Desiring the Highlander by Michele Sinclair Read Free Book Online

had no idea what the MacInneses were like, with the exception of Laurel. Ainsley’s sister had left nearly four years ago to live with her Scottish grandfather, Laird MacInnes. On the way, her small guard had been ambushed and almost all had been killed. Those that had survived had returned reporting of her death. “Is it by chance…Douglass?”
    The unmistakable revulsion in her voice startled Cole. First MacInnes and now Douglass, both clans from Laurel’s past. The Englishwoman must suspect who had ordered him to find her and was fishing for a confirmation. That, he was absolutely not going to provide.
    While the woman had been assessing him, he had been considering her as well. Aside from her more appalling characteristics of stinking and speaking with a repugnant English accent, he had to admit she was resourceful, persistent, and surprisingly intelligent. All three spelled trouble. If Laurel knew her, then she knew Laurel as well, and no doubt would try to use their relationship as leverage to get what she wanted, starting with removal of the leather strap securing her wrists.
    Cole felt a sharp thump on his rib cage as one of her elbows “accidentally” collided with his chest. She glanced back for a second and that’s when he noticed her eyes. Their hazel color had turned into a deep green that was so dark they were almost black. Hatred boiled within her and it was aimed at him. For a moment, he was clueless as to why. What had he done? Then he realized by not answering her question, she had jumped to the wrong conclusion of just who he was. “I am no Douglass,” he said with conviction. “They fear me. I don’t fear them.”
    And they did.
    Three years ago, the Douglasses learned a deadly lesson. Attack a McTiernay and die. Attack a McTiernay’s woman and die screaming. Now, when members of the Douglass clan saw the dark McTiernay tartan of greens and blues, they hid rather than faced him.
    Soft, slim fingers reached out and grabbed his forearm. Cole looked down and watched in both horror and fascination as the Englishwoman twisted almost all the way around in the seat. By the time she let go, she was precariously perched on the back of his horse’s neck between the withers and the crest. When after several seconds she didn’t falter, he knew his suspicions about her riding abilities were correct. At the pace they were riding, he should have been forced to hold on to her nearly the whole time to keep her upright. Instead, the only time his assistance had been truly needed was when she had pretended to fall off his horse and nearly succeeded.
    He had to admit she was far from dull. Even now, she was trying to give him the same withering stare she had issued the baron upon their departure, but it lacked the venom the other had possessed. It amused him, and without thinking, the corners of his mouth lifted into a half smile. He was about to return his attention to the terrain when he felt something push firmly into his chest. Looking down, he saw one outstretched finger poking out from her bound hands. His half smile seemed to add intensity to her stare.
    Frustrated, she gnashed her teeth and asked outright, “If I am to be dragged away from my home and family, may I at least know the name of my captor?” She pulled her hand away from his chest and wagged it in front of his face. “And think twice about ignoring me, Scot.”
    “Or what?” he asked, grabbing her wiggling finger. “Just what do you think you are in a position to do about anything, babag ?”
    A sinister smile invaded Ellenor’s eyes. “Or I’ll sing. I happen to know a lovely English bard song about Richard the Lionheart that I especially enjoy when I am riding. It has many verses to keep me entertained while I wait for your answer.”
    Cole almost choked with unexpected mirth. It had been a long time since someone surprised him. It had been even longer since he had engaged in a battle of wills with a clever opponent. He could