Highland Captive by Hannah Howell Read Free Book Online

herself?”
    Clearly,
if a little shakily, the young man replied, “She used it on me when I attacked
her.”
    His
words had barely cleared his lips when a blow from Parlan sent him reeling.
Scrambling to her feet and clutching her shirt closed, Aimil gasped as the
laird of the MacGuins sentenced her would-be ravisher to an alarming number of
lashes. Although the young man paled, he made no protest nor did any of the
others look surprised. It was evident that the notorious Black Parlan did not
tolerate the abuse of women, and did, in fact, consider it a crime worthy of
harsh punishment. Aimil decided she would wonder later how that contradicted
the image painted of the man. Right now, she felt she had to intervene for it
was too harsh a punishment. She had to let it be known how little the man had
accomplished.
    “Nay,
nay,” she cried, clutching Parlan’s tensed arm. “It wasnae so bad.”
    “Enjoyed
it, did ye?” purred Parlan, angered by her defense of the young man.
    “Dinnae
be an idiot,” she snapped, causing several of Parlan’s men to gasp. “I didnae
mean that. I meant t’was naught but a kiss and a wee grapple.”
    “A
kiss and a wee grapple wouldnae leave such marks.”
    “Aye,
they would and, even so, t’wasnae all his fault. I was wearing naught but this
shirt and that undone. Aye, and my hair was loose. He was expecting twa lads
not what he found. T’was but a brief tussle before I knocked him out, and, ‘tis
true, I bruise easily.” She saw the doubt in his eyes and asked, “Did ye mean
to mark me just now?”
    “Nay,”
he replied, stiffening with outrage, “I dinnae hold with the rough handling of
women. And ye being so wee I thought ye may be but a child.”
    She
bit back an angry retort for his reference to her lack of size and held out her
wrists. The marks his hands had left were already livid and clearly delineated.
She smiled slightly at his shock.
    “As
I said, I bruise most easily. ‘Tis a fault of the skin. They will fade as
quickly and they dinnae hurt. Truth tell, I think the bruises I gifted him with
are far worse,” she murmured, a faint color tinting her cheeks.
    Looking
at the awkward stance of the young man, Parlan bit back a grin. “I will let it
pass this time, Alex, but if I hear even a whisper of the like occurring again,
ye will suffer twofold. I ken ye will be weel reminded for a day or twa of your
error. Aye, and for far longer will ye be hearing the jests of the men
concerning your defeat at the hands of such a wee lass. T’will do as
punishment.”
    He
grasped Aimil by the arm. “We will return to the keep now. Malcolm, ye will
lead her stallion.” He sighed when Malcolm reached for Elfking only to be
greeted by a horsey snarl. “M’lady, wouldst ye be so kind as to direct your
beast to follow Malcolm?” he asked with exaggerated politeness.
    She
obeyed with an equally false politeness then stood embarrassed and angry as he
laced her shirt much as if she were a child. On the ride back to the MacGuin
keep, she sat before him on Raven and said nothing, disappointed by her failure
to escape. But she was also fighting the way her body was reacting to the
closeness of his, to his strength and his maleness. When they reached the keep,
she dutifully told Elfking to stay and set off to see Leith, but was steered
into the hall, sat down, and given some ale.
    “Ye
are plainly not Shane Mengue so who are ye?” Parlan asked when they were all
seated at a table, with food and drink set before them.
    “Aimil
Siubhan O’Connell Mengue, Lachlan Mengue’s youngest daughter.”
    “Then
ye will still fetch a fine ransom. I had feared ye were naught but the lad’s
woman thus not worth a groat.”
    He
did not have the slightest inclination of letting anyone know there was more to
it than economics. Parlan suspected that the restlessness and dissatisfaction
he had suffered of late would soon end. It had bothered him to think that this
tiny woman was no more than Leith