The Clan MacDougall Series by Suzan Tisdale Read Free Book Online

Duncan remained quiet as he absentmindedly poked a long stick at the fire.
    Manghus explained that some ten and seven years ago the Earl of Penrith had ordered the destruction of a village. The earl had been convinced that someone in that village had stolen several pigs from his lands. Instead of searching out the reivers individually, the bastard had ordered the destruction of the entire village. The earl meant it a lesson to anyone who would steal from him or would offer refuge to those who hid from him.
    “Duncan was just a lad at the time,” Manghus told her, his voice laced with sadness. “Only eight when it happened.” He paused for a moment as he stared blankly at the fire. Aishlinn wondered if he wasn’t staring at something from his own past. “Twas Duncan’s village. Only three lads survived it. Duncan be one of them.”
    From the angry and pained expressions on the faces of the men around her, Aishlinn knew the story had to be true. No one could have feigned the pain, sadness and regret she saw in their eyes. Her heart broke for the men. She knew their pain well. An odd sense of relief washed over her for now she could understand why they had made their pledge to protect her.
    “Aye,” Duncan said, growing disgusted at the flood of memories. Angrily he tossed the stick into the fire. “And Findley and Richard be the others.” He was done reliving it. Not a day had passed since the murders of his family and friends that he did not think of killing the man responsible. Many nights he had lain awake thinking of all the different ways he could kill the Earl of Penrith. Although he was glad to hear of the earl’s death a very large part of him wished it had been at his own hands.
    He looked at Aishlinn and tried to guess her age. She looked to be around ten and five or six at the most. He could not get over how wee and tiny she appeared. Yet she had somehow managed to kill the man who had left him an orphan so many years ago. He felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude towards her as well as a bit of admiration.
    He wondered what else the earl had done to her besides the severe beating. Knowing the earl’s reputation, Duncan was certain the bastard had raped her. He imagined it would take a very long time for her to recover from such a thing, if recovery were even possible.
    Huddled under the several plaids they had wrapped her in she still shivered. Duncan could see she fought against sleep for every few moments her head would list to the side before she would jerk and try to right herself. He knew she must be terrified and why shouldn’t she be? She had been through a hellish ordeal and was now alone in the forest with seven strange men. He wondered how long it would be before she could trust anyone again.
    He slapped his forehead with his hand as it dawned on him that she was still in her wet clothes! She would certainly catch her death of cold.
    “Lass! Me apologies for being a thoughtless man.” He went to his pack and pulled out a tunic, trews and wool leggings and brought them to her. “Ye be still wearin’ yer wet things. Let me help ye get out of them and into somethin’ dry.”
    How dare he suggest such a thing! Moirra was right. Highlanders may have a strong sense of honor, but they were beastly men just the same.
    Sensing her mortification, Duncan did his best not to laugh out loud. “Lass! I be promisin’ I’ll not take advantage of the situation. I mean only to help ye. Me intentions be honorable.”
    It took some convincing and only after each man took an oath to impale himself on his own sword should he so much as think of catching a glimpse of her whilst she changed, she finally relented. Duncan carried her to a large pine tree where he took great care in setting her upon her feet. He promised to stand guard, not to peek, and not to abandon her.
    With aching muscles she slowly removed her wet dress and shift. They were soaked and landed on the ground with a wet thud. The cool early