The Raven's Moon by Susan King Read Free Book Online Page A

bestow on him and his scoundrel of a brother, she felt compassion stir through her. He was injured because of her.
    Nor did he look like a notorious reiver. There was a resemblance to his brother Alec, who was a dark, slim, well-favored young man. But Rowan Scott, beneath the mud and the bruising, was more than that—he had the stunning, powerful beauty of a dark angel.
    Notoriousness—harsh and rough, clever and heartless—was surely in him, but all she knew now was that she had to help him, or he might die.
    She stroked his cool brow and realized he needed warmth against the shock of his injury. The stone chamber was chilly, but it was at least shelter.
    Shivering, her back and shoulders cold against the stone wall, she ran her fingers through Scott's hair in a slow, peaceful motion, and she began to hum softly in Gaelic. The gentle, lilting tune was one her mother had often sung while Mairi and her brothers had drifted off to sleep as children. She relaxed.
    Suddenly the man lashed out his hand and gripped her arm.

 
     
     
    Chapter 5

     
    "O drowsy, drowsy as I was!
    Dead sleep upon me fell;
    The Queen of Fairies, she was there,
    And took me to hersell. "
    —"Tam Lin"
    "Who are you?" Rowan asked. "Where am I?"
    The woman did not answer, though her hand tensed on his head and she pulled against his grip. He tried to lift his head, but the agony that slammed through his skull decided him. Closing his eyes, he kept a taut grip on the slender wrist in his hand.
    Then he looked at her again. Her face, blurred and shadowed, hovered above his. A candle flame sliced like a golden blade through the darkness. The brightness hurt his eyes.
    The flame split into two wavering images. He glanced around, unable to focus at first. He felt a crushing ache in his skull—and a warm, comfortable cushion beneath his head.
    The woman was one, then two, then one again, in his wretched vision. Sighing in exasperation and pain, he shut his eyes and let his hand slip from her arm.
    "Rowan Scott." The whisper lured him back from the soporific fog that sucked at him. Again he looked at the vague blur of the woman. Now there was one of her—a pale face and a sweep of dark hair like braided silk.
    He turned his head. Agony shot through his skull and then dulled to a fierce ache. The cushion beneath him, he realized, was her thigh. The heat felt soothing. Inhaling the sweet, earthy fragrances of woman and rain, and the sharpness of old, damp stone, he drifted in and out of a half-sleep.
    "Rowan Scott," she said again. "How do you feel?"
    He lifted a hand to his head. She pushed his fingers away from his brow, her touch cool.
    "Who are you?" he asked.
    "Mairi." She pronounced it with a long, nasal "ah": Mah-re. The sound was breathy, velvety. Gaelic. Intrigued, he looked at her again.
    An ethereal Madonna looked down at him, her oval face serene, softly blushed. Dark hair bronzed in the candlelight, eyes a tranquil gray, she was a restful sight for his bleary eyes.
    And yet she was the same lass who had slammed the ball of a pistol butt against his head with the force of a cannon shot.
    Rowan frowned. He had seen her somewhere else—but his mind was too fogged to sort out the vague memory.
    He grimaced and touched his head. Her fingers pushed his away. "You'll make the wound bleed again," she said.
    He accepted that, glancing around the room. Dark. Stone walls, a window slit, a single torch on the wall. Empty of furniture. Prison, again?
    "Where am I?" he asked.
    "Safe here until you're able to leave," she said.
    He tried to sit up, but his body felt too heavy to move. He leaned back against her, dimly and pleasantly aware of soft slopes and firmness and comfort.
    He swallowed, tasting thick dryness. "How long—"
    "A little while." She frowned. "I am concerned about your head wound."
    He waved a hand, dismissing that. "Where is this place?" he asked, and saw that while the curve of her cheek was blushing cream, she did not answer.
    Slowly