True Love Brides 02 - The Highlander’s Curse Read Free

watched. He could see the light on the pool around the spring, turning it to a silver mirror. He could see the wolf clearly from this position, and he was downwind of it. He reached out to sense the wolf’s thoughts and felt its confidence.
    The wolf was silvery grey, its snout and paws darker than its back, its tail lush. Its pelt should adorn a lady’s bed, Garrett’s lady’s bed, a token that was proof of his intent to protect the woman pledged to be his own. But Garrett had no woman and he doubted there was a woman alive who could accept his curse. His life was lonely and he feared it would remain so, particularly as his ailment had suddenly become so much worse.
    Perhaps it was simpler to choose to be alone.
    The wolf stepped into a patch of sunlight, glanced about itself, then bent to drink.
    Garrett raised his crossbow to fire, then froze when the wolf straightened. He felt its heartbeat accelerate. It raised its head and folded its ears back, sniffing and scanning, then snarled.
    That was when Garrett saw the woman. She was on her knees as if in prayer, her head bowed and her hands folded before herself. He had not seen her at first because her cloak was green and her hood pulled over her hair. She was utterly still, as few people in his experience could be.
    Her thoughts were so quiet that even he with his gift had not been aware of her presence. That astonished him.
    At the wolf’s snarl, though, her head snapped up and terror flooded her mind. Garrett had time to see that she was lovely before the wolf leapt toward her with teeth bared.
    Without hesitation, Garrett lifted the crossbow and fired.
    A lesser hunter would have struck the maiden instead of the wolf. The angle was against him and the wolf moved quickly. But Garrett’s arrow went straight through the wolf, and he knew he struck its heart. The wolf’s body jerked, and the beast howled as it fell. The cry turned plaintive and faded, even as the blood streamed through its fur to the ground. Garrett grimaced at the explosion of pain and fury that filled the beast’s thoughts. He staggered a bit under the intensity of its reaction, for he had never felt the like, but the wolf’s anguish already began to fade.
    Garrett strode toward the fallen wolf, pulling out his knife.
    The lady had not moved. Garrett was surprised that she had not screamed. As he bent over the wolf and ensured that he finished what was begun, he was aware that she seemed to have been struck to stone. There was a prospect that was less than ideal. The wolf’s pain ended, a void of silence filling Garrett’s mind where his awareness of the wolf had been.
    Where were the woman’s thoughts?
    Was she simple? Was that why her mind was still?
    He had never met anyone who exuded such tranquility and now that the wolf was dead, he could consider the mystery. Was she mute? This was a place where one prayed for healing, so she might have some ailment.
    ’Twould be a crime for one so lovely to be less than perfect. Garrett did not dare to look directly at her, not before he had composed his features. He knew the torment he experienced at the sound of other thoughts could be read in his expression—particularly when one died as this wolf had done. He wiped his knife blade on the hem of his cloak before returning it to his scabbard. He would remove the pelt from the carcass when she was gone, lest he shock her.
    Still he marveled that he sensed no tumult of thoughts and questions. She had been frightened and now he knew she was relieved. No more than that. Slowly, so as not to alarm her, he raised his gaze to meet hers. He was aware of the blood on his kilt and on his hands, the grim finality of what he had done. He was aware of the dirt on his boots and the mire on his skin, for he had been stalking the wolf for many weeks.
    She was watching him, but not with horror or disgust. Her breath was coming quickly, her eyes wide. They were a magnificent shade of green and thickly lashed, her