The Legend Mackinnon Read Online Free PDF Page B

flung back, banging the iron rod into the wall and rattling the rusty hinges. She stormed onto the porch and down into the yard. She turned a circle, found nothing out of the ordinary, then looked to the sky. “Goddamn you, Duncan MacKinnon!” she yelled. “Stop playing your disappearing games with me!”
    “Would you rather I had run you through, lass?”
    She whirled around. He was leaning against the open door frame, as calm as you please.
    “I’d rather you kept your temper.”
    “Like you, perhaps?”
    Her chest was heaving, her hair was hanging in her face and she was probably wild-eyed. Well, who wouldn’t be under these circumstances? “I was doing just fine until you tried to skewer me with the poker. You’ll have to pardon me if that gets me a wee bit riled up.”
    “You’ll have to pardon me if having my name and honor desecrated gets me
a wee bit riled up.
” He stepped off the porch and walked right up to her.
    Maggie worked hard to quell her heart rate and get her pulse somewhere near normal, but the closer he got, the more ground she gave on that particular battle. But she didn’t step back. She wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.
    He stopped less than a foot away and stared at her for several seconds. “Why di’ ye turn around?” he asked, his burr making the question sound almost gentle.
    “I couldn’t get the door open.”
    “That’s no’ what I asked you.”
    She suddenly found she couldn’t hold his gaze. The intensity she found there was too demanding, too knowing, too … much. He reached out a hand, but she jerked her chin away before he touched her. Somehow she knew she’d be lost if he touched her. And it had nothing to do with being spooked.
    “Why did ye turn to face me, Maggie?”
    Hearing her name, the way he said it, made her turn her gaze back to his.
    “Because if you were going to kill me,” she said quietly, “I wanted to make you look me in the eyes when you did it.”
    He reached out and, despite her attempt to duck away, caressed her cheek with a callused thumb. “Then perhaps you understand more about pride and honor than you thought, Maggie Claren. A shame ye were no’ around three hundred years ago.”

F OUR

    M aggie held his gaze for several long seconds then stepped back. “I … I need to get something from the car.”
    Duncan remained silent as he watched her walk to her car. His touch had bothered her. Far worse, however, was how much it had disturbed him.
    Uncomfortable with those thoughts, he switched his attention to her car. He couldn’t say much for her choice in conveyance. He’d seen better, and not much worse.
    He had found himself drawn to one or two technological advances over the years. Cars, airplanes, military armament. He’d learned that no matter the level of sophistication of weaponry achieved by man, the warring continued, with the outcomes differing little. Clan MacKinnon and Clan Claren could have feuded with ground-to-air missiles and exploding land mines and the outcome would have been the same. Weapons didn’t win wars. Men did.
    Cunning, skill, strategic command, aye, they had their place. As did folly, cowardice, and betrayal. In the end, it was man who defeated himself as well. Three hundred years of observing the rise and decline of warring nations hadn’ttaught him that. His gaze narrowed as Maggie swore under the awkward weight of the trunk she was levering from the car. A woman had. One woman. Had he not learned his lesson?
    There was a loud thud followed by a cloud of dirt and more swearing. Duncan folded his arms across his chest and continued to watch. Aye, he’d watch. And stand clear. Maggie Claren was not to be dealt with lightly. Or directly. He rubbed his fingertips along his sleeve, the fine linen not comparing well in softness to that of her skin. He curled his fingers and muttered a curse of his own.
    She blew her hair from her face and planted her hands on her hips. “Why are you grumbling? I’m