Kate Wingo - Highland Mist 01 Read Online Free PDF Page B

mantle, raising her hips in order to pull the cloak out from under her. Wordlessly, Iain took the garment from her and hung it on a hook attached to one of the ceiling crossbeams.
    Her trepidation mounting, s he next unbuckled her girdle, carefully setting it beside her boots. And though her hands trembled as though palsied, Yvette tugged at the laces on the front of her wet kirtle. Despite the fact that she was of noble birth, here, in this ramshackle hovel, that counted for naught. She was the laird’s hostage. With no rights. No recourse. All dignity stripped from her.
    But even if Iain MacKinnon ravished her body – nay, not if , but when – there were parts of her that he could never touch, her heart, mind, and soul belonging exclusively to her. And that elusive trinity would forever remain inviolate. Safely stowed away. Hidden from the savage Highlander.
    Her defenses bolstered , Yvette next untied her laces. Then, rising to her feet, she grabbed two handfuls of fabric and pulled upward.
    Near ly smothered in wet wool, she gasped aloud when Iain snatched the kirtle from her hands and, with a deft yank, tugged the damp garment over her head. When she emerged from the imprisoning folds of fabric, Yvette turned her head, embarrassed, acutely aware of the fact that this was the first time a man had assisted her with undressing.
    As he had with the mantle, Iain hung her kirtle on a metal hook, the garments eerily putting Yvette in mind of two lone corpses dangling from a hangman’s noose.
    Just then, o ut of the corner of her eye, she noticed Iain staring at her, the blatant arousal that gleamed in his eyes taking her aback.
    Ha d any man ever gazed at me with such intent longing?
    In truth, s he did not think so. Certainly, her husband Roland had never looked upon her with such intensity.
    Flustered, she plucked at a gold thread that had come loose on the cuff of her chemise, trying her utmost best to ignore the man who stood only a few feet away.
    It proved a n impossible endeavor, Iain MacKinnon too earthy, too bold, too virile to ignore. Moreover, there hovered about him a predatory alertness, his desire for her evident in the barely leashed tension that animated every inch of his powerful physique. And though she did not look forward to sharing his bed, Yvette could not deny that with his long mane of black hair and cerulean blue eyes, he possessed an unholy handsomeness.
    Like one of the fallen archangels.
    Brusquely gesturing toward her embroidered bodice, Iain said, “Ye’re not finished undressing.”
    “My chemise is . . . is dry,” she nervously stammered, silently praying that he would not order her to remove it, the linen undergarment her sole concession to modesty.
    Unnerved by his intense gaze, Yvette self-consciously wrapped her arms around her waist, reminding herself that, as the priests so often extolled, the body was naught but a worthless shell.
    Entranced, Iain stared at the w oman standing in front of him. While her facial expression was undeniably innocent, from the neck down, the highborn Yvette Beauchamp looked every inch the wanton.
    Her sheer undergarment skims her body like the morning mist skims an undulating glen , he thought musingly, able to see Yvette’s hardening nipples through the fabric.
    Highly aroused , his manhood stirred.
    At that moment, h e wanted to take her, there, on the dirt floor of the pathetic hovel. Like an animal in rut.
    But he couldn’t .
    Yvette Beauchamp was too delicately fashioned, too well-bred. For all that he wanted the lady, he could not bring himself to take her in the mud and the muck. Instead, he would wait until they reached Castle Maoil five days hence. Then he could savor his lovesport on a proper bed with clean, heather-scented sheets.
    Unable to take his eyes off of her, Iain watched as Yvette nervously finger-combed her wet tresses, the hacked skeins ending just below her breasts.
    Och, but I regret cutting her hair.
    To have seen the lady