “there is no need for violence. We’ll escort them to the castle.”
    “Aye,” his brother replied, sheathing the broadsword he’d continued to brandish aloft. “Tannoch will want to interrogate them.”
    Dread filled Rheade as he looked down at the feather-light woman cradled in his arms who stared mutely into nothingness. He was filled with an urge to ensure his brute of a brother didn’t ride roughshod over this delicate creature. Tannoch deemed it his God-given right to beat his own wife.
    Margaret Ogilvie was the most stunningly beautiful blonde lass he’d ever set eyes on, but then there were no silver-haired women in Dunalastair. The auld man had said they were from Oban. He’d heard of it, but never traveled so far from home. He wondered if all the women of the western shores were as lovely.
    Her pale skin was flawless, marred only by a red nose. The blanket had slipped from her shoulders to reveal appealing mounds of female flesh straining at the fabric of her léine as she struggled to breathe.  
    A cruel trick of fate had destined this remarkable woman for the traitor, Robert Stewart. She shivered as gooseflesh marched over the bared skin of her neck. An erratic pulse in Rheade’s throat threatened to cut off his breath, and he felt a flush creep over his face. For the first time in days he was warm. But the effect on his manhood was pleasantly startling. His shaft had stood to attention upon hearing a sultry voice utter the words, I am Lady Margaret Ogilvie .
    But what to do with this ragtag group who’d arrived at the worst possible time? He inhaled deeply and gave the woman in his arms a gentle shake. “Lady Margaret, I regret we must take ye and yer companions to Dunalastair.”
    She seemed to recover her wits and stared at him, her blue eyes wide. “Dunalster?”
    In different circumstances it would have been easy to tease her about the mispronunciation of the name of his castle home, to work his charm to make those ice blue eyes flash with—
    What was he thinking? There was no flirting with the betrothed of a traitor. Tannoch would make garters of his guts. He cleared his throat, stiffened his shoulders and set her on her feet. “Dunalastair Castle is the seat of the Robertson clan. It’s not far from Loch Tay.”
    She gathered the blanket around her shoulders, her teeth chattering. He had an urge to draw her to his body, to breathe his warm breath on her, but he took a step back, colliding with Dubh. The horse nudged him playfully, but with enough force to nearly send him careening into Margaret.
    Despite her obvious distress, a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Yer horse looks fearsome, but he’s playful,” she said.
    Relieved to see some of the sadness leave her beautiful face, Rheade returned the smile. “Aye, Dubh likes to play.”
    He should have shoved away his next foolish notion. “Mayhap ye can ride to Dunalastair with me.”

    ~~~
    Margaret took a quick glance inside the wagon. Uncle Davey sat with his arm around his wailing wife’s shoulder, trying to comfort her, his face betraying indignant fear. Edythe trembled, clearly terrified, her head on Davey’s