Laird of the Mist Read Online Free PDF Page B

to a smoky blue. “To whom?”
    Kate drew the corner of her lower lip between her teeth, trying to come up with a name. She remembered one Amish had mentioned a time or two when he used to speak of his youthful days fighting the English. “To Lord Mortimer of Newbury. My uncle is very close to our lord protector, Cromwell, and I have been promised to Lord Newbury as an—”
    “Newbury?” His scowl deepened into a glare that would have caused the most battle hardened warrior to blanch. “Ye’re goin’ to wed an Englishman?”
    Kate glared right back at him as he crossed the room. “Aye, and I’m told he has an army two hundred strong.”
    The MacGregor snorted and shrugged his shoulders as if he didn’t care if Lord Newbury’s army numbered over a thousand. “I have nae intention of dishonorin’ ye, woman.”
    He laid her in the small bed, then sat at the edge, beside her. “’Tis bad enough ye’re a Campbell. If ye considered weddin’ an Englishman, ye’re a fool, as well.”
    Kate lay there glowering at his profile. She had the mind to slap him, preferably with an ax! Still, he made no move to ravish her, which meant her lie had worked. Either that, or he hated her as much as she hated him. The latter seemed more likely, since every time he set his eyes on her, he frowned.
    “Being a Campbell and a fool is better than being a MacGregor.
My
kinsmen never cut off a man’s head and sent it to his sister, causing her to lose her mind.”
    He angled his head to look at her fully, his expression hard and unyielding. “Ye’re correct. Yer kinsmen have done far worse.”
    Kate drew in a deep breath and forbade herself to tremble, though that trembling had less to do with fear and more with the rugged beauty of his visage. His dark hair swept past his shoulders. A strand on either side was braided at his temples and tied with thin leather strips. His jaw was shadowed with a few days’ worth of whiskers, but not enough to conceal the alluring hint of a dimple in his chin. His nose was straight and noble, his lips full and sensual.
    “Worse than carrying the head to a church and swearing on it to uphold the wicked deed in defiance of the king?” she demanded, pushing herself up into a sitting position. She tugged on his plaid when he began to turn away again.
    He took a moment to let his gaze drift over her features, then riled her temper with a slow, slanted grin that made her feel like the biggest dimwit in Scotland. “Ye speak of the forester John Drummond, woman. The MacGregors killed him almost seventy years ago after he hung a number of them fer huntin’ deer on their own land. Have ye nothin’ more recent to remind me what ruthless bastards my kinsmen are?”
    Kate blinked, and then her eyes flashed. “Aye, the worst among you killed my father and my grandfather.”
    His grin faded, but his voice still mocked her. “Are ye certain?”
    The door burst open, stopping her from asking him what he meant. Angling her head around his arm, she surveyed the four men filing inside the small bothy, one in front of the other. They pushed and shoved their way toward her. Then the smallest of the bunch, a pleasant-looking young man with enormous blue eyes and pale yellow hair, stopped and grinned at her.
    “Jamie Grant makes yer—”
    The man behind him bumped into Jamie’s back then swatted him across the back of the head. Another warrior, standing slightly to their left, took the opportunity to gracefully step around his comrades and bow to her.
    “Graham Grant, of the clan Grant,” he said, sweeping his midnight blue cap off his head.
    Kate watched his mop of deep golden curls catch the light of the hearthfire as he straightened. He looked like an angel compared to the rest of them. An angel, she concluded an instant later, with a wickedly seductive smile.
    “How do ye fare, Katherine?”
    She arched a brow at him. “How do you know my name?”
    “I spent the last pair of months with yer brother,