Her Highland Fling Read Online Free PDF Page A

gathering up her bonnet and gloves.
    “Lead the way, MacKenzie.”
    He chuckled, making her stomach somersault once more as he gestured toward the door. “Ach, lass, don’t you think you might call me ‘William’? After all, a man who’s paid for your drinks might have earned the privilege, aye?”

C HAPTER T HREE
    I n Brighton, the night skies of her childhood had carried the reflection of the moon off the water and the faint echoes of a thousand candles and oil lamps. During her brief time in London, the night had blazed nearly as bright as day, the sky obscured by smoke and smog and the sidewalks shimmering in gaslight shadows.
    But in Scotland, it seemed the night sky turned itself over to the stars.
    It was still warm, but with the night air came a mixture of scents she had missed when she first arrived. Sharp pine and mellow heather. The coastal tang of the breeze coming from the west. And beneath it all, growing stronger now as Pen picked her way along the dark path, the dusky scent of water and bogs and lurking animal life.
    “Almost there,” MacKenzie murmured over his shoulder. “Quietly now. They startle easy.”
    She smiled into the darkness, given that the idea of mythical creatures startling anyone was a bit of a lark. She had come down here for a reason, and she hoped the experience of her first real kiss—with a gentleman not obligated as a result of a parlor game—was a duly memorable one.
    Pen tilted her face up, nearly as mesmerized by the spangled sky as the whisky-rich sound of MacKenzie’s voice. How far had they come? A half mile, perhaps, but it felt as though they had gone straight down the side of a cliff, picking their way over rocks and roots alike. She’d been forced to grab his hand on more than one occasion. It had been necessary, that last grab, when her fingers had lingered over his. She refused to entertain the idea that perhaps she had reached for his hand for less than required reasons.
    She felt no hesitation, only a breathless anticipation that made everything seem more acute. Even when her feet tripped over unseen objects, she was not afraid. Her Highlander might be a bit dim, but he was also big and powerful, and she had no doubts at all he would protect her.
    They emerged from the steep path and stepped out into a clearing, and that was when she heard a low, unearthly moan that sent her heart pounding in a sudden gust of fear.
    He held up a hand, halting their progress.
    “MacKenzie?” she whispered. “What was that?”
    His only answer was a sharp, high-pitched whistle.
    The bellow came again, followed by a distant splashing. The moon shone down on the surface of the loch like a bonfire, and in its light she caught a ghastly shadow.
    Her hand came up to catch her gasp of terror. She hadn’t believed him, back at the tavern. She’d thought this little more than folktale, the sort of yarn spun to convince young ladies to sneak out for a moonlit kiss. Not that she had needed much convincing.
    But as something lumbered ashore in the darkness, she realized she was more than halfway to believing him now.
    She leaped forward like a startled rabbit, plastering herself against MacKenzie’s solid back and all but mounting him in a tangle of skirts. “What is that?” she hissed.
    He chuckled, and she could feel the movement of his big body through every inch of her front, pressed against him as she was. “Crodh mara,” he whispered. “As I told you.”
    “But . . . they are mythical c-creatures,” she protested, praying it was true.
    But something was out there.
    And that something was making its way toward them.
    He put a steadying hand on her waist. “Easy, lass. They can smell fear.”
    And oh, merciful heavens, she could smell them , a musty, waterlogged scent that made her want to wrinkle her nose. She peered around his shoulder in a panic. Along the shoreline, something else moved.
    Something big and terrifying and coming her way.
    They are not real , she told