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

silver pommel where he’d knocked out her assailant marked this man as her defender. His dark blue eyes narrowed in concentration as he searched her face. He was also the man who had threatened Calum earlier.
    “So ye are a lass.” He spoke in hushed tones, his soft Scottish brogue sweet to her ear. Alas this was not her clansman but one of the mercenaries. He wiped the pommel on his leg before placing it back into its bejeweled sheath at his belt and crossing his arms in front of him. Motioning to the body that lay unconscious between them, he added, “I would say I was not the only one who figured it out.”
    How? She was always being mistaken for a boy at home… Well, maybe not so much of late. But she had been covered from head to toe with the blanket that lay crumpled behind her. It must have slipped off in her sleep. As if reading her mind, the Scot retrieved the blanket.
    “Thank you for your assistance.” She blanched at the stupidity of her own words, but nothing else seemed appropriate. She just wanted him to go away.
    His eyes were intense before he looked down. “Ye were doing well on yer own, I would say.”
    She followed his gaze. It was quite gratifying to see her attacker still holding his private parts, though the goose egg on his head was clearly the blow that had stopped the assault. Her satisfied smile evaporated, however, when she noticed the Scot eyeing her suspiciously.
    “Still, I am in your debt.” Her smile froze on her lips. Admitting to a mercenary that you owed them was not the smartest course of action.
    His eyes brightened, but she sensed a smirk hidden in that thick, dark beard. “Are ye now? Weel then, tell me what ye are about. I would say ye are not in yer usual sleeping place.”
    Her heart raced as he hunkered down beside her, his face so close she could see the laugh lines around his eyes. His low voice resonated through her, and he held her gaze.
    He stroked his heavy beard before he spoke again. “Ye have chosen a bad place to rest yerself, if that is all ye had in mind. Ye have put yerself in harm’s way.”
    She glanced toward the tables, where a few of the mercenaries mumbled and shifted in their sleep. “How, pray tell, have we put ourselves in harm’s way?”
    “Pray tell, is it?”
    Iseabail covered her irritation with herself with a shake of her head. Pray tell was not a term a peasant used. He was making her feel very defensive.
    “I told yer friend,” the man pointed at Calum, his eyebrows raised in question, “brother, perhaps? I told him to stay to the right of the fire.” He rolled his ‘r’s as he spoke.
    “We are to the right…” Iseabail stopped herself just short of doing the same. She and Calum were trying to blend in with the local peasants seeking refuge from the cold. It would not do to give herself away as a Scot. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Had he heard her slip?
    “Ye are not!” His voice had become very forceful, and Iseabail’s breath caught in her throat. He glanced around and lowered his voice. “This is the very spot where the women sleep who are looking for a warm bed to share.”
    He raised his furrowed brows as if expecting some sort of response. An apology? She knew they should never have tried to come in from the cold. The woods were the only safe place. Tears threatened, tightening her throat. She would not show her weakness.
    She dipped her head and pushed to standing. He was a little too close, and she stood a little too fast. Her head slammed into his hard chin, nearly making her lose her balance. He grabbed her with strong hands, righting her. His firm touch sent heat through her body.
    Iseabail jerked away from him. The warmth remained, unsettling her as it made its way into her belly. His bright blue eyes were clear, and his hands hovered just above her arms as if about to touch her again. He looked her up and down as if seeing her for the first time. Her pulse started to race, anticipating his touch.
    He