Seducing the Highlander Read Free

isn’t my face,” Ian countered dryly, “that they can’t resist.”

Chapter 2
    T hey had stopped. Leanna realized she must have been dozing, for she came suddenly back into an awareness of her surroundings.
    After incessant hours of movement, after being jostled and windblown for what seemed like a lifetime, the relief from that awful jarring pace was like waking from a dream. Leanna blinked. Her face rested on a hard surface, the steely muscles moving under her cheek telling her it was indeed the chest of the tall, dark man called Ian by some, laird by others. He had seemed to be not only in charge of the troop of men who had so efficiently plucked her from what was supposed to be an impenetrable tower, but had solely cared for her on the journey to this place, the only one who had even touched her. The others had watched her; she had felt the steady and interested male appraisal, but no one had as much as said anything but a polite word.
    She would remember his scent, she thought, still half in a groggy sleep state. It was elusive but intriguing, a mixture of smoky liquor, horses, and clean linen. Being lifted in strong arms now felt normal—she had endured it the whole journey, had been enveloped for all those hours in the saddle in that strength and that scent.
    And yet her tall, handsome captor had not once bothered to tell her his name.
    When she opened her eyes fully, she realized that they were in a courtyard, the ring of the hooves of more than a hundred horses deafening. Stamping and whinnying, the animals snorted, and she fearfully tightened her arms around the neck of the man holding her as he slid off his mount into the melee of restless, sweating beasts. He whispered softly in her ear, “You’re safe, lass; don’t panic.”
    Through the veil of her lashes, she saw his face, his eyes dark, his cheekbones high and arrogant, his mouth modeled by what surely must have been the gods, it was so masculine, so firm. “We’re here. All is well,” he assured her.
    Still a little confused and not fully awake, she clung to him as he carried her toward a huge arched entrance, the massive door thrown open to the warm night, well lit and inviting despite the immense dimensions. Once inside, she could see they had entered a large hall, hung with tapestries and well furnished, dominated by a long table with enough chairs to seat thirty people. The floors were polished stone and gleamed, the air perfumed with the scent of roasting meat, and the soft sound of a lute being played was arrested by their entrance.
    “My heavens, who is this waif? Is she injured?” demanded an authoritarian female voice.
    “She’s exhausted,” Leanna heard the man say, his arms still easily holding her body. “We rode hard.”
    “Who is she . . . ? My lord, what a beautiful child.” A soft finger stroked her cheek. The woman touching her was very short, much shorter than the tall man holding her, so all Leanna could really see was a halo of dark graying hair.
    “I’ll explain later, Rossie. Right now I’ll take her upstairs. Could you care for her yourself?”
    Rossie, whoever she was, said crisply, “I insist on both, you young rogue. I’ll care for her, the sweet young thing, and you will explain this all to me once you’ve washed and fed.”
    “I promise.”
    The humble boyish note in his voice was a surprise, Leanna thought wearily, as he carried her up a winding staircase built close to a high wall. With her head on his chest she heard the strong beat of his heart as he effortlessly climbed the steps, and she wondered—not for the first time—who and what this man was who had gone to such lengths to abduct her.
    He shouldered his way through a doorway and stalked across the room to deposit her on the softness of a mattress.
    It took her less than a second to fall back to sleep.
     
     
    Rolling the loosened muscles in his shoulders, Ian toweled his hair, drying it briskly, his bath helping a great measure in making him