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

wasn’t likely she’d stumbled here after losing her way. Nay, she was hiding from somebody.
    Cameron re-sheathed his sword, but there was bitterness in his tone. “If I’ve a say in the matter, I—”
    “But ye dinna,” Keane said.
    The two friends locked gazes, and to the girl’s credit, she realized enough to know that underlying tensions were now coming to head. She took another step backward, clearly unwilling to be caught in the middle of two men butting horns.
    Keane’s gaze returned to the girl. Even bedraggled as she was, she was quite lovely—more so than any lass had a right to be. With her attitude, she was no doubt high born, and would have been offered to a man with equal standing. Her dress was too fine to be aught but a bride’s gown. So that meant she’d fled either after taking her vows… or before … either way, someone would be quite pleased to see the girl returned.
    Grateful enough to reward him with a pile of stones?
    His gaze swept over the ruins of Lilidbrugh. Even in her decrepit state, she was a far greater treasure than any land he might wish to hold. Something dark and covetous swept over Keane in that instant, something he longed to deny, though he could not—not whilst he stood surrounded by the birthplace of his kin.
    “So that’s how it is?” Cameron asked between clenched teeth.
    Keane tipped his chin. “That’s how it is,” he agreed. His eyes narrowed in warning. “Go on now.”
    A muscle ticked at Cameron’s jaw. His easy stance vanished, replaced suddenly with a rigid back and clenched fists. “Very well,” he said, nodding as he turned to go.
    He walked away without another word, and Keane watched him leave. But what his friend didn’t say, he carried in the set of his shoulders. It was a message Keane could hardly mistake. Regrettably for Cameron, this was how it was always meant to go. There was no point prolonging the inevitable. Keane was in charge now.

Chapter 5
    A s the night lowered and twilight passed, the woodlands beyond the ruins grew black and foreboding, cloaked in mist and surrounded by shifting shadows. The sound of bog-bush crickets grew louder.
    Lianae shivered, drawing up her cloak, protecting her nape from a biting wind. Her feet were nearly frozen but there was little to be done about that right now, save to block the wind with her gown. She was fortunate enough that the warmer weather had endured so long. But now there was a bite in the air that foretold a change. Winter had arrived at long last.
    Her gaze returned to the dark-haired stranger. She found herself both drawn to and repelled by him at once. Forsooth, but there was little civil about the man. If his crew appeared more English than Scots, he was something else—a specter from Lianae’s past. Unlike the others, he wore no mail at all, no coif. He had no shining helm tied to his saddle. His long hair was braided at the temples and otherwise left free to bluster in the wind. He wore a leather hauberk, with a threadbare gray tunic, but his cloak was crude, unlike the ones his counterparts wore, and it was fashioned mostly of gray wolves’ fur, thickly padded about his shoulders. And yet despite that he looked nothing like them, it was clear to Lianae who was in charge.
    He was.
    Standing arms akimbo, his dark hair lashing at his face, he watched Lianae’s every move, though he kept his distance, now and again barking orders at his men.
    Whilst he stood guarding her, the mangy band of Scotsmen marched down the bluffside and set about to making camp for the evening, settling horses beneath a makeshift tarp, checking shoes and gathering tinder for a fire.
    All of his men wore the king’s colors, some over leather hauberks, others over mail. None looked so much like a Scotsman—more like Sassenachs, if the truth be known, with all their silver coifs and shining metal helms covering oily black heads.
    Strangely, Lianae wasn’t afraid of him —not in the least—despite that she