Taken by the Laird Read Online Free PDF

MacGowan knowing of it.
    She seemed quite a capable sort, but not exactly the rough-and-ready type he would expect a free-trading woman to be. Her eyebrows were slightly darker than her hair, gently arching over her stunning eyes. Her lashes were also golden, the ends russet-tipped. Her skin was pure ivory and her body abundantly curved, even through her disguise. Hugh could easily understand how MacGowan might be swayed by her…And at the same time, he did not doubt that some wealthy Aberdeen gentleman might wish to lure her into his bed.
    But whether she was a free trader or a runaway servant, there were no easy answers to his questions. He let out a deep breath and gave a slight bow. Whoever she was, he was not going to turn her out into the inclement night.
    Keeping her with him felt more exciting than it should.
    “Miss MacLaren, we will leave our conversation there while I go and find you a bedchamber.”
    “Oh no! I…can stay with the…Are there no…” She glanced about the room, frowning. “My lord, have you no servants?”
    Keeping his eyes upon her, he shook his head. Deciding to test her as much as inform her of the situation. Staying alone with a bachelor would surely give a proper lass pause.
    “No. My servants never come up to the castle after dark.”
    She swallowed visibly and gave him an equivocal answer. “I am sorry to be so much trouble.”
    “ ’Tis no trouble at all,” he said, confirming her audacity, but learning nothing new about her.

Chapter 2
    Necessity has nae law.
    SCOTTISH PROVERB
    T he fire felt heavenly, but Brianna’s clothes were soaked through. She needed to get out of them and into something dry, but that was out of the question. The few things she’d put in her satchel would hardly be wearable after being exposed to the rain. Nothing was impermeable to such a downpour.
    She doubted she would ever feel warm again, but staying at Glenloch was not a good idea. She knew it down to the soles of her shoes, yet she had no other choice. She could not leave at this late hour or in this weather. And the option of returning to Killiedown to wait for her birthday and her inheritance was out of the question.
    Brianna felt a renewed pang of grief over the loss of her aunt, her only other ally in the world. If only she’d known Claire was ill, she’d have returned to the manor well before this. Her three dismal years in London should have been enough, without returning for a round of winter soirees.
    Now she would never see Claire again.
    The wind renewed its assault on the castle, and Brianna shivered with the cold. Her teeth had started to chatter, and water dripped from her sodden jacket. She couldn’t seem to get close enough to the fireplace.
    At Killiedown, one of the servants would have already heated some bricks and put them into her bed to warm it. Her maid, the real Bridget MacLaren, would have helped her out of her wet things and rubbed her down with the softest woolen blankets this side of the River Dee. She would stoke the fire, and soon it would be toasty warm in her little bedchamber, and even cozier in her bed.
    But Killiedown would never be the same without Claire. Bree took a shuddering breath and wiped away her tears. When Laird Glenloch returned to her, she needed to be in control of her wits. She could not allow her grief to cause her to err, for she sensed Glenloch’s laird could be a dangerous man.
    Not that he would harm her. Once he’d known she was female, he’d relaxed his struggle against her. Which was exactly the problem. Brianna was particularly vulnerable to this practiced roué, staying alone with him in his abode. He knew how to tantalize a woman with a well-placed touch and a glance of sincere appreciation. Even while being questioned, Bree had felt safe and comfortable with him, as though naught could make him lose patience with her and her incomplete answers to his questions.
    She knew she should not have lied about her identity and her station,