Morganna (The Brocade Collection, Book 4) Read Online Free PDF Page A

Water had made the fabric resilient against tearing. She found a frayed area and settled her teeth into it.
    “Aside from that, such a sett labels you a KilCreggar supporter. Not a man alive wishes such a title. He’d be branded a coward.
    Morgan bit hard on the cloth to prevent her cry of hatred and anger . She wished she had a dirk at her disposal now for a different reason. She’d not miss a vital spot. The tearing sound was slight but she watched him move to cock his head in her direction. He looked to have excellent hearing. She’d have to remember that. She palmed the square she’d ripped free, and rose to a crouch. It wasn’t a big piece, but it would have to do. She used the foliage as she paralleled the bank, approaching where he stood.
    “ Come out of hiding, lad. This is foolish. You’ve a FitzHugh sett to don, and a master to serve.”
    Morgan stuck her tongue out at him.
    “ Why do you hide, anyway? I’ll not punish ye further. There’s no need.”
    “I’m na’ hiding,” she replied finally, from a spot directly behind him. She noted he didn’t appear surprised to hear her from the new position.
    “ Yonder woods hold you bound, then?”
    “ I seek my privy, and he calls it hiding,” she remarked to the air as if it were her audience. She knew it not only explained her absence, but her stealth. She watched as he assimilated it.
    He laughed. “You a shy type?”
    “At times,” she answered. “This being one of them.”
    “Well, if I was blessed with a thin, bony frame like The Good Lord settled on you, I’d be lief to hide it away, too. The lasses must run at the sight of your white arse.”
    “ I would na’ ken. I’ve na’ tested it.”
    “F ind yourself a lass whose heavy of foot, then. She’ll be easier to catch.”
    He was laughing at his own joke as he sat to pull his boots off. Morgan turned away. She wasn’t risking exposure again until he was in the water, and she still had a braid to undo and test for damage. She’d seen enough near-naked males anyway, that whatever he could show her wasn’t going to be of any interest, other than sizing up her opponent.
    She had the braid undone, had raked out a fistful of shorn hair from the back of her neck, and had it re-braided before she heard his splashing. She looked across. That quick check showed that he’d gone beneath the water. Morgan darted in, grabbed the smaller pile and retreated to the shelter of the trees to don them.
    “ Where did you learn to toss knives, boy?” he called over his shoulder.
    “ What learning?” she answered. “I missed.” She was wringing out her binding cloth with the same twist her mouth made. She could hardly don it wet, so she tied it in a knot above her knee where it would dry better. She could put it back on in the morning. She secured the square of KilCreggar plaid beneath it. Then she stood, lifting the thin, linen under-tunic he’d brought. She pulled it over her head, lifted her braid out of the way, and relished the instant sensation of finely wrought, soft cloth against her bare skin for the very first time in her life. Morgan ran a finger along the hem, where it reached to mid-thigh. Even there, she could feel the perfectly-wrought stitches. He puts such cloth on a serf? she wondered, her eyes wide.
    “ You’ve the best damn aim I’ve ever witnessed. Missed, he says. Missed. I’ve a dirk buried blade-deep in all my hilts, and both tassels from my socks shorn off. Missed.”
    Morgan fought the smile before FitzHugh shoved his head beneath the water again, rinsing his hair, then she just did it. He hadn’t shown the slightest inkling of respect before. She should have known it was an act. The man might be small, but he had no dearth of courage, she surmised. To stand and taunt someone to toss knives until they were depleted took more courage than she’d guessed he possessed. That was another bit of interest she committed to memory.
    She tossed on the shirt he’d given her,