The Eternal Highlander Read Free Page B

ransom, aye? Where is the harm in that?”
    “If ye were as poor a thief as ye are a liar, ye would have been rotting on a gibbet by now and I wouldnae have to suffer the stench of ye.”
    The big man cursed viciously. “Ye havenae got a chance, ye stupid bitch.”
    “Probably not, but, the question ye must ask yourselves is—How many of ye will still be alive when the battle is o’er?”
    They all stared at her as if she was a madwoman. Bridget felt a little like one. She should be terrified and, deep down, a part of her was. Another part of her wanted to howl and throw herself upon these men, nails, teeth, and dagger all slashing away at them.
    For a brief moment she wondered if she could hold them off long enough to regain enough strength to start running again. She was feeling a little stronger, the pain in her side had eased, and she was breathing normally again. Then Bridget inwardly shook her head. It was a false strength, one that would be quickly depleted. There was also nowhere to go but up and she had no idea if there was any shelter or safety for her there.
    One of the men started to move toward her and she threw her rock, striking him on the shoulder. She quickly picked up another rock, idly noted that she had only four more close at hand, and then tensed. Someone was coming. Bridget looked at the men below her, but they were still standing there watching her and talking low amongst themselves. Yet, she was certain something or someone was swiftly, silently moving ever closer.
    Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, one of the surrounding shadows became a slender, beautiful young man. She forced herself not to look right at him. He grinned briefly and she nearly gasped, but, before she could decide whether or not she really had seen that wolfish smile, he was gone. A heartbeat later she felt a rush of movement. Dark shapes seemed to fly by her. The men below her looked horrified as the shadows closed around them. Their screams hurt her ears. Bridget felt overwhelmed by the scent and sight of blood for one long, desperate moment, then fell into blackness.

Two
    “Ye said ye were wanting a bride.”
    Cathal glared at his cousin Jankyn who was perched on the thick, heavily carved footboard of the bed like some raven, one pale slender hand curled around the bedpost. “I didnae expect ye to steal me one.”
    “We didnae steal her. We saved her.”
    “Saved her from what?”
    As he waited for Jankyn’s reply, Cathal studied the woman his cousin had brought into his bedchamber and set upon his bed. She was sprawled upon his furs like a broken doll. Not much bigger than one, either, he mused. Young, he decided, studying her soft, unlined features more closely. Young and stunningly beautiful. A sweet, oval face, a slender straight nose, faintly slanted eyes and light brown brows, luxurious gold-tipped lashes, and a full mouth that was pure temptation. Her figure was slender from her somewhat small breasts to her slim hips. A tiny waist and surprisingly long, beautifully shaped legs were qualities any man with blood in his veins appreciated.
    He reached out to touch the thick tangle of hair spread out beneath her. It was like silk, the color a rich, tawny gold, and it flowed in heavy waves to her slender thighs. He was astounded that such a long slim neck could support such a bounty of hair. Then he frowned, noticing a suspicious bruise on the side of her neck.
    “Who did this?” he demanded, his fleeting touch enough to assure him that the skin had not been broken.
    “It matters not, Cathal. I stopped it. Twas but the bloodlust of the moment, nay more.”
    Cathal was not sure he believed that, but would not openly accuse his cousin of lying. “Tell me what happened,” he ordered as, with as soft a touch as possible, he began to remove what appeared to be a lumpy cloak from around her middle.
    “I saw her running. She runs like a young doe, all grace and speed. She came to a halt not far beyond where the