Possessed By The Highlander. Terri BrisbinЧитать онлайн книгу.
Like any good mother would, drawing the danger from her daughter to herself.
“Your scream said otherwise, mistress…” He waited for her to explain.
“Laren surprised me, ‘tis all.” She nodded to the path and then looked at him. “You are not from the village.” The woman searched the area around her cottage and then looked down at the path. “What would bring you to my door?”
“I am a visitor, mistress,” he answered calmly. ‘Twas the truth of the matter so why not use it?
“Then, surely your business lies elsewhere?”
Her words were clearly a dismissal, but from the expression in her eyes, Duncan knew she’d only just realized that she could have exchanged the so-called nuisance for something truly dangerous…if his intent had been such as that. But, his intent should have been to avoid identification by any of the Robertsons before his official arrival at their keep.
“And, now that you are safe, I will take my leave, mistress. You can see to your daughter without fear,” he reassured her as he turned away. But not before she gasped at his words and took a few steps to put herself between him and the cottage now. “She waits for you inside. I but saw her at the cottage window as I passed,” he explained. “I will make certain that Laren has gone before continuing on my journey.”
He watched as she ran inside the cottage and heard the bar drop behind the door a moment later. A stout bar from the sturdy sound of it. Duncan searched the area around her cottage to convince himself that the man had left before retracing his steps back to the main path and the bridge. Crossing the stream, he went down the road to check his horse and his belongings before returning to wait for Ranald at their prearranged place.
But in those next minutes before his friend appeared, his thoughts were filled not with alliances and treaties, but with the image of one woman who tried very hard not to let her true appearance show through.
And he knew not even her name.
Marian cursed herself a fool as she tried to catch her breath. In spite of her attempts to remain calm, her heart raced and her chest hurt from the fear. Not of Laren, who truly was more a nuisance than a danger, but of the stranger who’d stepped in to save her from harm. Before she could think on his dark gaze and tall stature, a small voice cried out to her.
“Mama!” her daughter cried before running into her skirts and wrapping her small arms around her legs. “Mama…” The words drifted off and were replaced by sobs.
“Ciara, my sweet,” she soothed, peeling her daughter loose and pulling her into her arms. “We are well, my love,” she whispered, smoothing the pale hair back and out of her eyes. Marian sat down, arranged Ciara on her lap and rocked her until she stopped crying.
When Laren surprised her while she worked in her garden, Marian had ordered Ciara inside. They had practiced such a thing from the time they’d returned to Dunalastair from her father’s distant holdings in the south. Living apart from her family, alone without the protection of a husband or father, could present dangers of a sort she wished to avoid. Even if most had not realized who she was, a woman alone with a child could be a dangerous thing to be.
Ciara knew to run into the cottage and hide next to the cupboard, if need be. Marian had always prayed it would not be necessary, but today had shown her she could probably not escape her past. Ciara quieted in her arms and Marian loosened her hold just a bit. Kissing her on the head, she whispered to her of her love and her pride that Ciara had followed her instructions. So, her daughter’s words came as a surprise and reminded her of that which she was trying to avoid thinking on—the stranger who had come to her aid.
“Mama, who was the man?” Ciara asked, rubbing her eyes and lifting her head from Marian’s chest. “Is he gone?”
“That was Laren, my sweet, and yes he is gone. He will not bother us again, I think,” she said, trying to reassure the child.
“Not him, Mama. The nice one who smiled at me.”
Marian lost her words, for she would not have thought the man who stepped forward to help her could smile or be nice. His face was filled with stern, angry eyes and chiseled, masculine angles that had no softness and certainly no smiles. With his huge dagger drawn and dark expression she feared she would be his target once he’d disposed of Laren. He’d stood taller than even her older brother Iain and was broader in the shoulders than even Ranald the blacksmith here in the village. A shiver raced through her.
Formidable might be a more accurate way to describe him.
Yet, even at the moment when she knew he was aware of her fear, she did not feel in danger. His sheer physical presence overwhelmed her, but not a sense that he would attack her. ‘Twas obvious that her daughter was simply having the fanciful thoughts that young children seemed to have at times.
“I dinna ken him,” she whispered to Ciara, whose head began to drop against her.
Growing fast, but still a bairn in so many ways, her daughter still napped most days. Now that the excitement was past, Ciara began sliding into sleep in her arms. Marian gathered her back close and hummed a soft tune to guide her way to sleep. A few minutes later, she carried her to the bed and laid her on it. After watching Ciara settle in and covering her with a woolen blanket, Marian lifted the bar on the door and went back outside to make certain no one was there.
The late summer breezes moved through the trees, but there was a hint of something cooler in the air. In just a few weeks, the clan would prepare to harvest most of the crops they’d planted in the surrounding fields and the drovers would plan which herds would be moved from the hills to winter grazing and which would be slaughtered or sold. Marian looked over at her own garden plot and knew she would be busy picking and drying the herbs she grew for use in the coming winter.
Walking around the perimeter of her small cottage and garden plot, she looked for any signs of incursion, or of the stranger who has walked in and out of her life so quickly. Nothing looked amiss, her garden lay peaceful and no sign of trampling appeared. Marian lifted her head and listened to the sounds of the day as it passed. Birds flew overhead, trees rustled in the wind, clouds floated across the sky, just as they should on this September day.
If not for the racing of her heart and the blood pounding through her veins, even she would have thought it a usual day in Dunalastair. Marian tried to concentrate on those tasks she still needed to complete, but all she could do was think of the stranger who had stepped in to protect her.
All she could see in her mind were his eyes—so dark to be almost black—gleaming in anger at Laren and then with intensity at her when he mentioned seeing to her daughter inside the cottage. And it was those expressions along with his strong and masculine stature that now made it difficult to breathe.
For not once had she, the Robertson Harlot, ever found a man to be so intriguing to her. Never had she let down her guard in the last five years and allowed herself to be affected by a man. ‘Twas so much danger in even considering such a lapse in control to occur that it never occurred to her to be on guard against such a thing.
She’d expected the nuisances of men such as Laren, at least once the news of who she really was got out. Her brother would give orders that would frighten away any serious approaches.
But she’d never expected the danger to come from such a stranger, and, after looking into his deep, dark eyes, she knew he was more dangerous than any who had come before him and any who would come after. It was the memory of his eyes that plagued her all through the day.
Chapter Two
Duncan spied the bridge as they rode toward it on the road and his stomach tightened. ‘Twas the way of it when he approached a new series of negotiations. His gut was ever his weakness, but his thoughts were clear and focused for now. His two days of visiting and talking with Ranald revealed no surprises that should cause problems with the laird.
Indeed, he discovered that the Robertsons were as