Highland Mist by Donna Grant Read Free Book Online Page B

colors.”
    Let him think she wanted to keep it, she thought. He was making this very easy on her, but was it in her best interest to let him know that? “Give me a moment to change.”
    He stopped and pointed to the blue jar. “Where did you get that?”
    “I don’t know. I thought you brought it. I found it after my bath last eve.”
    He shook his head but said no more about the jar. He stepped out of her chamber and she quickly shed the MacNeil plaid, folded it and placed it in the small chest in the corner.
    She slid the gown over her head and was surprised to find it nearly fit her perfectly. It was just a wee tight across her chest. It was also a little long, but she could tell it had been hemmed.
    It wouldn’t be difficult to keep from stepping on the lovely gown. It wasn’t new, but she was determined to make sure it was returned to the owner in this same condition.
    She took one step, expecting her muscles to scream in agony, but there was only tightness with slight soreness. Whatever was in that jar worked wonders to work out the stiffness, she thought.
    With a shaky breath, she masked her pain and opened the chamber door to find Conall lounging against the opposite wall as if he had all the time in the world. He nodded his approval and held out his arm.
    She noted his wound had been tended and it didn’t seem to bother him in the least.
    “Who do I thank for lending me this gown?” she asked as they began to descend the stairs.
    “Iona.”
    Glenna’s knees buckled. She briefly saw the stairs fast approaching, but her mind had frozen at hearing Iona’s name. Strong hands grabbed hold of her waist and jerked her up. Her breath stopped as she looked into his silver depths.
    “Are you all right?” he asked, a mixture of irritation and concern in his voice.
    She swallowed hard and nodded.
    “I forgot about your legs,” he said, and wrapped an arm around her for support.
    She hastily blinked away her tears and continued down the stairs, her mind turning to Iona. Their time together had been brief, but they had become fast friends. But she wasn’t given long to reflect on her days with Iona as she entered the hall with Conall. His soldiers turned and stared angrily at her.
    She waited to feel their hate. Her lungs squeezed, but it wasn’t near as debilitating as before. She contributed it to the fact she wasn’t wearing the MacNeil plaid, either that or the fierce scowl on Conall’s face. It didn’t matter what stopped them, she was just delighted that something worked.
    Conall didn’t stay long in the hall and ushered her outside. Once they were in the bailey, he placed her next to the wall. “Stay here,” he ordered, and turned to begin to practice with his soldiers.
    She became mesmerized by the play of his muscles in the morning sunlight as he swung his sword as if it were an extension of his arm. He moved with the grace of a horse and the strength of a lion.
    It took only seconds to best his men yet there were no harsh feelings when he did. She couldn’t stand there and not compare this training to MacNeil soldiers. There, the MacNeil commanders would ridicule and torment anyone who couldn’t disarm them.
    There was hardly a day that went by that a soldier wasn’t killed during their so-called training. Her legs began to ache from standing so long. She slowly lowered herself to the ground with the help of the wall and was surprised to find this gave her a better view of Conall.
    The sound of someone approaching drew her attention. She grudgingly dragged her gaze from Conall to find a very old man standing beside her. His beard was matted and what hair was left on his head was solid white. He had also seen battle by the scar that ran across his face. She followed the scar and found half his ear gone.
    “Like that scar, do ye?” he asked, a sneer on his wrinkled face, showing toothless gums.
    She swallowed. “It looks as though it caused tremendous pain.”
    “Do ye know who put it