The Highlander's Bride Read Online Free Page A

whispered his name in her ear, she wanted to retreat into the unappealing arms of another.
    Throughout the morning, she tried to ride with her back rigid, so as to not make familiar contact with the highlander. But by the afternoon, she had no more strength and began to relax against his chest. He was so strong and smelled so good. His scent reminded Laurel of her grandfather—earthy, warm and comforting.
    Conor was relieved when she finally gave in to her fatigue. It had pained him to see her discomfort compounded by her refusal to lean on him for support. But once she did, the torture he had been experiencing was even worse.
    All morning he had been dealing with the scent of lilacs, trying to ignore her soft skin when it came into contact with his. Now, with her leaning against him, he was living in agony that only would have been surpassed by seeing her in some other man’s arms.
    About an hour before sunset, Conor motioned to Finn to make camp up ahead. He veered to his left, leaving the others, and rode towards a thicket shielding a small rocky river. He dismounted and lowered her slowly to the ground, handing her a small pouch.
    He knew it was folly to continue holding her, but he seemed to have no power over his actions. She looked up at him expectantly but did not attempt to escape his embrace.
    “There is a stream just ahead for you to bathe in. It should not be too cold this far south,” he nodded towards a path through the bushes. “I must see to my men and will return shortly.” He let her go and turned towards his horse. Just before he left, he added, “You are safe here,” and rode out of sight, leaving Laurel to her privacy.
    Conor returned to the unmade campsite and found his brothers gathered, speaking animatedly about something, or someone. He handed his mount to Cole and went to establish a perimeter watch with Hamish.
    “What do you intend, laird?” Hamish ventured, wondering what his laird’s plan was with the English lady named Laurel. Hamish was a stout man, muscular with shoulder-length auburn hair. His dark green eyes flashed with whatever strong emotion he was feeling. Currently, it was a mixture of protection and possession.
    Conor saw the fierce need in his guard. “My word.”
    Only slightly appeased, Hamish needed to know the extent of his laird’s promise. “Your word? Did you promise her safety? Or to return her home?” When Conor did not respond, Hamish uncharacteristically pressed, “Surely, you did not promise to return her to England, laird.”
    This line of questioning was unusual for his normally quiet, reserved guard. The fact that it was centered on Laurel made Conor uneasy. “Enough, Hamish. We are returning to McTiernay land. I will take care of the Englishwoman.”
    Hamish did not care for his laird’s tone. It felt harsh and without warmth. But then, what did he expect? Conor had made it long known how he felt about the fairer sex. Hamish decided then that if she could not return to her people, he would ask for her hand.
    Conor’s brief discussion with Hamish left him irritated and cross. He knew Hamish was attracted to Laurel as were most of his brothers and his guard, maybe more so. Damn, he wished he knew what it was about her that made men desire her so quickly, so definitively.
    Conor told Hamish to finish checking the perimeter. He would meet up with him and Seamus near the rocky pass once he finished one more task. He told himself that he was just going to make sure that the Englishwoman was safe.
    As Conor approached the clearing, he could see Laurel sitting serenely in the river, facing away from him with her shoulders just cresting the water. She had washed her hair and it now glistened in the sun’s setting light. It was the color of spun gold with pale highlights that seemed to shimmer with its own light.
    He was about to reveal himself when she stood up. Upon her back were several ghastly welts where she had been kicked repeatedly. As she turned