Read Online Devil's Angel by Mallery Malone - Free Book Online

Conor’s soul. That guilt was balanced by the knowledge that none of his men had lost their lives. This time, at least, the demons that haunted him would leave him in peace.
    Conor glanced at the window again. “I don’t know yet.”
    They entered the dun. The main level was windowless, lighted by torches at short intervals along the walls. The smell of roasting meat wafted from the kitchens and out the door behind them. Servants waited for them with basins of water and towels to clean their faces, hands and feet, and cups of ale to soothe their parched throats.
    The cool water did nothing to curb his reaction to the sight of Erika leaning out of his chamber window to watch his arrival. Her pale hair had glistened in the sunlight, floating on the breeze like a silver pennant. Her gaze had been so intent that it was a tangible thing on his skin.
    Need slammed into him, hardening his flesh. Enemy or no, Conor wanted to sink his hands into Erika’s hair and taste her fully, to join her in his bed and never let her out.
    Ardan’s soft curse brought him out of his musings. “What?”
    “Careful, lad.”
    Conor paused, one foot on the stairs leading to the upper level. “That is too cryptic even for you, Ardan.”
    The eyes staring back at him were heavy with warning. “I don’t like the look you’re wearing. Remember who and what she is.”
    “A woman.”
    “A Viking woman who tried to kill you.”
    “Do you believe I could ever forget?”
    Without waiting for a reply, Conor mounted the stairs to his chamber. Padraig, who had command of the dun in Conor and Ardan’s absence, stood outside his door with another guard. Both hung their heads in abject misery. Gwynna was also there, with a servant carrying a basin of water and a stack of cloth. His sister was standing toe to toe with Padraig, haranguing him in that soft, quiet way she had that could reduce even the stoutest man to a quivering, useless mass.
    Schooling his features into a bland expression, Conor approached them. “How fares our guest?”
    “And how would I be knowing that, I ask you?” Gwyn wondered, her tone tart. “Your guards have not allowed me to enter. For all I know, she could be lying dead of a festering wound!”
    Padraig turned helpless eyes to Conor. “ Tigerna , I explained that your orders were to allow no one to enter. I did not think it safe to allow Lady Gwynna to go in.”
    “’Tis apparent he believed that Lady Erika would put a bandage to my throat and hold me hostage until your return,” she retorted. She turned to Padraig, giving him a sweet smile that had little kindness to it. “I appreciate your concern for my safety.”
    The sentry blushed the color of his hair. “All is quiet within now, but the first night it sounded as if a bhean sidhe were trapped in the room. The second and third nights were most quiet, save for her pacing and muttering. When I brought her meals in, she never spoke a word, just followed my every movement with those damnable eyes of hers.”
    He shuddered, then made the sign to ward away evil. “Sure, if she needed a healer, she would have said,” he finished.
    Gwyn’s answering snort made her opinion clear. For himself, Conor had to agree with her. Erika was proud to the point of stubbornness. She would not ask anything for herself, even to save her life.
    “Thank you, Padraig. You may go.” Both men bowed and retreated. Conor turned to his sister. He could see the argument brewing in her emerald eyes, and diverted it by asking, “What of the Angel’s brother?”
    Her ire softened. “He’s recovering remarkable well, enough to demand to see his sister. He does not believe we have treated her fairly. Although I have attempted to disabuse him of that notion, my voice must have lacked conviction. He is quite angry.”
    Stillness gathered in Conor’s bones. “Has he threatened or hurt you?”
    “No. Olan has been most kind, given the circumstances. You cannot begrudge him wanting to see his