Wild Roses Read Online Free PDF Page A

he
could use a bath, the long day's stink upon him, but he couldn't stomach
summoning servants for the commotion they would bring with the hot water.
Instead he strode into the next room, a spacious chamber bathed in dim light
from the low guttering fire in the hearth.
    As quiet as the anteroom, Duncan's gaze went at once to
the massive canopied bed, Flanna snuggled so deeply under the covers that he
could barely see the top of her dark head.
    Strange, that she could be too tired to greet him.
Usually wine would be poured, a sensual welcome in her teasing green eyes.
Wondering if Adele had said something to distress her, he decided against
waking her, afraid of the flood of tears that might provoke. If there was
anything that wearied him about Flanna, it was her petulant nature; any small
slight on the part of the servants was sure to bring on a bout of pouting or
weeping. At first it had amused him, but now . . .
    Sighing heavily, Duncan poured his own goblet of wine
from the pitcher placed near the bed, then settled into a carved chair in front
of the hearth. He stretched out his legs, kneading a stiff muscle in his thigh,
the fire warming his flesh if not his mood. He lifted the goblet and drank
deeply, then leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes.
    It wasn't Flanna's petulance that wearied him. In
truth, no woman amused him for long. It was an impossible thing, a cold fact to
which he'd grown accustomed. None could ever compare . . . would ever compare,
to Gisele.
    He really hadn't thought of her for weeks, tried not to
think of her at all, but now her image seemed to drift in front of him—her long
honey hair rivaling the brightness of the sun, her smile, the love shining in
her eyes, as radiant—making his stomach knot and his heart thunder. Any tears
had been shed long ago, but the piercing ache inside him remained as surely as
he breathed.
    She was to have been his bride. But he had lost her.
Only days before the secret wedding they had planned, fate dealt the cruelest
of blows. And now Adele had come to Ireland to help him find a wife . . .
    A laugh as grim as Duncan felt echoed around the
chamber, his throat grown so painfully tight that he could barely finish his
wine. Settle for another after he had known perfection? The sound of the empty
goblet, too, scraping upon the stone floor when he set it down, seemed as
bleak, and he scowled when a soft sigh came from the bed.
    God's teeth, he was in no fit temper to contend with
Flanna's complaints! Hoping that he hadn't woken her, he rose and moved
silently to the bed, relieved to see that she still lay almost completely
covered by blankets, her back to him. Which was odd, too, considering how she
preferred to sleep cuddled against him, but tonight he was more than thankful
for the respite.
    Just as quietly he stripped out of his braies and
climbed in naked beside her, turning his back as well. He heard another small
sigh, and felt her shift ever so slightly, but he ignored her and shut his
eyes.

     
    ***

     
    So quiet. So dark. Fearing she might be in her own
grave, Maire couldn't move for long moments, didn't dare move, only the dull
throbbing in her head convincing her finally that she was yet alive. But why
then, did she feel as if she were smothering . . . ?
    She blinked several times, something warm and soft over
her face that slow recognition told her was no grave at all, but a woolen
blanket that smelled of fresh air as if recently hung to dry in the sun—
    Jesu, Mary, and Joseph, the sun! Desperately she
squeezed her eyes closed, but she could not shut out the horrible memories
rushing in upon her. Pain, such dreadful pain, and blinding sunlight, and
shrill feminine laughter that pounded within her skull like a thousand hammers.
And Fiach, oh God, poor Fiach and the others . . . all slaughtered. Dead.
    Again she couldn't move, her
fear so sharp that she tasted blood from biting her lips. Where was she? Where
were the Normans who had