Read Online Frontier Highlander Vow of Love (American Wilderness Series Romance Book 4) by Dorothy Wiley - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Dorothy Wiley
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brother.
“You’re right. Fear not, if you are meant to meet her, you will,” William said.
They heard a running horse and both looked back to the road. A saddled bay raced toward them.
A piercing scream of terror followed by a loud roar and then a gunshot filled the air.
“You go. I’ll catch the horse,” William shouted.
Bear urged his horse to a full run. A moment or two later, he reached a woman fighting off a wounded mountain lion.
Using her pistol like a club, she clobbered the viciously snarling animal’s head repeatedly. Blood dripped from the animal’s shoulder, but the ball had not stopped the cat’s attack. A long dirk lay on the ground beside her, perhaps knocked out of her hand when the cat struck.
Bear leapt from his horse, yanked his own dirk from its leather sheath, which hung over his sporran. He grabbed the cat by the skin on the back of its neck, heaved it away from the woman, and planted the blade in the animal’s chest. It hissed and then died. Bear pulled the knife back and released the beast, letting it drop to the ground. It lay in a heap at the woman’s feet, blood spilling from both of its wounds.
The woman just stood there, her chest heaving, her long hair hiding her face as she peered down at the dead animal.
When she glanced up, he set eyes on her face for the first time. He breathed in shallow, quick gasps, more from the sight of her than killing the beast.
The terrified lines on her face began to relax as she stared at him with big luminous green eyes.
She
was
beautiful. Just as the horse trader said. Breathtakingly so. Her waist-length hair, a mixture of reds and golds, reminded him of the color of fine whiskey. It hung loose and in disarray from her fight with the beast. Her still panting chest displayed curvaceous breasts. She wore a plain olive green gown, now torn in a few places by the cat’s claws. A wide brown leather belt accentuated her small waist. A timeworn leather sheath hung from the belt. An armorer in Scotland must have made it, for interlocking Celtic knots—symbolizing eternity and something that cannot be undone—embellished the leather.
Was this Artis MacKay?
She stuck the pistol in her belt, picked up and sheathed the dirk, and then glanced up at William who just arrived astride his mount and leadingher frightened mare.
William tipped his tricorne at her. “Miss MacKay,” he said, “may I introduce you to my brother Daniel MacKee. We all call him ‘Bear,’ for obvious reasons.”
She turned her eyes back to Bear and opened her lovely mouth to say something, but stopped.
He decided he’d better speak up or he might be forever tongue-tied in her presence. He could see a few scratches on her arms, one fairly deep, but her fair face and body held no wounds. “I am most pleased to make yer acquaintance Miss MacKay. How do ye fare? I have some bandages in my saddle bag. Do ye want me to wrap that deep scratch?”
She glanced down at the scratch and took a closer look. “Nay, it just needs a good washing. Thank ye for yer timely assistance Mister MacKee.”
“Ye are probably still shaken, but yer goin’ to be fine. I assume that’s yer horse William is leadin’?”
“She threw me and ran off when the lion came close.”
“Horses are na too fond of mountain lions.”
“I can na blame them,” she said still somewhat breathless.
“Why don’t ye mount yer horse and I’ll load this mountain lion on mine. Camel is well used to the smell of all the animals I’ve hunted, includin’ big cats like this.”
“Why do ye want it?” she asked.
“So I can skin him and give you the hide,” Bear answered, surprised that she didn’t realize his intention. “These hides are quite valuable, and it is yers if ye want it.”
“Aye, I would, it would likely make a nice blanket.”
“Indeed, it will,” he answered, and stooped to pick up the animal that weighed as much as some men.
She kept staring at him and Bear knew it was likely
“You’re right. Fear not, if you are meant to meet her, you will,” William said.
They heard a running horse and both looked back to the road. A saddled bay raced toward them.
A piercing scream of terror followed by a loud roar and then a gunshot filled the air.
“You go. I’ll catch the horse,” William shouted.
Bear urged his horse to a full run. A moment or two later, he reached a woman fighting off a wounded mountain lion.
Using her pistol like a club, she clobbered the viciously snarling animal’s head repeatedly. Blood dripped from the animal’s shoulder, but the ball had not stopped the cat’s attack. A long dirk lay on the ground beside her, perhaps knocked out of her hand when the cat struck.
Bear leapt from his horse, yanked his own dirk from its leather sheath, which hung over his sporran. He grabbed the cat by the skin on the back of its neck, heaved it away from the woman, and planted the blade in the animal’s chest. It hissed and then died. Bear pulled the knife back and released the beast, letting it drop to the ground. It lay in a heap at the woman’s feet, blood spilling from both of its wounds.
The woman just stood there, her chest heaving, her long hair hiding her face as she peered down at the dead animal.
When she glanced up, he set eyes on her face for the first time. He breathed in shallow, quick gasps, more from the sight of her than killing the beast.
The terrified lines on her face began to relax as she stared at him with big luminous green eyes.
She
was
beautiful. Just as the horse trader said. Breathtakingly so. Her waist-length hair, a mixture of reds and golds, reminded him of the color of fine whiskey. It hung loose and in disarray from her fight with the beast. Her still panting chest displayed curvaceous breasts. She wore a plain olive green gown, now torn in a few places by the cat’s claws. A wide brown leather belt accentuated her small waist. A timeworn leather sheath hung from the belt. An armorer in Scotland must have made it, for interlocking Celtic knots—symbolizing eternity and something that cannot be undone—embellished the leather.
Was this Artis MacKay?
She stuck the pistol in her belt, picked up and sheathed the dirk, and then glanced up at William who just arrived astride his mount and leadingher frightened mare.
William tipped his tricorne at her. “Miss MacKay,” he said, “may I introduce you to my brother Daniel MacKee. We all call him ‘Bear,’ for obvious reasons.”
She turned her eyes back to Bear and opened her lovely mouth to say something, but stopped.
He decided he’d better speak up or he might be forever tongue-tied in her presence. He could see a few scratches on her arms, one fairly deep, but her fair face and body held no wounds. “I am most pleased to make yer acquaintance Miss MacKay. How do ye fare? I have some bandages in my saddle bag. Do ye want me to wrap that deep scratch?”
She glanced down at the scratch and took a closer look. “Nay, it just needs a good washing. Thank ye for yer timely assistance Mister MacKee.”
“Ye are probably still shaken, but yer goin’ to be fine. I assume that’s yer horse William is leadin’?”
“She threw me and ran off when the lion came close.”
“Horses are na too fond of mountain lions.”
“I can na blame them,” she said still somewhat breathless.
“Why don’t ye mount yer horse and I’ll load this mountain lion on mine. Camel is well used to the smell of all the animals I’ve hunted, includin’ big cats like this.”
“Why do ye want it?” she asked.
“So I can skin him and give you the hide,” Bear answered, surprised that she didn’t realize his intention. “These hides are quite valuable, and it is yers if ye want it.”
“Aye, I would, it would likely make a nice blanket.”
“Indeed, it will,” he answered, and stooped to pick up the animal that weighed as much as some men.
She kept staring at him and Bear knew it was likely
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