Return of the Highlander Read Free Page B

sound of a bar lifting on a door helped her to realize that she had been imprisoned somewhere.
    With growing panic, she lay very still, glancing around the room. It was small, sparsely furnished and without windows. There were half a dozen candles burning on a candelabra next to the bed. The walls were constructed of stone.
    The door swung open and another Scotsman entered, his strides heavy and purposeful across the stone floor. He had thick, dark, wavy hair and eyes black as night. He stood over the bed and glared down at her with menace.
    The door slammed shut behind him with a terrifying echo of finality. The dark Scotsman hooked a thumb into the leather sword belt that lay across his broad chest. “What’s yer name, lass?” he asked.
    Still not sure if she could form words, Larena blinked up at him and beheld muscle-bound arms and massive, dangerous hands. She could only imagine the rippled brawn of his hips and abdomen beneath the loose white shirt and heavy tartan.
    This one was a warrior, no doubt about it, built like an iron-tipped battering ram. Her gaze rose to his face—a shockingly beautiful display of masculine features, sculpted with clean lines and compelling angles. Yet there was softness in those full, moist lips…lips strangely familiar to her, as if she’d encountered them in a dream.
    “I asked you a question.” One dark eyebrow lifted. “Do you remember striking me in the head, lass?”
    Suddenly it all came rushing back to her…the ambush on the road, the violent deaths of her British escorts, and Rupert galloping off with the King’s pardon that was meant to save her father’s life.
    Dear Lord. Her father …
    Heart suddenly pounding with apprehension, she attempted to rise up on an elbow, but a wave of dizziness swirled through her head.
    The golden-haired Highlander urged her back down on the pillow. “Not yet, lass. You’re not strong enough.”
    “Where am I?” she asked.
    Her first words, spoken at last.
    “Kinloch Castle,” the darker one replied.
    Frustration sparked in her veins. “Kinloch…” Please, no . “Am I being held prisoner here? You have no right.”
    “Aye, we have every right,” he replied, his voice husky and low. “You’re a Campbell, are you not?”
    “Aye, but—”
    “No buts, lass. The MacDonalds of Kinloch have long standing issues with the Campbells of Leathan. You know it as well as I do, so I’m not sure what you were thinking, crossing onto our lands in the company of British soldiers.”
    She struggled to think clearly but her brain was still a fuzzy, tangled up mess. She covered her eyes with a hand. “I didn’t realize we’d entered MacDonald territory.” Heaven help her, it had been too hot and humid. She hadn’t slept in days. “Please accept my apologies for that, but I really need to go. I must return home.”
    “What’s your hurry?” the dark one asked. The antagonism in his eyes and the threatening note of suspicion in his deep, smoky voice was enough to send a bolt of alarm straight into her heart.
    She tried to sit up again. This time the golden-haired one made no move to stop her. He rose from his sitting position on the edge of the cot to stand beside the taller one.
    Side by side—one dark, one light—they were an alarming sight to behold.
    Larena touched her bare feet to the floor. “I must leave. I’ve lost too much time already. Oh, God, what day is it?”
    Nausea poured into her stomach. She had no choice but to pause and grip the edge of the hay-filled mattress and wait for the wooziness to pass, for she wasn’t certain she could rise without falling over.
    “You won’t be going anywhere, lass,” the dark one said. “Not until you tell us what you were doing with the Redcoats and why they’re all lying dead on our laird’s road.”
    She scoffed. “You’re asking me ? Aren’t you the ones who ambushed us?”
    Her two captors exchanged a curious look.
    “Nay, lass,” the golden one said. “We had