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

another babe or fight one more battle. I have no title. I have no home now. There is no one to call family or friend, though plenty to call foe. I am nothing, but people live because of me. I am a healer, I seek peace, and yet my own clan called me witch and tied me to wood, and flame was to be my reward.” She turned her small back to him, suddenly exhausted from the events of the last two days, trembling, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.
    The silence in the hall was lengthy. She felt a soft tug on her arm. “Come, child, ye’ll ha’e a warm bath and something to eat,” Maida said. “And we’ll find some clean clothes for ye to wear.”
    Reluctantly, Isobel let Maida lead her slowly toward the circular stone stairs that led to the second floor. The stairs looked steep and dark, and the torch Maida carried ensured she would not stumble over a sleeping dog or a Maclean who’d had too much whisky. She walked past the men and women who sat at the great table slaking their hunger and thirst.
    “Glad I am of the roast deer and sausage pudding,” Dugald said. “I’m sick of eating fowl. I’ve had so much fowl I’ve grown feathers in the pits of my arms.”
    “Feathers suit ye, as yer certainly a chicken, Dugald. Ha! Dugald the fat-bellied chicken. The witch-child has more bravery in her little toe than ye have in yer whole fat arse of a body.”
    “Och, Ranulph! Can ye ne’er serve up a nice dish of peace and quiet? Be a good lad and eat all yer bashed neeps and mayhap one day ye’ll grow into a fine, strong man like me.”
    Ranulph snorted at the insult, pushing the runny bashed neeps around his platter.
    Isobel began to climb the stairs. She’d always been able to make herself small, to flit into the shadows and hide. She would not be able to hide here, and certainly not from the scrutiny of the Maclean, who would seek her out at every turn, demanding to know of future times for his clan. She felt like prey trapped into a corner by a hungry wolf. By the Black Wolf himself.
    “How long before she changes Maida into a horned toad?” Ranulph said.

             
                 
                    
                 
                 
     
    5
     
    Dazed, Isobel watched servants come and go with pots of warm water, which they poured into a large wooden tub lined with cloth that had been brought into the bedchamber where she now stood.
    A frowning, young girl sprinkled rose petals on the water and refused to meet Isobel’s eyes. It was clear that no one knew what to make of Isobel’s presence here.
    Isobel studied the room in awe while Maida quietly ordered the servants about and tended to the peat fire in the hearth. Maida tried to blow life into the smoldering mound of ashes, and the air became littered with her colorful words when the peat did not obey her first commands.
    Isobel had lived in a tiny, unassuming croft until fire destroyed it, a drafty croft where puddles of water often collected and froze in the ruts worn in the doorway and where wind gusted through cracks in the walls. After the fire, she’d shared a small, windowless room in the MacKinnon keep with bundles of yarn, piles of linen, and folds of dust. The mattress she’d slept on was stuffed with straw and the blankets were threadbare. The surly maid she shared the bed with often pulled the blankets off of her in the middle of the night.
    “Whose bedchamber was this?” Isobel asked. Had Leith really given her Logan’s room?
    Maida straightened her bent, plump form, wiping sweat from her brow, and turned to look at her. “Why, lassie, ‘tis yer bedchamber now.”
    Isobel clenched her fists at her sides. The room was more luxurious than any she’d ever seen, lit brightly by the fire in the hearth and the silver candlesticks on the bedside table. Flames in the pillared iron candelabras flanking the tall fireplace flickered as servants swirled past Isobel, into and out of the