His Stolen Bride BN Read Online Free PDF Page A

gown, Averyl stood clad in
     her chemise, shivering at the room’s chill. She frowned at the pair of weak flames
     seeming to hover above the candles in the corner, then stared at the empty grate beside
     it. MacDougall had ordered a fire for her. Wondering at his lazy servants, Averyl
     made her way to the door with every intent of calling for help.
    A noise came, a shuffling behind her. She cast a quick glance at the two small windows.
     Neither was open to invite the night’s breeze. And the shuffle had been too large
     for a mouse.
    As her heart began to thud, Averyl turned slowly to see what—or who—had invaded her
     chamber.
    Suddenly, the meager light from the candles to her right flickered and died.
    Averyl cried out, her heart pounding, as the detested dark enveloped her. The black
     she despised closed in, choking her courage and logic.
    Would she live to see her marriage to MacDougall? Or would she die now? Would it hurt?
    The icy rush of her blood heralded prickling apprehension. Cold sweat beaded its way
     across her skin as her heart threatened to beat out of her chest. No brutal attack
     came—yet—as she struggled to peer into the frightening, endless black.
    But an intruder was here. She sensed it. Felt it. Averyl listened but still heard naught except blood
     churning in her ears, multiplied by the chilling silence. Saw nothing but shadowed
     night. Fear pulled at her as mercilessly as a stretching rack.
    She glanced about the night-draped room again. Still, the murky gray-black revealed
     no one, naught sinister.
    But the tingling sensation of a hot gaze upon her took root and grew.
    Her heart pounded, quickening to a frenzied beat. Fear battled logic. The silence
     turned thick, tense.
    “Who comes?” she called, voice shaking.
    Utter hush met her query. The room stood still, clasped in the dark shadows. The wind
     gave a mean rumble outside.
    The stare upon her intensified, like a hunter closing in on its prey, focusing on
     her linen-clad shoulders, her bare legs. Averyl’s heart chugged faster as a low-pitched
     throb vibrated through her body, gathering strength.
    Sweet Mary, where was the door? How fast could she run?
    Suddenly, a broad palm covered her mouth as a hot hand seized her arm, pulling her
     against a large form in a coarse woolen garment.
    Terror washed over her in a cold, consuming wave. Gasping, Averyl tried to face the
     threat and struggle from the harsh grip. She opened her mouth to scream but could
     not force the sound past the strength of heavy fingers over her lips.
    Straining over her shoulder for a glance of the fiend, she saw silvery moonlight beam
     through the window, illuminating a mere corner of the intruder’s face. The fearsome
     specter draped in a brown tunic hovered over her. Nature’s light cast harsh emphasis
     on his hard jaw and sprawling shoulders.
    A moment later, the clouds blanketed the moon again. The room fell into chilling darkness.
     A sharp clap of thunder followed, echoing her racing heart.
    Defined now by shadows, the man leaned closer. A scream tore at her throat, trapped
     still by his hand over her mouth.
    Lightning fast, the stranger backed Averyl to the mattress and, with the press of
     his free hand to her shoulders, flattened her against it.
    Nay! Her heart beating like a wild beast, Averyl squirmed and writhed for freedom, kicking
     at his stomach, his shins. He grabbed her ankles and clamped them between strong thighs,
     rendering her legs immobile.
    Bile and terror rose in her throat. Sweet Mary, who was this villain? Why would he
     be here, staring with cold menace?
    How would she escape?
    Averyl grunted, straining against his grasp as fear swallowed her. Lungs aching, heart
     pounding, she watched the male figure bend over her, his palm still securely clamped
     over her mouth, silencing her calls for help.
    Fists clenched, she punched him, arms thrashing, landing blows to his arms and face.
     He seemed not to notice, even when she