Read Online Highlander in Her Bed by Allie Mackay - Free Book Online
Authors: Allie Mackay
Ads: Link
Mara's face grew hot. "I am not any such thing, and you are mad. Stark raving mad!"
A muscle jerked in his jaw and his expression darkened, but he did not seem inclined to let her rile him.
Nor did he budge.
Quite the contrary, he appeared annoyingly comfortable.
"We'll see about this, you… you! O-o-oh, there aren't words!" Spinning around, Mara yanked open the door. "Murdoch!" she cried, her heart hammering. "Please—come back here!"
But the old steward had already disappeared.
The corridor stretched dark and deserted. She'd have to deal with the dolt herself. More angry than afraid, she whirled to confront him, only to find him gone.
The room was empty.
Except for a jeweled dagger pinning the white flannel nightgown to the bed.
Shaking, Mara crossed the room and stared down at the medieval-looking weapon. She needed all her strength to pull its blade from the mattress. When she did, she tossed the thing as far away from her as she could and sank onto the bed, the ruined goonie clutched to her breast.
Laughter, rich and masculine, filled the chamber then, the bone-chilling sound sending her diving beneath the covers.
Next time, wench , the deep Scottish voice whispered near her ear, it will be my sword and you will be wearing the gown .
----
Chapter 4
Mara awoke to the skirl of bagpipes. "Highland Laddie," she recognized, blinking the sleep from her eyes. No tap-tapping drums accompanied the lively tune, but the stirring tones sounded so Scottish, so' right, she couldn't help but smile. Nor suppress a little thrill of excitement. Her heart began to beat faster and she tilted her head, listening.
The pipes sounded so real.
No, they were real, she amended, her pulse quickening.
And nothing at all like the cheap CDs her father played in his tartan-hung house at One Cairn Avenue. Bought secondhand at Highland Games, the drone and wails of Hugh McDougall's beloved pipe music blared daily in the narrow Philadelphia brownstone, each ear-splitting note shaking walls and offending ears, terrorizing the neighbors.
These pipes warmed and welcomed.
Especially with such clean, exhilarating air pouring in through the tall, opened windows. Scottish air, pure and sweet. And invigorating enough for her to slide a glance across the room, something deep inside her softening and warming as she caught a glimpse of sparkling blue water, a swath of cloudless summer sky. The morning smelled of pine, new beginnings, and the sea, and she didn't want to miss a moment of it.
Feeling content, she puffed a strand of hair out of her face and stretched beneath the covers, eager to enjoy her first morning as "lady of the house." Chatelaine of her own Highland castle. A notion that still boggled her mind, but a status she suspected she'd like very much.
Until she remembered last night.
The shock of finding him in her bed.
At once, any remaining traces of sleep vanished. The sexy Highlander's image filled her mind, his stunning good looks making her heart pound, his rudeness and daring sending hot jolts of indignation streaking all through her. She sat up, clutching a pillow to her breast as she scanned the room. The innocent-looking windows staring back at her from three sides and the nearest wall with its heavy oak dressing table and wardrobe, a huge gilt-framed mirror.
Not wanting to peer too deeply into the mirror's polished depths, she let her gaze flick past an antique writing desk, graced now by an age-worn china bowl and matching jug. As swiftly, her attention moved to the splendid hearth. The faint scent of peat still rose from the long-cold embers, and its white marble mantelpiece gleamed in the morning sun.
She released a pent-up sigh.
Everything looked harmless.
But then she peered into the corner where she'd flung the medieval-looking dagger. And just as she'd suspected, it wasn't there. Nor anywhere else she could see.
She blinked, the back of her neck prickling.
That part of her tingled, throbbed with
A muscle jerked in his jaw and his expression darkened, but he did not seem inclined to let her rile him.
Nor did he budge.
Quite the contrary, he appeared annoyingly comfortable.
"We'll see about this, you… you! O-o-oh, there aren't words!" Spinning around, Mara yanked open the door. "Murdoch!" she cried, her heart hammering. "Please—come back here!"
But the old steward had already disappeared.
The corridor stretched dark and deserted. She'd have to deal with the dolt herself. More angry than afraid, she whirled to confront him, only to find him gone.
The room was empty.
Except for a jeweled dagger pinning the white flannel nightgown to the bed.
Shaking, Mara crossed the room and stared down at the medieval-looking weapon. She needed all her strength to pull its blade from the mattress. When she did, she tossed the thing as far away from her as she could and sank onto the bed, the ruined goonie clutched to her breast.
Laughter, rich and masculine, filled the chamber then, the bone-chilling sound sending her diving beneath the covers.
Next time, wench , the deep Scottish voice whispered near her ear, it will be my sword and you will be wearing the gown .
----
Chapter 4
Mara awoke to the skirl of bagpipes. "Highland Laddie," she recognized, blinking the sleep from her eyes. No tap-tapping drums accompanied the lively tune, but the stirring tones sounded so Scottish, so' right, she couldn't help but smile. Nor suppress a little thrill of excitement. Her heart began to beat faster and she tilted her head, listening.
The pipes sounded so real.
No, they were real, she amended, her pulse quickening.
And nothing at all like the cheap CDs her father played in his tartan-hung house at One Cairn Avenue. Bought secondhand at Highland Games, the drone and wails of Hugh McDougall's beloved pipe music blared daily in the narrow Philadelphia brownstone, each ear-splitting note shaking walls and offending ears, terrorizing the neighbors.
These pipes warmed and welcomed.
Especially with such clean, exhilarating air pouring in through the tall, opened windows. Scottish air, pure and sweet. And invigorating enough for her to slide a glance across the room, something deep inside her softening and warming as she caught a glimpse of sparkling blue water, a swath of cloudless summer sky. The morning smelled of pine, new beginnings, and the sea, and she didn't want to miss a moment of it.
Feeling content, she puffed a strand of hair out of her face and stretched beneath the covers, eager to enjoy her first morning as "lady of the house." Chatelaine of her own Highland castle. A notion that still boggled her mind, but a status she suspected she'd like very much.
Until she remembered last night.
The shock of finding him in her bed.
At once, any remaining traces of sleep vanished. The sexy Highlander's image filled her mind, his stunning good looks making her heart pound, his rudeness and daring sending hot jolts of indignation streaking all through her. She sat up, clutching a pillow to her breast as she scanned the room. The innocent-looking windows staring back at her from three sides and the nearest wall with its heavy oak dressing table and wardrobe, a huge gilt-framed mirror.
Not wanting to peer too deeply into the mirror's polished depths, she let her gaze flick past an antique writing desk, graced now by an age-worn china bowl and matching jug. As swiftly, her attention moved to the splendid hearth. The faint scent of peat still rose from the long-cold embers, and its white marble mantelpiece gleamed in the morning sun.
She released a pent-up sigh.
Everything looked harmless.
But then she peered into the corner where she'd flung the medieval-looking dagger. And just as she'd suspected, it wasn't there. Nor anywhere else she could see.
She blinked, the back of her neck prickling.
That part of her tingled, throbbed with
Similar Books
