Highland Storm by Tanya Anne Crosby Read Free Book Online Page A

guffawing loudly. He tossed up his arms in obvious glee. As for the paint, she must be referring to his woad, the blue tincture he wore to remind himself from whence he’d come—that no matter how high he rose in David’s service, he was still but a simple man, far removed from the vices of David’s court. Aside from scaring the hell out of his enemies, the woad also helped to prevent infections. But as for the pillow biting—this was not something he knew about firsthand. “Amusing,” Keane said drolly.
    Cameron continued to laugh and Keane ignored him, unconcerned with the girl’s silly barbs. Rather, he had a sudden, overwhelming desire to prove to the lass that the dún Scoti men were not the savages most folks believed them to be. Considering the English style of dress she wore, she was probably a lady of the house of Moray. And despite his original intentions, there was enough blood shed here already. He eyed the spots she’d left in the snow and offered the lady his hand. “I dinna mean to harm ye, lass. We thought ye were a spy from Óengus’s camp.”
    Something indecipherable flickered behind the honeyed gaze and Keane took it for fear. “Óengus of Moray is dead,” she said quickly.
    “But not his sons, or so they claim.”
    “Aye, well, I am not afraid of Óengus’s sons!”
    But she was; Keane could see the fear in her eyes—a look of distress that was unmistakable. “Ye may keep the knife, only gi’ me your hand.”
    Still, she eyed Keane’s proffered hand as though it were a poisonous asp rearing its head from the grass, and then she hobbled backward another step. “I would sooner see ye go,” she said. “I dinna need help from a Scot .”
    To Keane’s amazement, there was little diminished about the girl’s demeanor, nor did she cow from him even now. Injured and cold, bruised and limping, her gaze burned as brightly as the strange light they’d encountered amidst Lilidbrugh’s pale stones.
    But she was injured; he could see the pain register in her face when she took a step backward, even if she didn’t intend to confess as much. More dark red spots appeared in the snow wherever she stepped and his nostrils sniffed for the tinny scent. “You’re hurt,” he insisted.
    “No thanks to ye.” She waved the knife at Cameron, who was no longer laughing. “And ye.”
    The look in her eyes returned to fear—but not the fear of a hapless lass, rather that of a caged beast. Even a sweet baby rabbit could do serious damage with its teeth when it was afeared.
    Brandishing his sword, Cameron cut an imaginary line into the air. “This is no place for a woman to be all alone,” he argued, clearly scaring her even more, for she took another step backward, wincing again as she did so.
    Unlike Cameron, Keane left his sword in his scabbard, where it belonged, and cursed Cameron for a witless fool. “We’re men of honor,” he assured the lass. “Dinna worry. We’ll see ye come to no more harm.”
    “Put away your knife,” Cameron demanded.
    With more temper than he meant to display, Keane spun about to face his old friend. “Go! Tell the men to come down the hill. I will deal with the girl!”
    Cameron lowered his sword in surprise. “You want them down here ? Why?”
    “Why not?”
    “But shouldn’t we take her up there, where we can keep watch?”
    “Nay,” Keane snapped.
    The girl was watching to see what Cameron would do—probably measuring to see which of them was in charge. She was in no condition to walk back up the bluff, and Keane wasn’t inclined to force her onto his mount. She didn’t trust them, and who could blame her? “I said go ,” Keane demanded of Cameron, this time more firmly. “ Now .”
    Cameron screwed his face. “Ach, Keane, these ruins are—”
    “Cursed?” The girl asked with a bit of a smirk. She peered from Cameron to Keane and then back again, clearly challenging them both— because she knew . She knew precisely where she was, and so it