Much Ado About Highlanders (The Scottish Relic Trilogy) Read Online Free PDF Page A

couldn’t rub out the image of her standing here barefoot, her hair wild and her clothes in disarray. She inflamed him in every conceivable way. But in those moments, the idea of her long, creamy limbs tangled with his in a bed set his heart hammering, sending fiery desire to parts of him that should remain neutral. It was no use. He wanted her, and she was his wife.
    His wife
. All he could think of now was that she was his. That she
should
be his. Frustration welled up inside of him. He wouldn’t take her against her will. He would not crush the spirit in her, but allowing her to stay in the abbey—stay in the abbey with him—was not an option. She was like a falcon, untamable. She would have to come to him of her own accord. That was the only way, even if it killed him. But she hated him. The contradictions tore at him.
    “This is a mistake, brother,” he growled. “You know better than anyone where things stand between us.”
    “That was six months ago. This is now.”
    “Nothing has changed. She doesn’t want to be near me. Near any of us,” Alexander fumed. “You know what happened when I sent her that bloody letter explaining things. I laid it all out for her. Told her my feelings for her, by ’sblood! And what was her response?”
    His brother said nothing.
    “She burned it in front of the messenger and sent back the ashes, saying she never wanted to hear the Macpherson name again.”
    “Perhaps her feelings have changed.”
    “Did it look like that to you today?”
    “Well, I accept the possibility that you and Kenna might kill each other over the next day or two. But that is a chance I’m willing to take. I don’t care to start a clan war because we damaged the reputation of a virtuous woman.”
    “They took our bloody ship.”
    “True enough,” James replied. “And we’re getting it back, using negotiation.”
    “By the devil, James, why do you always have to be such a politician?”
    “Because we need to use our brains in this business as much as brawn. Reason is what’s called for here.”
    Alexander’s attention was drawn to the base of the stairs, where a nun was moving into the shadows and hurrying to the door of the Great Hall.
    “Then you’d best direct your reason that way, little brother, for there goes Emily.” He pointed. “And while you do that, I’ll just take my brawn up to the tower room and make sure that my troublemaking wife hasn’t murdered an old nun.”

    Roxburghshire, Scotland
    The twilight air hung heavy with the scent of battle and blood. Corpses dotted the gr
a
ying landscape. In the center of it all, the castle rose up beside the river like a brooding beast. The high gate yawned wide at the horrors around it. And in the stronghold’s belly, the rank, dark dungeons bulged with dozens of the ill-fated.
    Sir Ralph Evers moved across the bloody ground. Wounded Scots cried out for mercy, praying for a quick death, a sword thrust to the heart.
    Before fighting his way into these Scottish Borders
,
he had been
g
overnor of Berwick-upon-Tweed,
c
ommander in the North,
w
arden of the East March,
h
igh
s
heriff of Durham. But none of these titles held a straw against what lay ahead.
    In the name of King Henry, he was the Scourge of the Borders from sea to sea. Every town and farm was his to take. Every tower house and manor was his to destroy. Every Scot he came across was his to bleed. And bleed they did, for he had no time for prisoners. Unless they had a king’s ransom to pay.
    More than wealth, more than titles, more than the gratitude of his king, he believed in power
. . .
and fear. They were the only
“
real
”
things in the world. In his world.
    And he saw it in the eyes of every groveling peasant and laird that knelt begging before him.
    Horsemen appeared by the river. Donald Maxwell, with his sharp hawk’s eyes, spotted him and led his band of renegade Lowland cutthroats up the hill to where Evers waited. An old man, his white hair matted and bloody,