Snowy Night with a Highlander by Julia London Read Free Book Online Page B

many bawdy parlor games in London and flirting outrageously. But it was different here. Given the difference in their stations, a flirtation would lead him to think her a lady bird.
    So Fiona amused herself for a time by counting the various crates and sacks and bundles surrounding her. When she tired of that, she thought of Sherri, hoping that she’d walked miles and miles before Mr. Ridley found her, but then began to fret that Mr. Ridley hadn’t found her, and that Sherri was wandering about the countryside, the potential victim of any number of predators.
    After a time, she tried to lie on the bench, but every bump in the road required her to catch herself from falling.
    Fiona finally sat up. This was really not to be borne. There were only the two of them, separated by a thin sheet of tarpaulin. Why should they pretend not to be in one another’s company? Because she was a lady and he was a— Honestly, she wasn’t precisely certain what he was, other than a very virile man, but he was a man whowas a stranger to her. It wasn’t as if the rules of society had to be obeyed on this road or really beyond Edinburgh. They were two people traveling through a landscape so vast and remote that it was possible to believe they were the only two people in all the world.
    Fiona twisted on her seat and looked at the tarpaulin, pulled taut over the wire frame. She leaned forward, saw where the tarpaulin was attached to the wagon, and gave it a pull. “Stop,” she said, her voice barely audible above the creaking and moaning of the wagon and its wheels. “Stop!” The wagon pitched along. “ Stop!” she cried, and hit the tarpaulin with the flat of her palm. “ Stop, stop, stop!”
    The wagon lurched to a sudden halt, propelling her into the tarpaulin and back again, then tilting to one side as Mr. Duncan climbed off the bench. Fiona had scarcely turned herself around on her little bench when he appeared at the back of the wagon, looking at her through the opening as if he expected her to be bleeding. When he saw that she wasn’t hurt, the expression in his eyes melted into impatience.
    “I canna’ abide riding in the bed of the wagon all day,” she said in response to his question before he could ask it. “I should like a proper airing.”
    “An airing? ” he echoed incredulously.
    “Aye, an airing! Is it really too much to ask?” she demanded as she made her way forward. She tripped on the corner of a bag of grain and quickly righted herself. “It’s dangerous in here!”
    “Mi Diah, ” he cursed softly.
    It had been some years since Fiona had heard Gaelic spoken, and it made her pulse leap a bit—there was nothing that brought her back to Scotland and home fasterthan the language of the Highlands. She’d grown up with Gaelic spoken around her, particularly by her father, who insisted she and Jack learn how to read and write it along with the languages of society and court, English and French, which they spoke every day.
    Duncan’s speaking a bit of Gaelic now drew her to him like a magnet; she paused, looking down at him. “There are only the two of us, Mr. Duncan, and it seems rather pointless to continue on in complete silence, does it no’? I, for one, would prefer some company.” Even if he was the most taciturn man she’d ever met.
    He sighed as if he was vexed beyond endurance—but he held up his hand to help her down.
    Fiona smiled triumphantly, slipped her hand into his, and felt his thick fingers close tightly around hers. She slid one foot off the end of the wagon, looking for the undercarriage. But her foot missed it and she slipped; Duncan let go of her hand and caught her around the waist. Her fall was stopped by his unmovable body. He held her there, his eyes piercing hers. After a moment, he allowed her to slide, very slowly, down the length of him to her feet.
    The contact was brief, but the effect was entirely intoxicating. This man was as hard-bodied and big as a tree, his grip as firm