Border Lord Read Online Free PDF Page B

ominimous sounding. In all the years she’d been in the U.K., she had never journeyed farther than York.
    Little had she known three days ago that she’d be living in medieval Scotland, maybe for the rest of her life.
    And Lord knew how long that life might be.
    A cold wind rushed through the tent and she shivered, listening as Brochan shouted orders to his men. He had told her not to escape and she had no such inclination. She had no desire to return to the priory and the kindly sisters. No, she would wait this out, be kind, and hope that Brochan wasn’t going to kill her anytime soon. Her breath caught in her throat when she heard Fergus just outside her tent. A second later he belched loudly and then broke wind. Maybe men of this time were not so different after all….
    Terri smiled to herself. Too bad the tour guide hadn’t given more insight into Annabelle’s fate.
    At least Brochan Douglas wasn’t a big, ugly brute of a man.
    She closed her eyes and imagined what the Scot looked like without clothing. Ripped, corded muscle, and he definitely had some junk in the front. He would be impressive…she knew that. True, men throughout history had done a bit of stuffing when it came to emphasizing certain parts of their anatomy, but if Terri had to hazard a guess, she’d bet that every bit of bulge she’d felt against her back belonged to Brochan Douglas.
    Liquid heat flooded her groin and she shifted beneath the furs. She hadn’t had sex for three weeks now. Elliott had always come up with one excuse or another. But he had notmade excuses the night they had gone out to dinner and drank two bottles of wine. She had made the move on Elliott, straddling him on their couch. After offering a number of excuses, he had given in with a defeated sigh. How could she have been so blind?
    She wondered what Brochan would do if she made a move on him?
    The flap opened and the man she’d been thinking about appeared. Her heart rate increased, her nipples pebbling beneath the fabric of her chemise.
    She watched him under lowered lids as he kicked off his boots. Warmth spread through her belly. A minute later he lay down beside her, his back to her.
    And a wide back it was, broad shoulders narrowing to a defined vee—the thick muscles playing beneath the dark shirt. His long hair curled at the ends and she resisted the urge to touch it, to wrap a lock around her finger and bring it to her nose.
    Rugged masculinity, that’s what he smelled like. A pleasant musky scent that clung to him, surrounded him. She inhaled deeply and smiled to herself, finding it hard to believe she was experiencing an age she had studied, with a man who could only have lived in her imagination.
    “Why do ye smile, lass?”
    She opened her eyes to find Brochan lying flat on his back, head turned, staring at her. Damn, he was gorgeous. Perfection. Never in all her life had she met anyone like him, and she doubted she ever would again. She squeezed her thighs together, trying to ignore the ache building there.
    Of course she couldn’t tell him why she’d been smiling, or who she really was, because the last thing she needed was him thinking her insane. No, she needed his complete trust. “I’m just happy to see you.”
    He went up on his elbow, his eyes narrowing. “Ye are not at all like I thought ye to be.”
    “Nor are you.”
    He frowned. “What did ye think I would be like?”
    She shrugged. “Mean. Cruel, I suppose.”
    “Cruel?” He sounded surprised, almost offended.
    “Yes,” she replied, going up on an elbow. “And what did you think I would be like?”
    He watched her for a long time, his gaze searching hers. She had never had someone look at her so intently, and it made her self-conscious. True, she knew she was not ugly, but neither was she a beauty. Rather, she fell into the “cute” category. Her blond hair had always been too wavy, and she detested the freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose and cheeks. Honestly, men