A Highlander Christmas Read Online Free PDF Page A

muscle ticked in his jaw. He stared down at her. “You were ill used.”
    She looked away from him. How embarrassing it was to admit such a thing, yet her bruised body did it for her. There was no need to answer him.
    “The bastard raped you.”
    “No,” she breathed. “N-not that.” Thank God. Although if Innes had managed to get her wherever he’d planned to take her, he would have raped her, and happily, too. Logan was right to call him a bastard.
    “I would never harm a woman,” Logan said, his voice tight.
    Gazing at the far wall, she clutched the plaid more tightly about her.
    He leaned toward her. His fingers brushed her cheek as he pushed away a curly strand of hair that had fallen across her face. Gently, his fingertip touched the tender bruised flesh surrounding her eye.
    “Who did this to you?” An edge of steel laced his voice.
    She shrugged, still refusing to look at him.
    His fingers slid into her hair, and he cupped her cheek in his big, warm palm, forcing her to face him. “Tell me.”
    “It’s over,” she said quietly.
    But it wasn’t over. When she returned home, Innes would continue to pursue her. She doubted anything save death—his or her own—would thwart him. He never stopped, not since the day Duneghall died. And if what he’d said about Torean’s involvement was true, she was doomed.
    She took a deep breath. She wouldn’t think on any of that now. The small victories were all that mattered, all that would continue to matter. If she could win those battles, perhaps in the end she would win the war. She must continue thinking so, otherwise she would lose the war before she finished fighting. And, when it came to Innes Munroe, she’d fight till the bitter end. She took a deep breath and forced her thoughts to return to her little victory.
    “I stabbed him in the bollocks with my . . .” Slapping her hand to her bare shoulder, she scrambled onto her knees, looking wildly about. “My brooch! Have you seen it?”
    Logan’s dark eyebrows drew together as he frowned. “Brooch?”
    “It was pinned to my plaid . . .” Wait . . . she’d been clutching it in her fist. She’d held on to it like a weapon as she’d trudged through the deepening snow. “No, I was holding it.”
    “You were holding nothing.”
    She shook her head. “No, no . . . I had it. It . . . it was my mother’s . . .”
    She would not cry. She swallowed hard against the lump building again in her throat.
    Awareness dawned, softening Logan’s fierce expression. “The sword pin with the bird and the diamond.”
    “Aye! Not a bird—i t’s a dragon. And not a diamond, an agate. Where is it?”
    “It was lying in the snow a few feet away from you.” Logan frowned. “I left it. Once I saw you, I forgot about it.”
    “I must find it.”
    Logan nodded. “I’ll take you there.”
    Pulling a plaid over her shoulders, she jumped off the bed and went to her clothes. Everything was still damp.
    “Not today, though,” he added.
    “We must go now,” she insisted, though reason told her she couldn’t walk anywhere in this weather, at least not until her stockings and shift had dried.
    “No. It’s snowing too hard, the wind is too strong, it is too cold, and you are still recovering. You must eat. I’ll cook something.”
    “But—”
    His eyes narrowed into slits. “You must eat.”
    Maggie snatched the ends of the plaid around her, closing them over her front, and raised her chin at him.
    His gaze remained fixed on hers, but a subtle smile played over his lips. “You know I’m right.”
    She scowled, resisting the urge to stamp her foot.
    He turned away and reached for his shirt, which hung on a peg beside the fire. Muscles rippled across his back, and Maggie stared, fascinated despite herself. When the shirt slid over his broad shoulders, she could no longer see his spectacularly muscled torso. Disappointment washed through her before she ruthlessly thrust it away, reminding herself that this man was