Highland Conqueror by Hannah Howell Read Free Book Online Page A

soft and sweet.
    “What do you think you are doing?” Jolene asked, shivering over the strange tingling warmth his lips had left upon hers.
    “Kissing it to make it better?” Sigimor lifted his head only a little until they were nose to nose.
    “Tis already better for I am now awake.” Steeling herself against the shockingly strong urge to rub herself against that hard length pressing so impudently against her, she gave him what she hoped was a very stern frown.
    “What haunts your dreams, m’lady?” Having heard her curse Harold in her dream, he had a suspicion or two, but wondered if she would answer truthfully.
    Even as she wondered how the featherlight kisses he brushed over her face could make her insides tremble so, Jolene replied, “Peter’s death.” It was not a complete lie for there had been glimpses of that horror mixed up with all the other fears and terrifying memories.
    “Ah, so that is why ye were cursing Harold, aye?”
    “Aye.”
    “I begin to think ye arenae telling me everything, lass, and for that I have decided ye must pay a forfeit.”
    “A forfeit?”
    Jolene had barely finished muttering the words when he kissed her. This time it was no gentle tease of a kiss, but one that made her toes curl. She tried to fight the feelings tearing through her, but she lost that battle completely when, suddenly, his tongue was stroking the inside of her mouth. How it got there, she did not know, but, when it left, she immediately wanted it back. Instead, she was abruptly free, Sigimor lying on his side next to her with his back to her. He grumbled something about Nanty keeping Reynard with him, then said no more. Jolene stared up at the stars, felt a strange, gnawing ache inside of her, and wondered why she wanted to kick the man senseless. She could forsee a great deal of trouble in the days ahead and not just from that murderous usurper Harold.

Chapter Four
    “Harold is in Scotland.”
    Liam’s announcement sent a chill through Jolene, a cold that settled into her very bones. Up until that moment she had been riding beside Sigimor idly wondering if she should scorn him for daring to kiss her last night or try to get him to do it again. Now she was brutally recalled to the reason why she was with Sigimor and his men, why she had fled to Scotland. Unthinkingly, she tightened her grip on the reins and caused her horse to shift about in nervous confusion.
    Sigimor reached over and patted her thigh without taking his gaze off Liam. To Jolene’s amazement, she felt calmed by that touch. It was a silent reminder that she was not alone. She still felt the pinch of guilt over dragging them into her troubles, but it was fading. Whenever the men spoke of Harold there was such anger and hatred in their voices that she realized they, too, hungered for revenge. They had, after all, come very close to dying at Harold’s hands. Jolene had no doubt that these men would never hesitate to help a woman or child in trouble, but they also intended to make Harold pay dearly for imprisoning them and plotting to hang them.
    “Are ye sure?” Sigimor asked, reluctantly removing his hand from Jolene’s slim thigh once she was calm again.
    “Aye. He is being verra brazen in his pursuit.” Liam smiled and shook his head. “He is asking about us. He tells all he speaks to that he is hunting an errant wife, that his lady ran off with ye and taking their bairn with her. The fool probably thinks to stir outrage o’er such a crime thus gaining aid in hunting us down.”
    “And has he?”
    “To his face—aye. Behind his back—nay. He is English and many think that reason enough to deceive him. The fact that an English lordling lost his lady to a braw Scot only delights most of those he speaks to. I just dinnae ken how long he will remain the fool.”
    “Longer than he should, but not, I fear, long enough.” Jolene smiled faintly when both men looked at her. “Harold scorns all who are not high-born and not English.”