Morganna (The Brocade Collection, Book 4) by Jackie Ivie Read Free Book Online

I give my word that I’ll stay, will you release me?”
    “ No,” he replied, without hesitation.
    Morgan clenched her teeth. “No?’ she repeated, then again with more stupefaction. “No?”
    “I canna’ trust you, lad. Show me something to trust, and I’ll reconsider your bondage.”
    She couldn’t possibly be tied to him until that happened! Morgan’s eyes probably showed her panic. She had yet to bind her breasts, and although she wasn’t a buxom size, the pre-dawn cold was giving her trouble. He’d be certain to discover for himself why. It wouldn’t be hard to ferret out her gender. Once he did that, she knew what would happen. He was too large a size to fight, and he’d already told her what he liked most was a woman who was a maid. She added to that thought. He’d already said she looked untried. She’d be ravished if she stayed tied to him and allowed him the truth. She’d be raped when she fought. She didn’t have to wonder over it either; she knew. He’d have every bit of the KilCreggar clan then. She swallowed. She couldn’t stay tied to him!
    “I dinna’ kill you …last eve,” she answered, grimacing slightly over the waver in her voice.
    He considered her for a moment. “Not for lack of trying.”
    “I could have put every one of my dirks into a vital part and you’d have bled to death,” she pointed out.
    “And since that failed, you decided to twist out every one of my thorns and cut me to make certain of it. I still bear the brunt of your handiwork.”
    He lifted his shirt and tunic, pulling the inner layer from the scabbing all along his side. Morgan looked with him, and had the insane thought that she hoped she hadn’t scarred him. She kicked that stupidity aside. She had vowed to make him pay for the slaughter and defamation of the KilCreggar clan. What use would his dead body have for unblemished skin?
    “You had poison to each thistle. If I had na’ lanced them, you’d be suffering from the ague and moaning with the pain.”
    “And you’d be suffering my hand for leaving me lay in ash all day and allow them to fester.”
    “You near drowned me for that already.”
    “ No. I dunked you for disobedience.”
    Morgan set her lips, stiffened her shoulders and looked across at him. The sun had lightened the sky while he stood, amusing himself with her words. The warmth was dissipating the remnants of mist, allowing her a better view. She had to swallow around her own response to the sight of his broad chest before he pushed his shirt back down and tucked it beneath his kilt.
    She cleared her throat. “You woke me to serve you, Master? Very well, what is your bidding? What service do you require first?” she asked, in a sarcastic tone.
    He grinned. “Aye, I need to be serviced. I’ve a need for a good draught from my sporran of whiskey to drink, if it still held liquid; a bowl of gruel in my belly; and a moment to relieve myself. You can grant me all of that?”
    She looked across the span of three feet as levelly a possible. “I’ve no talent for cooking,” she replied finally, “and I’m not about to learn.”
    H is answer was a hearty laugh. She wondered why. “You stubborn still? Doona’ say I haven’t warned you.”
    “About what, now?” she replied.
    “You want release from your bond, you’ll learn what I tell you to learn.”
    She sucked in the breath, held it, then let it out slowly. It still wasn’t working. She couldn’t best him with strength, and until she had her dirks back, she wasn’t going to try. “Very well, Master Zander, I’ll learn to make gruel. What is the stuff made of?”
    That got her another laugh. “As it happens, we’re camped not far from a MacPhee croft. The lasses there cook a fine pot of gruel. They’ll not think it amiss if I need to purchase another breakfast. I’ll barter for it with some of the venison you provided.”
    “’T is my own to barter with,” she answered.
    “You took it with my bow and arrow. You