The Legend of Lady MacLaoch Read Online Free PDF Page B

path to Castle Laoch, and yet they’d both recommended the trek earlier that day, and this route was in the book of walks I’d found in my room at the B&B.
    Sheep relaxed on the large stone outcroppings that interrupted the grassy slopes. Deeper into the cove, water shimmered from its start in
the cloud-wrapped mountains, cascading all the way down into a four-foot-wide stream, which surged on to meet the ocean before me. For just a moment I stood and breathed in the cool beauty surrounding me. I ached for once, to have someone to share this moment with, someone with whom I could reminisce with later—they’d know just the moment and place, the fresh sea air. Instead, I was sharing the peace and beauty with bored, grass-chewing sheep.
    The wind picked up suddenly off the ocean, blowing my hair back—out on the water, beyond the outer isles, an iron-gray sheet of angry rain was moving toward land. It would be a race—if I moved fast, I might be able to make it to the castle before the storm caught me
    Up the opposite hill of the cove, I fought the slip and slide of pebbly rocks on one turn and at the next, soggy mud. All the while it felt like I was climbing straight up Everest; the wind competed with the blood pumping in my ears for the title of the loudest howl. A gentle shiver moved down my spine.
    I looked down into the jagged cove below, decided up was still better than down, and kept going.
    Finally, grasping a rock at the cliff’s crest like a handle, I stepped precariously up onto two muck-covered boulders. With one more pull, I crested the ridge—and squeaked in surprise.
    I was not alone.
    A man, tall and lean, in a wool sweater and jeans, stood at the top of the cliff. He spun at the sound of my shriek. At the same time, my feet slipped out from under me.
    My belly dropped as it does when an elevator sinks suddenly, and I could see out of the corner of my eye the rocks, like open jaws, below. The wind rose in my ears, deafening all sound and matching the fever pitch of my own voice. I reached out for anything, but grasped only air.
    A hand—firm and strong, wrapping around my wrist—was the last thing I saw before the lights went out.

CHAPTER 9
    M y eyes flew open. I registered three things immediately: the feel of soft grass beneath my body, the smell of salt air, and the sense that I wanted to get up and fight.
    “There ye are.” The man who had been standing at the cliff was kneeling next to me.
    The brightness of the light behind him made my eyes hurt, and I squinted up at him. “Yeah, here I am. Now, don’t touch me again or you’ll lose that hand.” My cheek stung, and I just knew he had slapped me. I sat up quickly and regretted it instantly.
    Nausea hit me like a ton of bricks and a noise involuntarily came out the back of my throat. That firm hand came down again, this time to the back of my neck, and shoved my head between my knees. The nausea vanished, replaced by a humming under my skin, and black spots danced behind my eyelids.
    “Let go of me!” I hollered.
    The instant his skin left mine, my symptoms lessened. I took in a long and deep breath, letting the nausea and mood work themselves out of my system. My fingers gripped my knees. I still wasn’t sure what exactly was happening, but I did remember that just a few minutes ago, I had been perched to take a fatal tumble off the cliff. The least I could do was be grateful to this man, despite his rough tactics.
    “Thank you,” I said.
    But instead of offering something gracious, something normal, in return, I heard him say, “Once ye get your wits about you, lass, I suggest ye explain to me how it is ye got to be ’ere.”
    Head still between my knees, I just breathed, ignoring the man hovering over me until I could capture my wits and restore them.
    “I’m waiting,” he said. His tone grated against my jangling nerves and before I knew what I was doing, I stood to give him a piece of my mind, my intentions no doubt clear on my