Lord of the Black Isle by Elaine Coffman Read Free Book Online Page B

the sick and infirm. And you really are cracking my wrist.”
    Without saying a word, he hauled her against him and slung her over his shoulder like she was spoils taken in a raid. He carried her to the burn and waded across with the warmth of his hand spread across her posterior, and none too gently, mind you. However, she remained silent about the impropriety of that indignation, for she knew it would do no good to complain about it. Besides, he might just dump her in the burn and ride off without her, and she desperately needed his help, for anything seemed far better than being back in the clutches of Angus MacLean.
    He did not put her down until he reached his horse, which was, appropriately, a black beast, just like its owner, and like his horse, the owner was, she would have to admit, a prime specimen. She drank in the sight of him as he saddled his horse, mesmerized by the play of muscles working in harmony to perform such a task and satisfied that he could not see her enjoying every moment of every little movement he made. She sighed, for it was like something from a movie. Here he was, a man to teach Hollywood’s favorite idol a thing or two about playing the role of the hero. And why not, for this was no role-playing pseudo hero. This knight was the genuine article, the kind of man all modern heroes would try to emulate and never in a million years come close to.
    Like the Mackinnons, he wore the regalia of a knight, for he was dressed in chausses, a hauberk, and over that, a tunic, which would set any woman’s heart aflutter—and those long leather boots that came over the knee… Well, they seemed to put him right smack at the top of the desirability list, as far as she was concerned. She saw plenty of such boots at Màrrach, of course, but she had never seen them on him, and he did wear a knight’s garb the way it was meant to be worn. Women in the twenty-first century did not know what they were missing. Sexy… sexy… sexy…
    He was very good-looking, which would be enough to get him noticed. But he also had that certain something that made him stand apart from all others. It was something remarkable that made a woman notice a man the minute he entered the room, something that drew her to him and made her feel like she was melting inside. He was masculine and confident, and possessed a manner that said he was sure of himself and comfortable with himself and his place in the world around him. He had already proved he wasn’t afraid to step forward and make decisions, even on the spur of the moment. And if there was anything she needed, it was a man capable of doing just that.
    Her gaze went back to the coat of arms on his tunic, for there was something about the shield with the blue background and the three white stars… she frowned, recalling that the shield of the Black Douglas had a blue bar at the top with three white stars across it. Two and two were starting to make four, because strange things had been happening and they were beginning to bear the marks of the meddling of that vacuous vapor who seemed to take an inordinate amount of pleasure in poking his nose in the lives of others.
    â€œAre you a Douglas?”
    He seemed surprised by that question. “Nae, I am of Clan Murray. What reason would ye ha’ to think my name was Douglas?”
    She had already committed herself, so she might as well finish it. “It’s the blue bar with three white stars on your tunic. The arms of the Black Douglas are on a blue background with three stars.”
    â€œAye, ’tis said we both have Flemish ancestors.”
    His ancestors could have been cannibals for all she cared, for he was simply a delight to look at, and she would have to say that his hawkish nose and the sensual fullness of the mouth below were quite distracting. The best part was that she was attracted to him, and that made her feel human again after suffering over her loss of Ronan, for