Highlander in Her Bed Read Online Free PDF Page B

bed…"
    Much later, in the small hours of the same night but on the other side of London, Sir Alexander Douglas suppressed a yawn with all the noble dignity he possessed. Seldom had he been so weary. Or more resentful of not being allowed to succumb to the long sleep of centuries.
    Instead he'd spent his evening striding about her bedchamber, hoping in vain that his spurred footsteps would clank loudly enough to wake her, but the wretched inn she'd chosen for lodgings kept tapestries on the floor!
    Flexing his fingers, Alex glared at the offensive flooring. A full-caparisoned destrier could thunder across such thickly woven cloth and make nary a stir.
    Aye, he'd done his utmost and still the wench slept.
    His ire rising, he stopped his pacing and, if only to fuel his gall, once again surveyed this new MacDougall's lavishly outfitted sleeping quarters.
    THE BUXTON ARMS, the establishment's signpost proclaimed, the Englishness of the name darkening his mood. As did the room's trappings. And not just the arras-laid floor. That particular affront was but a small portion of the decadency. Saints, the wee chamber brimmed with more luxury than Robert Bruce's entire royal court.
    A fine cushioned chair, infinitely sumptuous, earned his especial wrath. The piece stood near the foot of the bed, and, och, but it beckoned. Alex folded his arms, his resolve granite hard. He'd sooner stand naked in a patch of stinging nettles than sink into a MacDougall chair.
    Aching limbs or no.
    His brows snapping together with displeasure, he glanced at his reflection in the mirror, scowling not at his own formidable appearance but at the smooth perfection of the mirrored glass.
    The MacDougalls' fortunes clearly hadn't lessened over the centuries if a member of their dastardly number could afford to lodge in such splendor.
    "Tapestried floors, indeed!" he snorted, turning away.
    Silence and shadows greeted him, the drip-drip of rain and the sighing of the night wind increasing his weariness. Not to mention the weight of his mailed shirt and other knightly accoutrements, all donned expressly to strike terror into the MacDougall lass should she waken and glimpse him looming over her, but alas…
    He risked another glance at the chair, considered continuing his watch from its well-padded depths. After all, no one would know, and surely it wasn't beneath his dignity to allow himself a wee respite?
    The MacDougall chit hadn't stirred in hours.
    Besides, he was a seasoned warrior, greatly respected in his time and with no need to prove his prowess or stamina.
    Neither was there any cause for caution.
    Not because of this MacDougall.
    Alex's lip curled with derision. While she had the distinct look of a bawd about her, the only sharp object she seemed in possession of was her tongue.
    And such a small indulgence as whiling a few moments in comfort was the least the MacDougalls owed him.
    His decision made, he lowered himself into the chair, almost letting out a sigh of pleasure. Instead, he unsheathed his sword and rested it across his knees.
    For effect and good purpose.
    A battle-clad knight with a gleaming brand at the ready made a more intimidating appearance than a bone-weary one sagged into a chair!
    But as soon as he struck a comfortable and sufficiently daunting pose, the wench moved.
    And in such a way that instantly banished his exhaustion. Indeed, his every nerve leapt to high alert as she twisted and writhed beneath the bed coverings. Practiced movements, to be sure, and calculated to make a man admire her wantonness, even harden with the urge to possess her.
    To sink himself deep inside her until her writhings and moans were caused by his rhythmic in-and-out glides and not the simple vagaries of sleep.
    Banishing the fool notion at once, Alex glared at her, determined not to harden no matter how provocatively she tossed and stretched beneath the coverlet. Indeed, as if she sensed his ill ease, she stilled suddenly, appearing to have turned onto