Carnal Gift Read Online Free PDF

twisted into loathsome English. Now was not the time.
    “Thank you, Alice.” The iarla smiled to the servant girl, but his hand dropped to caress Brighid’s shoulder. “My friend is quite taken with you, Brighid. I saw how he looked at you this morning.”
    Whatever Brighid had expected him to say, it was not this.
    “I can see you remember.” The iarla had smiled. “It was at my friend’s request I spared your young rapparee. What is he to you, your lover?”
    Brighid had refused to answer the question directly.
    The less this Sasanach pig knew about her family the better. “I am a maid.” She’d meant to sound unafraid, but her words were unsteady.
    “Then your brother, or perhaps your cousin?” He’d waited for her reply. “Well, no matter. Thanks to your beauty, your rapparee is safe tonight. Do as you’re told, and he’ll stay safe.”
    Then Brighid had understood. She was to buy her brother’s continued freedom with her virginity. “I expect you to show my friend just how grateful you are. Your willingness is everything.” He’d tucked a finger under her chin. “Do you understand?” Brighid had choked back tears, looked him in the eye, held her tongue.
    Two hours later, bathed and dressed in clothes a whore might have found immodest, her hair twisted atop her head, she sat before the fireplace in a long hallway awaiting the iarla’s command. A crackling fire had been lit, along with a few candles on the mantelpiece, but neither managed to chase away the shadows that hovered in the comers. Empty chairs lined the walls of the hall, which was so large it could devour the cottage Brighid called home with room to spare. Carpets the color of blood and decorated with exotic flowers stretched across the wooden floor.
    In the next room, the iarla Sasanach and the man she was to be given to were eating their supper. Servants bustled in and out of the large, oaken doors carrying platters of meats, tureens of soup, bottles of wine, loaves of wheaten bread. No one spared a glance for her.
    She was tempted to run, but where could she go? She wasn’t sure how to find the door, and surely someone would see her. Then there was Rhuaidhri. The iarla had made it clear that her little brother was safe so long as she did as she was told. She had no choice but to bear whatever horror this night thrust upon her—and to survive. Never had she felt so helpless, so alone. Angry shouts came from the room beyond. She couldn’t make out most of what was said. Something about the French and war and ships. A servant hurried from the room struggling to balance two trays. When one threatened to topple onto the floor, he placed it on a nearby chair, rushed off to the kitchen with the other. On the tray sat a knife.
    Brighid’s heart beat faster. The tray was a good twenty paces away. If anyone caught her, she’d surely be punished. What good would a knife do her anyway? Did she think she could get away with killing either the iarla or his friend? She’d be hanged and her family made to suffer. Besides, could she really kill any man? Then she thought of the man who’d fondled her breast, remembered the sickening feel of his hand on her body, the leer on his face. Yes. Without thinking further, she stood, walked as swiftly and silently as she could across the room. The knife lay on the tray, small and silver. She hesitated, took it. She had just taken her seat again and was smoothing her skirts when the servant returned. Without seeming to notice the missing implement, now tucked into the waistline of her petticoat, the servant hoisted the tray and raced back toward the kitchens.
    She tugged at the silky cloth of the blue gown they’d made her wear, tried to pull it up over the bared tops of her breasts, which had been shaped into deceivingly large mounds by the corset. The white lace bodice did little to conceal her nipples. Her shoulders were all but bare, and the roll of cloth beneath the skirts made her hips and bottom