The Prince Kidnaps a Bride by Christina Dodd Read Free Book Online

harbor. “A name for a damned pony!”
    Sorcha watched him go, then turned to face Sandie. “Well, I shall name her St. Donkey, for the animal that carried Mary to Bethlehem.”
    “Think well of yerself, don’t ye?” Sandie asked sourly, and with a bump of his knees urged his pony up the road.
    Hurriedly, she mounted and joined him. St. Donkey’s gait jarred her teeth almost loose and Sorcha suspected the poor dear had a limp, but she was determined to make the best of this journey. It was, after all, a real adventure.
    At the top of the hill, she turned in the saddle and looked across the rambunctious ocean to the rocky island where the convent buildings lifted their arms to God. As she watched, a mist enveloped it, and it disappeared into the swirling depths like a dream she could never revisit.
    “C’mon, then,” Sandie said roughly, “or I’ll ne’er get back before the Sabbath.”
    Sorcha sniffed back her tears, pulled a white handkerchief from her sleeve, and blotted her cheeks, then rode toward Sandie.
    He stared at her watery eyes.
    “What?” she asked.
    “Ye’ll ne’er convince anyone o’ yer disguise if ye keep on that way.” Shaking his head, he urged the pony down the narrow path.
    She looked down at herself. She was dressed just like a man. It was the perfect disguise. So what did he mean?
    “What way?” she called, and hurried after Sandie. “Why can’t I convince anyone of my disguise?”
    He hunched his shoulders and kept riding. “Ye cry like a girl.”
    “Only once! And not for very long!”
    He didn’t answer.
    “I won’t do it again.”
    Still he didn’t answer.
    “I’ll be as tough and coarse as any man!”
    At last, one more gruff sentence issued from his mouth, impressing on her how unalterably easy it was to dupe her. “MacLaren’s na got a wife.”
     
    “You can go in now.” Sister Theresa smiled at Arnou as she opened the door to Mother Brigette’s dim office.
    He stared at her as he walked through the door. Never in the two days he’d been here had she smiled at him, and he found her civility almost spooky.
    No outside light pierced the cavern of the chamber, and he blinked as his eyes adjusted from bright sunshine. A single candle flickered on the desk where Mother Brigette sat, her pen scratching across a paper.
    He was on a mission, but he didn’t forget his disguise. So he shuffled forward to stand before her. He grinned. He pulled his forelock. He pretended to be a fool. “Mother Brigette, where is Miss Sorcha?”
    Mother Brigette placed the quill in its stand, sanded the letter, and corked the ink. She looked up. “Why do you ask, Arnou?”
    “I was supposed to row her to the mainland today and she’s nowhere to be found.” He bobbed his head, rearranged the rag over his eye, and did an absolutely smashing imitation of a fisherman who’d been smacked in the head by one too many cod.
    “There’s a good reason you can’t find her.” With elaborate care, Mother Brigette folded her hands on the desk before her and examined him with all the charity of a rat dog examining a rodent.
    The first pinpricks of danger crawled down his spine. “Why is that?”
    “She left last night.”
    Forgetting his disguise, he straightened. He bent a fierce glare on the commanding woman. “ What? ”
    “She is beyond your reach.” Mother Brigette returned his glare—and in her cool gray eyes, he saw fierce intelligence.
    The pinpricks became jolts of alarm.
    “You’ve lied to us, Arnou. You’re not who you say you are.”
    Her glacial voice cooled his wrath, made his sense of self-preservation kick in.
    He glanced around. A nun lurked in each corner.
    But what threat were they?
    Mother Brigette continued, “And I know a man can force his feet into small boots if the reward is great enough.”
    Damn! This woman with the perceptive gaze knew what he’d done.
    He glanced up.
    A fishing net hung from the ceiling. A rope dangled from it.
    He looked back at Mother