Sarah Gabriel Read Online Free PDF Page A

and a comfort. She allowed herself to lean against him while he conversed with the men.
    She glanced around. They stood on the slope of a high hill. The fog was thinner here, filtering the moonlight that spilled over the slopes and flowed over the misty glen. The Highlander had climbed higher than she had realized.
    Turning, she saw that the moonlight was strong enough to show her captor in better detail, even in darkness. Looming over her was a warrior angel. Or was that a trick of mist and moonlight? she wondered. He was tall and broadly built, his face handsome by virtue of natural symmetry: strong cheekbones, a square jaw shadowed with whiskers, straight dark brows over deep-set eyes that in daylight might be blue or green. His long dark hair waved loose to brush the collar of his shirt. He frowned down at her, his expression somber.
    She tilted her head and studied him. He radiated a quiet, earthy power, although she saw an unexpectedly impish quirk in the shape of his lips. Pride and inner strength showed in that face. She saw, too, keen intelligence and a hint of surprising gentleness in his eyes and mouth.
    Then she realized that he had been studying her while she was looking at him. She looked away.
    “If I do not wrap you in the plaid,” he said, “will you walk where I take you?”
    “I’ll walk home,” she snapped, and stepped away from him.
    He caught her arm. “You’ll come with me.”
    She glared at him. “Why?”
    He did not reply. Taking her arm, he led her down an incline to a fast-flowing runnel. He knelt beside it, rinsed his hands, and scooped water in his cupped palm, rising to offer it to her.
    “You said you were thirsty,” he explained. “I have no cup.”
    She blinked at him in surprise. Then she tentatively touched his hand, bringing his palm close to her mouth, and sipped.
    The water was cold and refreshing, and his skin carried an earthy, manly scent. Standing so close to him, her lips touching his flesh in a strangely intimate way, she did not feel awkward or embarrassedthis time. She felt that surprising sense of being in his protection she had experienced earlier.
    But this man did not want to protect her. He clearly had another intention by snatching her. Her cheeks flamed, and she remembered the moment when he had seemed ready to kiss her. And she had nearly responded—not to her captor, but to the man she sensed existed beneath the surly Highland brute.
    But she could not allow that to happen again.
    Swallowing, lifting her face, she stepped back hastily.
    “Thank you,” she murmured.
    He bent slightly and scooped her into his arms. She gasped as he began to carry her again.
    “Oh please, no,” she said.
    He stopped. “Will you be ill again?”
    “I do not think so. But I will not be carried. It makes me feel sick. And all that carrying could hurt you.”
    “I stole you away, lass, and you care about the state of my back?” Sounding bemused, he set her down. “If you will not be carried, we can conduct our business here. Neill!” he barked, looking over his shoulder. “Fetch the priest. We’ll wait here.”
    He spoke the last in Gaelic, but she understood what he said. “No.” She stepped away. “I’ll walk.” She was tempted to ask him why he wanted a priest.
    “If you’ll walk, you must keep step with me.”
    “I can do that.” She lifted her chin.
    “We’ll see. Whoa—come back here,” he said as she moved away. He grabbed her arm, then drew a length of rope from inside the pouched folds of his belted plaid.
    “Rope?” she asked, stunned. “Rope?”
    “I brought it along in case you did not want to come with me earlier.”
    “I didn’t then, and I don’t now,” she said pragmatically. “Stop that!” He wrapped the rope snugly around one of her wrists, then knotted the other end around his own wrist.
    “My apologies,” he said quietly.
    “You are truly mad,” she said, outraged by the makeshift leash. When she pulled, it only tightened