Wee William's Woman, Book Three of the Clan MacDougall Series Read Free

up by the elbows and scurried to the far side of the bed. She didn’t take her eyes off his as she grabbed the pillow and held it tightly to her chest, as if the pillow could act as a shield.
    “Are ye fond of yer husband lass?” he asked in a low, gentle voice, unsure why he’d asked that particular question. A heartbeat later, she slowly shook her head no.
    Wee William glanced around the room. The two brothers who had remained quiet during the ordeal were proving to be far smarter than their older brother. Though he’d never had the displeasure of meeting any of them in person, he knew well who each of them were. He’d heard enough stories over the past year to know not a one of them owned either a heart or ounce of compassion.
    He turned back to the lass with the beautiful blue eyes and studied her for several moments. That odd and unsettling feeling was growing by leaps and bounds, and for the life of him, he didn’t know what to make of it.
    “Does he beat ye often, lass?” he asked quietly. She nodded her head again. His stomach tightened when he saw tears begin to well in her eyes. Damned bloody Sassenach.
    “Would ye like to become a widow this night?” he could not have explained to anyone why he asked that particular question. He supposed it had something to do with the odd sensation that enveloped him. Or mayhap he simply hated men who beat their women. Or it could have been that beautiful face and that pale blue eye, filled with fear, staring up at him. Whatever the reasons, he found himself holding his breath while he waited for her to answer.
    She swallowed hard, taking very little time to think on his question. Another nod and a whispered, “Aye,” was the answer he hadn’t realized he’d been hoping for until he heard her give it.
    “They call me Wee William,” he told her with tilt of his head and a wink.
    Her response was not what he was accustomed to. She didn’t stare at him with mouth agape and ask why he was called that when one considered his size and stature.
    Nay, this beautiful lass did something he was not accustomed to. Her full lips curved into a slight smile, but ’twas a smile none-the-less, and she offered her hand to him. When he took it in his own and felt her warm skin against his, he knew he was lost. Forever lost, to those soft blue eyes filled to the rim with tears. Lost to that exquisite face, bruises and all. He began to feel as though he had fallen through a deep chasm, but instead of falling hard to the ground, he was floating in the air.
    “They call me Nora.”
     

 
     
    T wo
     
    N ora. He let the sweet sound of her name roll around in his mind for a moment. He concluded it was perhaps, the most beautiful sounding of names. Nora.
    He turned his gaze back to her. Nora. There was a special, musical quality to it. What the bloody hell is happening to me? He forced a scowl to his face and stood, best that he could considering the very tight quarters, and looked around the room to his men.
    “Take them,” he said in Gaelic.
    “Take them where ?” Black Richard asked, with a tilt of his head, looking quite perplexed.
    “Anywhere. Just take them, kill them, and leave the bodies fer the scavengers.”
    Every Highlander in the room blinked before casting an astonished look at Wee William.
    “Ye canna be serious, Wee William,” Rowan said.
    “Aye, I am,” Wee William answered calmly.
    “But Angus said to no’ kill anyone. We’re to find the treasure—” Rowan began to protest.
    Wee William wouldn’t allow him to finish. “I ken verra well what Angus said. But since we canna find the treasure, I’d rather we brought their heads back in baskets.” He eyed his friend for a moment.
    Rowan and Black Richard cast wearied glances at one another.
    The idiot on the table tried to sit up again and began to make demands. “What the bloody hell are you going on about?” he shouted.
    Once again, Rowan silenced him with another hard fist to his face. The man fell