Highlander in Her Bed by Allie Mackay Read Free Book Online Page A

he'd been about to say the people at Ravenscraig were… odd .
    Suppressing a shiver, she gave him her most encouraging smile, but the moment had passed and he didn't seem willing to divulge more, his concentration now focused on the winding thread of road and the numerous lambs and their mothers who seemed determined to stray onto the asphalt.
    Mara resisted the urge to question him, choosing instead to smooth the wrinkles in her skirt. Feeling better already, she pushed her hair back over her shoulder and returned her attention to the mist-hung hills.
    As anyone from Philadelphia would know, there was much to be said for curbing one's curiosity.
    Suicidal sheep and a castle staff that were a bit something , indeed.
    Besides, whatever oddities might await her at Ravenscraig, she had the feeling she'd soon discover them.
    Whether she wanted to or not.
     
    Ravenscraig Castle.
    Alex ground his teeth on the name, half surprised his glowers didn't singe the bloody walls. Truth be told, he found himself with a fearsome urge to do more than scorch the wretched castle's stonework. Much more, as his rising gorge and the tightened muscles in his jaw indicated.
    He began pacing, his hands curled into hard fists. That his bed should find its way to the very lair of his enemies was more than even his benighted soul should have to bear.
    His bed landing in a chamber assigned to her , a fouler fate than he deserved.
    Dangerous, too, because just the thought of her, of how his gaze had traveled over her sleeping nakedness, delving her every fragrant secret and, saints preserve him, finding himself bestirred by her, was enough to curdle his wits.
    Besides, he'd suffered trials enough when the bed had rested, dismantled and forgotten, in a dank room in one of Edinburgh's stinking tenements. Saints, he'd lost count of the centuries he'd spent in that hellhole.
    Just remembering sent a shiver through him.
    And what blessed relief it'd been to awaken and find himself in airier surrounds not too long ago.
    Even if Dimbleby's had been on English soil.
    At least the occasional shaft of sunlight had seeped in through the grimed windows. And the visitors who'd sometimes ooh and aah over his bed had proved far more agreeable time passers than the gutter rats and damp he'd shared his days with in Edinburgh.
    But this —he seized a fistful of one of the silk wall tapestries and shook it—landing here, was insult enough to vex a saint.
    A vile deed calling for immediate retaliation, and he knew exactly who would be the recipient of his wrath. He clutched the tapestry, the urge to wield the cutting edge of his blade on its exquisite threads nigh overwhelming him.
    Indeed, he was so sorely tempted, his fingers itched!
    He'd known the witch-woman lusted after his bed, but he hadn't expected her to taunt him by having it returned to the scene of his betrayal.
    But she had, and just thinking about her perfidy made his ears burn and his hand reach for his dirk.
    He harrumphed just as quickly, though, and thrust the jeweled blade back under his belt. Keeping his wits had seen him through many troublous times, and any knight worth his spurs knew hotheadedness was naught but a quick path to misery. So he quashed his vexation and resumed his pacing, a slow smile curving his lips.
    A wicked smile, tempered with a small measure of satisfaction.
    After all, the long wait for her arrival had afforded him ample time to devise numerous and delightful ways to spoil her pleasure in his bed.
    Soon she would be there.
    He could smell her.
    She had the scent of infidel whores about her. A dark and heady musk designed to make a man believe he could feel the heat of her body even from across a room.
    Not that it mattered. She could bathe in the bewitching scent for all he cared—its seductive powers would prove useless on him.
    He would remain unaffected, stronger than he'd been in London. No thoughts about lush, warm curves or soft, hot breath whispering across naked skin