Across a Dark Highland Shore (Hot Highlands Romance Book 2) by Kelly Jameson Read Free Book Online Page A

bloodthirsty and dishonorable clan!” a man yelled. “Yeah, ye’ll be sent back to the MacKinnon pigs!” another shouted.
    Isobel held her chin high though she fair trembled at the thought of being delivered back into the hands of Glynis and Forba. Glynis’ hate would know no bounds now. Surely she would blame Isobel for her lover Bothen’s death. And Forba would be no less distressed. They’d cared naught that Isobel was to writhe and die in flames but could not abide Bothen’s death, a murderer and poisoner of women. Though if they’d listened to Isobel in the first place, and if they’d put a halt to the attempt to burn her, their lover Bothen would yet live. She had warned them all.
    “Understand this,” Leith said, his strong voice carrying across the hall, “the witch-child will ne’er be returned to those prideless pigs, to the place she once called home. That word is hollow and meaningless for her now. She is, as of this moment, brought into our clan, as one of us, where she will be treated with dignity and care. The Maclean keep is now her home.” Leith looked around the crowded hall. “Does anyone object?” 
    No one spoke. Leith was intimidating as he stood nearly motionless, tension radiating from his tall form. His stance was confident and unforgiving, and his eyes missed nothing around him. He was a ruthless warrior, bred from generations of warriors, and Isobel silently reminded herself of that.
    “No one objects,” he said. “That is wise. Maida, see that the child is washed and given fresh clothing and that Cook sends up food and ale. She is to be settled in Logan’s room and given a guard for as long as I deem it necessary. Dugald, ye will guard her room this eve. Some of ye may leave this hall tonight and think on the witch and forget my words, and that would be a grave mistake.”
    A large woman with a round, red face approached Isobel. She carried a small torch, and instinctively Isobel backed away from it.
    Strands of silvery hair escaped from beneath the woman’s white cap. The dark eyes in her weathered face were not unsympathetic. Her brown tunic was sturdy and practical, and judging by her dress and chafed hands, she was responsible for many chores.
    Ranulph clapped his hands together. “’Tis a shame Dugald that ye’ll be guarding the witch this eve while I’ll be finding comfort and warmth in the arms of a lusty wench!”
    Leith cut his eyes to Ranulph. “Ye’ll be sharing the duty with Dugald, but no’ tonight. So best get yer wenching in while ye can.” Ranulph stopped clapping mid-air and began to sulk.
    “So I am to be yer prisoner then, Maclean?” Isobel asked. “My fate is in yer hands?”
    Leith crossed his muscular arms over his broad chest and his long plaid rippled behind him with the movement. “Aye, child. As laird, I have the right of pit and gallows. I can imprison or hang any man or woman who displeases me. People live and die because of me. I am, however, a fair chieftain. I dunna burn witches.”
    While he was talking, Lady Katherine made her way to the great table, every male eye following the alluring sway of her hips. She sat down in a carved chair next to Errol and began to talk quietly with him, sharing a smile before they fell silent. Servants immediately brought food and ale, which she impatiently waved away. It was clear the attention of the men was focused on her and that she expected it to be no other way.
    Isobel noted how Leith’s eyes briefly burned with intense emotion as they fell upon his war councilor and Lady Katherine, how his jaw hardened and tensed. Errol was oblivious to his laird’s displeasure, his eyes silently devouring Lady Katherine’s bosom as he leaned back in his chair.
    Isobel spoke quietly but her words were firm. “Maclean, people live because of me, too.” The crowd turned their attention back to her.
    “They live because I heal them. People who should’ve died but lived to play their pipes again or birth