The Scot and I Read Online Free Page A

sharks and small-fry made her shudder. “I go riding in the hills,” she said, “because it’s good for my lungs.” When he raised a skeptical brow, she added, “What makes you so sure that I’m the lad you want?”
    “Your horse is still warm. And—” He took a swig of beer, made a smacking sound with his lips, then smiled a slow smile to himself. “And you were seen, quenching your thirst from a mountain spring.”
    She was appalled that she’d been observed unawares as she drank from the spring. She remembered the moment well. But that was yesterday, when she’d been spying out the lie of the land and planning the route she’d take once she’d taken care of Ramsey.
    A fine courier she was turning out to be!
    She was, however, a quick thinker and parried his thrust with one of her own. “And where was the woman you say I was guiding over the hills?”
    He shrugged. “At that point, she wasn’t with you. However, only one horse in the stable is warm. That leads me to believe that you delivered her safely then came on here.” He leaned forward, making her strain away from him. “Let me put this in plain language, Thomas. Either you take me to the woman or I take you back to the castle and let British Intelligence decide whether your are innocent or guilty.”
    Torture . The thought seared her brain. This man wasn’t tall, dark, and handsome. He was infinitely dangerous. Coldhearted. Unscrupulous. And she must never forget it.
    “What is it to be, then, Thomas? Do I hand you over to British Intelligence or do you take me to the woman?”
    Only an agent would hand her over to British Intelligence. Ramsey and his cohorts would want a secure cellar or dungeon where they could terrorize her in private. However, they were hardly likely to tell her that.
    He had the upper hand for the moment, but that could change.
    “If I take you to the woman,” she said, as meek as she could make herself, “do you promise not to hurt her?”
    “Ah. Now we’re getting somewhere. Give me her name.”
    She watched him warily as he pocketed the blond wig she had worn earlier. “Martha McGregor,” she said, giving him one of her own aliases. “She seemed like a nice lady.”
    Something moved in his eyes, something hard and unforgiving.
    Without thinking, Mahri edged closer to him. “Why do you hate her? What has she done?”
    He scraped back his chair and got up. “First things first. When I have the woman, we’ll sit down and have a long chat, you and I. There’s a lot you haven’t told me, but that can wait.”
    She thought a show of defiance might be in order, just enough to convince him that she really was small fry. “We’re not going out right now, in the dark?”
    “Move,” he ordered. “I know she can’t be far from here. You’ve only been back an hour or so. And don’t try any foolish tricks. It will be the worse for you if you do.”
    Mahri believed him. The trouble was, it would be even worse for her if she didn’t try to trick him. The thought stayed with her as she shuffled out of the taproom.

Three

    When she stepped out of the warm inn, the blast of cool mountain air seemed to clear her mind, and the panic that urged her to make a dash for freedom became easier to manage. There was no doubt that she would make a dash for it, but it would be at the right time, when she had a chance of escape. This hard-eyed jailer who was directing her to the stable with a hand on her elbow would not be easy to shake off. She needed all her wits about her.
    A little help from the dirk in her boot wouldn’t come amiss.
    She chanced a quick look up at him. That granite-hard expression promised a swift and severe retaliation if she failed to disable him. Her choices were deplorable: disable a crack agent who outweighed her by four or five stone or be handed over to the tender mercies of men who were experts at prizing secrets out of people. And the law was on their side.
    She wasn’t panicked. She was numb with