The Maclean Groom Read Online Free Page A

willingly tied to a stake and riddled with a thousand arrows by her heinous foe rather than marrying him.
    Joanna prayed she wouldn’t bring shame on the ancient and honorable name of Macdonald. More than anything, she wanted her father’s clansmen, once mighty Lords of the Isles, to be proud of her.
    She was a Macdonald.
    She was courageous.
    She was invincible.
    She was scared to death .
    In an agonizing moment of self-revelation, Joanna realized she’d rather be given to Beelzebub himself than surrender to the perfidious, diabolical, dragon-tailed MacLean.
    As she started to step forward, Father Thomas caught her hand. “Wait,” he said under his breath. “Let’s see what happens.”
    MacLean had the ears of a fox. He caught the hushed sound of the cleric’s voice and turned his head to stare at them thoughtfully. He studied Joanna for what seemed like an eternity, then suddenly a light flared in his eyes. “Priest,” he called, “fetch a holy relic from the chapel and bring it here.”
    Father Thomas left at once and quickly returned with the finger bone of St. Duthan enclosed in a small gold case. It was the chapel’s most sacred relic, having been safeguarded by the Glencoe Macdonalds since the battle of Bannockburn.
    â€œOpen the box,” MacLean commanded. When Father Thomas had done so, the tall warrior nodded to Idoine. “Now place your hand on the relic and swear by its saint that you are not Lady Joanna.”
    Choking back her sobs, Idoine gulped, then swallowed noisily. She looked at her mother with pleading eyes and her chin trembled.
    A hush came over the chamber.
    Even the angels painted on the ceiling seemed to hold their breath.
    Beatrix narrowed her eyes and glowered at her daughter in wordless warning. A shudder shook Idoine and her gaze flicked to Joanna, then darted back to the powerful man in front of her.
    What Joanna saw in her cousin’s eyes in that brief second told her all she needed to know, and she offered a silent prayer of thanksgiving. Idoine had no intention of throwing herself on the sword for the sake of her brother’s marriage to an heiress.
    â€œDo it,” MacLean ordered grimly. “Swear on this holy relic that you are not the Maid of Glencoe.”
    Her hand shaking, Idoine placed two fingertips on the bone. “I swear,” she whispered, “I swear I am not the Maid of Glencoe. By the sacred finger of St. Duthan, I swear that I am not Lady Joanna Macdonald.”
    The merest hint of a smile flickered across the Sea Dragon’s lips. “I don’t believe you,” he said softly. “Only a Macdonald would swear to a falsehood on the bone of a saint.”
    In the upper hall’s candlelight, the earring in his ear glittered the same emerald green as his eyes, gleaming now in satisfaction. Joanna peeped at him from lowered lashes, unable to understand the strange feelings that swam through her insides, like trout darting about in a stream.
    Godsakes, he had the most arresting mouth.
    And his intelligent eyes, crinkled at the corners from the sun and wind, promised a quick and lively wit.
    But then—she reminded herself sternly for the second time—even Lucifer had been beautiful before his fall.
    She would have to continue to deceive The MacLean for as long as it took for Ewen to come and rescue both her and Idoine.
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    Rory sheathed his dirk and turned to survey the Macdonalds, fully aware of the trick they’d attempted to play on him. Lady Idoine had spoken the truth; the honest terrorin her eyes was unmistakable. And he’d seen the frantic glance she’d cast the serving lad—who was no lad, at all, but a lassie. He’d wager his life on that. Christ, did they think he wouldn’t notice the long curving lashes or the clear, creamy skin beneath the dirt stains on her cheeks? The lass was a peach, whoever she was.
    As the supposed lad stared at the toes of