Jack: A Scottish Outlaw (Highland Outlaws Book 1) Read Online Free PDF

the small clearing. For three blissful seconds she thought she had escaped; that is, until a hand clamped down on her upper arm. He jerked her around, tossed her over his shoulder, and stormed toward the hut. Once inside, he set her on her feet. The room was as poor and rustic as the thatched exterior. She glanced at the pallet and table with two rough-hewn chairs, her gaze lingering on the thick loaf of bread at the center of the table. Taking a deep breath, she turned to face her captor. He still wore his menacing mask. She had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. He stepped toward her, causing her breath to catch. She backed up several steps, never taking her eyes off of him.
    He pointed to one of the chairs. “Sit.”
    She eyed the chair but then shook her head. She wanted to stay poised to flee or to ward off an attack.
    “Suit yourself,” he said as he collapsed in one of the chairs with a heavy sigh. His hand reached over his head and pulled the mask off. Then he laid his head back against the thatched wall, closing his eyes. Confused by his casual air, she did not know what to do or say. Had he dismissed her? She eyed the doorway, wondering if he would notice if she slipped out. She looked at him once more. Wavy, black hair fell away from his upturned face. Long, thick, black lashes rested on his cheeks as he continued to close his eyes. She shifted her gaze from his face to the door and took one step in that direction, but his hand shot out, grabbing her forearm. “Ye’re not goin’ anywhere, Princess,” he said, his voice low and husky.
    She yanked her hand free and pressed her back against the wall. They locked eyes. His were black and intense yet not unkind. A smile, seemingly sad and pensive, tugged at one corner of his mouth before he turned away from her once more. It was clear he was not ready to deal with her, or mayhap he did not know how. His fatigue was apparent, but she sensed there was more to his meditation. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head. Then he stared transfixed at the wall and his features relaxed as if he gazed at peaceful beauty. She imagined he stared beyond the thatched wall at a conjured meadow or steady sea, like a quiet soul in the midst of a world on fire.
    His hand reached above his head and grabbed the back of his tunic, yanking it off. Her mouth dropped open as she stared at his bare torso. His wide chest was sprinkled with black hair that thinned into a line down the ridges of his stomach, disappearing beneath the narrow waist of his hose. He stood up and in two strides crossed the room and opened the lid to a wooden chest. A gasp tore from her lips. His hose hung low. She could see the curve of his buttock. He did not flinch when he heard her outburst, nor did he acknowledge her obvious discomfort. Pulling on a fresh linen shirt, he returned to the table, taking up a hunk of bread. The renewed sight of food made her stomach growl, betraying her need.
    Hunkered low over his meal with both elbows on the table, he took a large bite and said, gesturing with the bread to the chair across from him, “Ye’re welcome to join me, Princess.”
    She shook her head. She would have loved to eat but dared not go any closer.
    “Sit,” he snapped. “Eat.” His black eyes flashed with anger. The quiet soul had given way to the thief. Her heart quaked. She felt like a cornered mouse surrounded by a hungry wolf. Perhaps she could request a change of guardsman. Not Rory, his roving eyes revealed exactly what he would do to her if they were alone near a soft pallet and warm blanket. There was Quinn who had seemed like a perfect gentleman, allowing she overlooked that his voice belonged to the man who had seemed amenable to sticking her in the hole—whatever that was. Ian, with his kind, blue eyes, was perfect, although given the great unmasking he instigated, she seriously doubted she would be left in his gentle care. Anyway, none of them were there, just she and this man who moved