The Beauty of the Mist Read Online Free PDF Page A

shortly. “Any injury?”
    “None.” She whispered simply, turning and stumbling once more as she knelt beside Isabel.
    John looked at the small, water-soaked figure at his feet, and his heart warmed to the bedraggled creature. He’d heard the tremble in her voice. There was a childlike quality about her—an uncertainty—that made him wonder for a moment from what depths she had conjured the strength to survive the ordeal of being adrift at sea.
    The gray wool dress that the woman wore beneath her cloak must have been clean at one time, but it was now ruined with dark stains and sea water. Almost as if she could read his thoughts, the young woman pulled her heavy cloak tighter around her, making it nearly impossible for John to ascertain anything more about her.
    Laying her fingers lightly on her aunt’s cold, limp hand, Maria fought off the desire to run away from the gaze of the giant standing behind her. She could feel his eyes burning into her even as she tended to Isabel. For a brief moment, she thought that perhaps the mariner knew who she was, but her attention was diverted as her aunt began to murmur in her unconscious state.
    She seemed quite young, John thought, but a strange bittersweet sensation swept over the Highlander as it occurred to him that nearly every woman he met now seemed to be quite young. The attention she showed to the other indicated that they must be related somehow. Mother and daughter perhaps.
    “There is blood on your cloak. Are you certain you have no wounds?”
    “None,” she responded evenly. “It’s the sailor’s blood. Not mine.”
    She did not even turn her head when she answered, but he could see the shiver. The shock, John thought. Being cold and wet and left in a boat drifting at sea can test the mettle of the toughest men.
    “Are there other boats coming?” he asked. “Other survivors?”
    “None that we saw,” she whispered.
    “How long were you in the boat?”
    “Long.”
    “How long?”
    She didn’t answer, only shrugged her shoulders in return.
    “Did your ship sink?”
    She didn’t answer again. John found himself quickly becoming tired of speaking to the back of the woman’s head.
    “Where’s the bloody surgeon?” he asked irritably over his shoulder, and moving—as he spoke—to the other side of the injured woman’s body. There, he crouched, facing the young woman.
    “He’s coming, m’lord,” the ship’s mate responded, pushing into the circle.
    “Who attacked you and how many ships were involved in the fight?” John asked, forcing his voice onto a more even keel.
    Maria stared at her aunt’s closed eyes. Isabel was resting, at least. But she still couldn’t bring herself to lift her gaze and look at the man. She felt vulnerable, lost, and she fought to hide the tremors that were going through her body. She didn’t have to look about her to know that she was encircled by dozens of curious spectators, watching her every move, hanging on her every word. Like a prize doe, hunted and injured and brought to bay at last, she felt trapped. What were they going to do to them? The giant, the one asking the questions, was clearly in command, and the others obviously feared him. She knew she should, as well. He had called them the devil’s sisters.
    “I need to know these things.” His voice was sharper than he intended, but still John reached over and tapped the woman gently on the shoulder. “How many ships?”
    “Just one.” Her eyes flitted briefly to his face, but dropped immediately.
    Her eyes were the color of jade, and John found himself staring as she lowered them. They were the most beautiful color, set in a face devoid of color. The paleness of her complexion only served to heighten the stunning effect of her green eyes.
    “A French ship,” she continued. “Only one.”
    John nodded. Looking into her face, he found himself at a loss for words. Letting his eyes drop from the young woman’s face to her exposed hands, he could see