The Bruised Thistle (The Order of the Scottish Thistle) Read Free

hesitate. He bolted toward the kitchen door.
    “Now then.” Seumas turned toward the little knight, still in his grasp. The mystery companion held back, well hidden. “What have we here?”
    “I did not do anything to him.” The boy’s eyes were wide and round. “I got tripped up and fell. That is all.”
    “Aye. And yet…I see that ye do not belong here.” Better to let the boy know upfront he had been found out.
    The little knight caught himself as he started turning to his mysterious companion. “I do, m’lord.” He tipped his head emphatically, a convincing liar.
    Impressed by the act, Seumas smiled at him and included his companion when he spoke. “Stay to the right side of the fire. That is where the young’uns sleep. Ye will be safe there unless they realize ye do not belong...then out ye go. Hear me?”
    The little knight nodded.
    Seumas glanced at the boy’s companion, but the shadowed face turned away. The dirt-encrusted cloak covered him—or her—from head to toe, but the long fingers gripping the edges of the cloak together were just visible. They were also decidedly feminine.
    Seumas smiled and returned to his men.
     

Chapter 3
     
    Someone was watching her. Iseabail woke instantly. Wedged between Calum and the wall, she feigned sleep, keeping her breathing steady though her body tensed. Through half-closed eyes, she scanned the hall. The crackling fire silhouetted Calum’s slumped form. He had turned away in his sleep. The overpowering stench of unwashed bodies gave her a strange sense of belonging after being alone in the woods for so long—she probably stank as much as they. The sounds of snoring and breathing surrounded her.
    The men carousing earlier could no longer be heard. They had been well in their cups, so no doubt they were either passed out or had staggered to their beds. Female laughter and low, muffled voices drifted to her from the stairs. Or had they found female companionship? She shuddered. They were mercenaries—hard men who did as they pleased and answered to no one. When she passed the group earlier, she had averted her eyes, hoping to avoid their notice. If Calum had not tripped, they would have been ignored. Now she had unwanted attention.
    The draft on her leg was her only warning.
    Someone clamped a hand onto her bare ankle. She opened her mouth but no sound came out; her gasp froze in her throat. She had been discovered. If Calum were older she could have called for his help, but she did not want him to get hurt trying to defend her. As usual, she was left unprotected.
    Her attacker slid a calloused hand up her leg. Fear quickened her breath. He caressed her calf before grabbing on to pull her away from Calum. She bit into her lip and clawed at the ground as she fought against being dragged further. Her assailant’s throaty chuckle reminded her of her uncle’s, and panic overwhelmed her senses.
    I will not be used again.
    Determined, she thrashed and rolled, trying to turn onto her back. He bent to grab her legs at the knees, grunting with the effort. The noise made her sick. Her gown slid further up her thighs, and his low sound of carnal appreciation echoed in her head. On her stomach with her ankles held against either side of her attacker, she could not have felt more vulnerable. Or angry. She twisted and pulled, finally wresting one leg free. She tucked her knee to her chest and kicked as hard as she could, connecting with the man’s tender area. Hope blazed through her. He groaned and dropped her legs abruptly. Her knees hit the ground with a painful thud, and she pressed her lips tightly together to muffle the hiss of pain.
    Finding herself released, she pulled her tattered gown over her legs and dragged herself into a sitting position. The unmoving body of a chunky male lay at her feet. She looked up to find a large man with pitch black hair standing there, the leather-wrapped hilt of his dagger visible in his clenched fist. The smear of blood on the