Winter Heat Read Online Free PDF Page B

vague, ambiguous creatures to him, mysterious as the kelpies that prowled the depths of the Highland lochs.
    Maggie MacDonald wrought all kinds of strange sensations on him. It went beyond his regular befuddlement with her sex. Whenever he set eyes upon her slight frame, a violent protectiveness overcame him. Yet whenever he tried to act on those impulses, she thrust him away. Outwardly, she was as frail and delicate as a flower, but inwardly she was fiercely independent.
    He didn’t know what to do with her. The more he remained in close quarters with her, the more he wanted to touch her. Beyond that, to tame her. His self-control grew more tenuous by the minute. If he spent much more time in this cottage with Maggie MacDonald, he was going to crawl out of his skin.
    Maggie certainly didn’t supply any assistance in soothing his tormented thoughts, not with her hot and cold behavior. One moment, she’d brush her fingers over his arm or his shoulders, murmuring how warm he was—and arousing him nearly beyond endurance—and the next, she’d catch herself and put as much distance between them as she could in the small space they shared.
    The blizzard raged on, and they sat near the fire through the day, sharing food and ale, and talking. She seemed cured of the effects of exposure to the cold, but bruises had deepened on her face and leg, and a scab had crusted over the area where Munroe had nicked her with a dagger—constant reminders that she’d been wronged. Just a glance at the black smudges circling the delicate skin of her eye was enough to make Logan itch to hunt down Munroe and drive him through with his sword.
    Satisfied that she no longer required his body heat, Logan slept on the floor that night. The next morning, snow continued to fall and black tinged the clouds overhead, promising the storm would intensify yet again. The snow alone served as reason enough to stay in the cabin a while longer, yet even if the weather had cleared completely, Logan still wouldn’t have taken her home. Though she appeared healed in body, he sensed the distress of her spirit, and he had no wish to lead her into danger.
    He couldn’t allow her to return to the Munroe bastard, Logan thought grimly as he pushed back from the table and took their breakfast dishes to rinse outside. He must see her home and ensure Munroe wouldn’t trouble her anymore. He didn’t relish killing, but if he had to kill the man to be certain, that was what he’d do.
    Maggie didn’t seem anxious to leave the cottage, either. Not to return to her home, in any case. When he’d announced he thought the weather too unpredictable to risk the journey down the mountain, she’d only spoken wistfully of the lost dragon pin that had belonged to her mother.
    “How will we ever find it?” she’d murmured sadly. “It’s probably buried under a mountain of snow.”
    It seemed to be all that she was truly connected to, all that she truly cared about, and he’d promised they’d search for it once her clothes had dried.
    He stepped inside and went to the fire to warm his hands. Feeling her gaze on him, he glanced back at the table. “What is it?”
    She shook her head. “Nothing.”
    She sat shrouded in shadow, yet light from the fire made her curls sparkle like black gems. She wore a plaid wrapped round her body, and he’d given her the use of his plaid pin so she wouldn’t have to grip the edges to keep herself covered.
    He lowered himself to the edge of the bed nearest the fire. As soon as he sat, Maggie gasped and hurried toward him, staring at his leg with wide eyes. The plaid had bunched up on his thigh, revealing the half-h ealed bayonet wound.
    “Good Lord in Heaven,” she breathed.
    He yanked the edge of the plaid down to cover his wound. “It is nothing.”
    “You’ve been stabbed!”
    “Aye.”
    “Who?”
    “A governmental at Sheriffmuir.”
    “You are a Jacobite,” she breathed.
    “Aye.” He searched her eyes, wondering whether