none by Borjana Rahneva Read Free Book Online

forever in
    their depths.
    The woman stumbled and he gave a start. Not an
    apparition.
    She squatted to the ground, holding herself up on hands and feet like a wild creature. He stepped closer, straining for details in the shadows. The lass's dress stretched over
    her breasts and knees, baring a pale stretch of calf that
    MacColla couldn't help but note.
    Not an apparition at all, but a Campbell. He'd been ogling a bloody Campbell.
    “God spare me,” he muttered, thinking he'd somehow  bypassed a sleeping Campbell  - one who'd managed to  approach him unawares.
    She slowly teetered to standing, and her dress continued to hug her body tightly. Though it exposed just a proper V of skin at her neck, it clung to modest swells at breasts and hips and thighs. Strange, low boots peeked from the hem, encasing her feet and lower legs in snug, black leather. His gaze raked back up her body, then stopped, snagged once more by those strange, luminous eyes. He finally found his voice, hoarse and low.   “An e Caimbeulach a tha annad?”
    He walked toward her. “Answer me, woman. You've  Campbell blood in your  veins? A sister, is it?” He leaned down and grabbed her chin roughly, turning her face from side to side. She had strong features. Thick lashes framed wide eyes and a lush mouth compensated for her almost-

    prominent nose. Prettier than he'd thought a Campbe ll
    would be.

    She tensed, and he felt the lean, firm muscles of her arm flexing in his hand.   And stronger too.
    Her skin was smooth and unlined, creamy next to what seemed a coarse halo of jet-black hair. “Nay,” he said. “Not sister. Niece, then.”
    “ A bheil Gàidhlig agad?”   she asked haltingly. Her grammar
    was stilted, overly familiar.
    “Aye, I speak Gaelic,” he replied in English. “And what  else?” He pushed her chin roughly from his hand. “But  apparently you've strange notions of the    Gaedhealg   tongue.”
    He  spared a glance to the men passed out by the fire, then  MacColla squinted, studying her. “Where is it you're from?”
    She leaned toward him, peering through the shadows.  “You!” Terror lit her features like a torch. “You were in
    that… that painting. Who the  hell are you?” She looked
    around frantically. “Where the hell'd you take me?”
    Was she cursing him to the devil? Did this wee Campbell lass dare damn him? MacColla glared at her, trying to make sense of her strange accent. She seemed to be speaking English, but none like he'd ever heard. Her words were like the sharp claps of a barking dog. “Speak slow when you curse me.”

    He approached her. He saw spirit in those wide gray eyes, and he was compelled to look closer.
    She shuffled back, arms askew as if to brace herself on thin air. The lass was shouting at him now, unintelligible words.
    MacColla took her in once again, from head to foot. She was a well -proportioned one, of modest height and with just enough meat on her bones. If Campbell had a mind for kidnap, two could play at his game. If only he could understand her clamoring.
    “Air do shocairl”   he commanded, speaking over her. “Och…  slowly now. I'd hear your curses… ” He studied the  movement of her mouth, trying to understand her words.  Her lips were full and dark against the pale glow of her  cheeks in the moonlight. He'd taste this Campbell woman,  he decided suddenly. “Before I wipe them from your  mouth.”

    He grabbed her, wrapping his hand easily around her upper arm. Though he'd pillaged in his day, MacColla was never one for rape. But a kiss? One kiss would be no crime.
    The woman once again flexed her arm in his grip and he smiled outright. The feel of her solid flesh in his hand madehis heart kick. Many a lass had offered themselves for a kiss by the great hero MacColla. But none such as this.  This one had muscle to spare.   Interesting.
    Curse it, but he wanted a bloody Campbell.

    He leaned down, closing the distance between them.