Highland Obsession Read Online Free PDF Page A

sword hilt into the giant’s soft stomach.
    Groaning, MacLean wrapped his arms around himself and curled into a ball. Alan leveled two punches at his torso, but MacLean suddenly possessed no interest in fighting back. As a disgusted Alan jumped off him, the big man brought his knees into his chest and rocked back and forth, whimpering about his abused belly. “Curse ye, MacDonald. You’ve busted my gut. Now I’ll die and ’twill be yer fault,” he sobbed.
    It’d be a blessing to humanity if he did die, Alan thought, but kept his mouth shut as he jerkily donned his shirt and plaid. In a few seconds, he had mounted MacLean’s oversized bay and urged it toward Camdonn Castle.
     
    The castle rested on the flat top of a high spit of land jutting into the loch. Cam slowed his horse as they followed the twisting, narrow path that led up to the castle gates. The drizzle had stopped and the moon once again spilled light over the countryside. The grounds shimmered and glistened in the silvery beams.
    Consisting of a medieval keep now used as the living quarters, a dozen outbuildings, bountiful gardens, and a wide, green courtyard, Cam’s family seat was not only imposing, but magnificent. A testament to the power his family held in the Highlands.
    Sorcha sat in front of him, quiet now, as tense as a bowstring pulled taut. She couldn’t fathom what Cam thought he was doing by stealing her from her husband’s bed. But fear and panic had given way to calm, and a slow, simmering anger.
    It was over between them. Over for nearly two months, and sealed today by her marriage to Alan MacDonald. Did Cam honestly think she’d come willingly?
    No Highlander should dishonor a woman in this way, and most Highlanders wouldn’t dare to for fear of reprisal from their clan. But Cam was an earl, above reproach. He wielded the strongest authority in this region of Scotland, his power rivaled only by the Duke of Argyll far to the south and the Earl of Seaforth to the north. Cam could do anything he pleased, and he knew it.
    Sorcha had drawn blood with her fingernails and teeth in at least half a dozen places on Cam’s body, and that gave her some consolation. But fighting him was like fighting steel. When he’d yanked her against his warm, solid body and informed her casually that struggling was no use, that she should save her strength for his bed, she had fallen into a state of rigid calm. She conceded defeat for the time being, if only to conserve her energy for the larger battle ahead. And for that, she needed to let go of her fury and panic and think rationally.
    She could smell the whisky on his breath, and she feared he was in his cups. The way he had taken her from Alan’s bed—it was either the act of a madman or someone who was completely sotted. Cam had never given her any indication that he would do something so utterly insane as to abduct her on her wedding night. If he was capable of going to such lengths, there was no telling what else he might do.
    As one of his men came running toward them carrying a lantern, he drew on the reins and waited. Sorcha pulled away from him and sat a little straighter, staring directly ahead. She yanked the plaid tightly around her frozen body. She was warm only where his legs encased her buttocks and outer thighs.
    “Rouse some of the men,” Cam told the approaching guard. “There might be trouble.”
    The man nodded, and she could see from the corner of her eye that he doggedly kept his gaze averted from her. “Aye, milord.”
    Cam glanced back at the path they had just climbed. She followed his gaze and saw no evidence they’d been followed. Where was Alan? Surely he would do something. Surely he wouldn’t let Cam get away with this.
    But what could he do? Alan was a minor laird, and while his men were loyal, they were few, and he had little recourse against a powerful lord like Cam.
    “Send six men to MacDonald’s and bring MacLean home. If he’s under attack”—Cam paused,