His Stolen Bride BN Read Online Free PDF

pushed futilely against his solid chest. His
     insistent fingers merely seized her wrists and lowered her arms to her sides. With
     her mouth free, she opened it to scream. His returning hand stopped the sound before
     she could utter it.
    One of his unyielding arms reached beneath her shoulders, scooping her against his
     broad chest. Trepidation burned through her blood. She turned her face away from his
     hand.
    “Nay!” she screamed, but thunder muffled her cry.
    “Not another word,” he warned.
    The stranger’s voice told her he was Scottish, but held a slight English clip. Who
     was he? Why had he come?
    Averyl’s mind raced as he fit his other arm beneath her knees and scooped her against
     him. In desperation, she writhed and shrieked as he left the room, but he held her
     head against his shoulder, muffling her cries.
    Fear burned her like a cauldron’s fire as he descended the stairs. Where did he take
     her? A creaking door precipitated the cool night wind, which served as her only answer.
    She looked up, beyond his determined chin and strong nose, feeling his hot breath
     mingle with the howl of wind tugging at her cap. The garden. Mercy, would anyone see
     her here?
    Knowing ’twas not likely, terror blazed her anew. Fingers bared, Averyl reached out
     to claw his unfamiliar face. He dodged her attack and set her on her feet.
    She made ready to run, but the fiend grabbed her arms, holding them against her sides,
     then brought her body to his, trapping her thighs between his, despite the monk’s
     robe he wore.
    His breadth and height eclipsed her, obscured her in black shadow. With little effort,
     he held her against his hard form and covered her mouth with his hand.
    “I’ve no wish to hurt you,” he said, his voice low, smooth.
    Not believing him, Averyl jerked away from his touch. “You—you forced me from my chamber.
     If not to hurt me, why?”
    “I will explain in good time,” he promised into the wind’s yowling.
    Aye, when it was likely too late. Averyl opened her mouth to yell for help. He slapped
     a warm palm over her lips once more.
    “Do not make me gag you,” he warned, then bent to his boot to retrieve a knife.
    Averyl’s heart bolted faster than lightening at the sight of his silvery blade. She
     bit into the salty flesh of his palm and tasted blood. With a curse, he tore his hand
     away. Into the stiff wind, she screamed for her life. He clamped his hand over her
     lips again and searched about for intruders. To her shock, no one came to her rescue.
    “I give but one warning, wench,” he bit out.
    Her attacker reached for her, a cloth in hand—a knife in the other. She couldn’t breathe
     as she struggled, tearing at his hair, kicking his shins. She succeeded only in slipping
     to the mud below, falling to her knees before him.
    Kneeling, he scooped her up, until her feet were beneath her once more. She cringed
     in dread, panting, as he—and his menacing blade—loomed closer. Averyl wanted to run,
     but the vicious silver dagger glinted with danger in the stark moonlight.
    Averyl closed her eyes, bracing herself for the tearing of her flesh, for the end
     of her life. Surprise rippled through Averyl when he merely bound her mouth shut,
     then ripped Murdoch’s ruby bracelet from her cold skin with his blade.
    Did he but seek to thieve it from her?
    With his hot fingers clamped about her wrist, he dragged her over to the square building
     nearest the enclosure wall. She stumbled at his rapid pace, mud coating her bare feet.
    He paused before the small structure. The kirk, she realized, spotting the pale cross
     gleaming in the moonlight.
    The intruder held the bracelet to the dark wood and arched the knife into the enormous
     door. She started at the thump of the blade as he anchored the bauble in place, leaving
     it to dangle like a war trophy.
    “Murdoch will know who has taken you,” he said.
    Averyl wondered how.
    When he turned to face her again, her captor