Ian's Rose: Book One of The Mackintoshes and McLarens Read Online Free PDF

gone, Rose looked first to Frederick, then to Ian, and back again. “Ye have both lost yer minds.”
    “Nay, no’ me mind. Just me heart. To the most beautiful women e’er to grace God’s earth.”
    “Be quiet!” Rose shouted at the man she knew she loved without question. But at the moment, she was hard pressed to come up with a reason why. To Frederick she said, “Ye will no’ kill him.”
    Frederick chuckled at her ferocity. “Nay, I shall no’ kill him,” he assured her before quickly adding, “Yet.”
    Exasperated, she rolled her eyes at him. “Why did ye feel the need to,” she stumbled for the right words. “To beat him senseless?”
    “Someone had to.”
    “Frederick be the most honorable man,” Ian chimed in. He leaned forward in the chair and rested his head in his hands. “Far more honorable than I. He’d ne’er hurt the woman he loves.”
    She spun to face the object of her consternation. “So ye do love me?”
    His shame was too great — as was the manner in which his head was spinning — to chance lifting his head to look at her. “Of course I love ye.”
    “Then why on earth did ye break yer word?”
    “Because ye deserve better,” he mumbled. “Why is the room spinnin’?” he asked of no one in particular.
    Rose thrust her hands onto her hips. “I deserve better than what?” she asked him. Her tone was sharp.
    “Than me,” Ian answered. He sounded entirely ashamed.
    Throwing her hands up in defeat, she looked at Frederick. “Go ahead. Kill him. I no longer care.”

    * * *
    S omeone was using his head as an anvil. ’Twas the only explanation for the pounding in his skull.
    Every muscle and bone in his body ached so much he was afraid to make even the slightest attempt to open his eyes. His tongue felt thick, his mouth dry, as if he’d been sucking on wool. Fighting against the incessant thudding in his head, he tried to search for some memory that would explain why he felt like he’d been trampled by horses. It hurt to think, so he stopped.
    He took in slow, long breaths through his nostrils as he rolled his pasty tongue against the roof of his mouth. Images — as fleeting as a rabbit and as clear as fog — flashed in his mind, but not one of them made any sense. Perhaps if he willed his heart to stop beating and prayed to God for merciful death, he might gain some clarity in heaven. Nay, he silently mused. Ye’re an eejit bound fer hell.
    As he lay still, trying to make sense of his current predicament, the hammering in his skull began to slowly subside to a more bearable pace. When he attempted to lift his hands to rub his temple, only one moved. The other was weighted down by something.
    Not some thing . Some one .
    A warm body was nestled next to him. A small, curvaceous body that smelled like lilacs.
    Too terrified to move, he wracked his brain for some memory that would explain not only who he was in bed with, but how it happened. After a moment, that warm body let loose with a contented sigh before slipping from the bed. He could hear her rattling about. From the sound of it, she was pouring something liquid into a cup, but why she insisted on doing it so loudly, he couldn’t fathom. Whomever it was, she possessed not an ounce of mercy or compassion for his current state.
    “Good morn to ye, husband.”
    Nay, he could not have heard her correctly. That is no’ Rose and she did no’ just call me husband!
    He felt a knee sink into the bed, then a warm hand lifting his head. “Aggie brought this to ye earlier,” she explained. “’Twill help ye feel better.”
    He was suddenly struck with such fear and trepidation, he could not respond. She poured the liquid into his mouth. It tasted awful, but at least it helped to soothe his parched mouth and tongue.
    Rose giggled sweetly. “Will ye look at us? Married less than a day and already I be nursin’ ye back to health.”
    Husband? Married? Nay!
    He must have spoken his thoughts aloud, for she giggled again.