Claimed by the Highlander by Julianne MacLean Read Free Book Online

deflowering. The question knocked her off balance completely.
    “Come now,” he said. “Don’t be shy. How eager will you be when I begin to unlace you?”
    She wet her lips and felt her insides begin to tremble again. “That depends on how merciful you are.”
    She was rather proud of that shrewd deflection of the question.
    “And how gifted an actress you are.” He strode closer, his heavy broadsword bouncing lightly against his hip, and she had to steel herself against the daunting impact of his approach. He was tall and mighty, and the perfection of his golden features had a way of distracting her from his more degenerate intentions. She found herself gaping up at those soft full lips and intense blue eyes, and wondering how such perfection was even possible in the human form—villainous or otherwise.
    “I’ll be frank with you,” he said, touching her cheek with the back of a finger. “Merciful or not, I’ll be having you in my bed, so you may as well part with any foolish hopes that I’ll be easily manipulated or deterred by your precious innocence, or your feminine charms, bountiful as they may be. I won’t be sympathetic to any begging or pleading, either. You’ll not weaken or outwit me, nor will you soften my heart with these futile attempts at distraction. There’s not really much of a heart there to work with, you see, so don’t bother to waste your time. Just submit, and accept that this is the way things are. I’ll not be rough or cruel to you—as long as you remember not to cross me—and you may even find you enjoy certain things.”
    “Certain things? Like what, precisely? Your knife at my throat each night?”
    Something flickered in his eyes—something she had not seen before—and she wondered if he was amused.
    “That’s a bit dramatic,” he said. “I think you might be making too much of my weapons. But don’t be troubled, lass. I’ll put them away when I make love to you.”
    “Make love? Is that what we’re going to call it?”
    “Would you prefer I use another turn of phrase? I’d be more than happy to, though you don’t strike me as the type who likes to say ‘shag’ or ‘f—”
    “Enough! Please!” She backed away, and stumbled over her feet. “Let’s just not … Let’s not call it anything. I’d prefer not to speak of it at all.”
    His eyes glimmered with renewed interest as he followed her across the room. “Why not?”
    “Because there’s no way to speak about it without being lewd or vulgar.”
    He strolled toward the bed in a predatory swagger, and leaned a broad shoulder against the bedpost. “I beg to differ. Some men can be anything but vulgar when seducing a comely lass like you. I’m not one of them, but if you like, I could try to romance you with a sonnet.”
    “Now you’re mocking me.”
    “Aye.” His eyes were cold and forbidding. “I told you before, I’m not the romantic sort.”
    She lifted her chin. “As if you would know a sonnet, anyway.”
    “Mm, you’re right. On top of everything else, I’m an illiterate brute. All I know how to do is conquer. And plunder, plunder, plunder.”
    Her vision began to blur as he strode toward her. She backed up and said, “If I could, I would summon my father from the grave to run you through. And he would do it, too. This was his bedchamber, you know, and he was a great warrior.”
    The closer he got, the more desperate she became.
    “I’m sure he was, and I admire your devotion to him, lass, but it’s discipline that wins the day, not ghosts.”
    “And how do you plan to discipline me? Will you throw me onto the bed like the wild, savage beast that you are, and ravish me against my will?”
    “Are you trying to get me excited?”
    She sucked in a breath. “Or will you beat me, and keep me locked up forever?”
    He backed her up against the wall and let his hungry gaze travel from the top of her head, slowly, all the way down to her toes. “Neither holds much appeal to me at the