Read Online In the Highlander's Bed by Cathy Maxwell - Free Book Online Page A

But she was no fool. Gordon Lachlan was protective of her because she was his hostage. Nothing more; nothing less. She shouldn’t read anything into it other than what it was.
    Besides, in a few minutes she planned to give him a run for his sword.
    His tartan was still draped over her shoulders like a shawl. Lifting her arms to show him her tied wrists, she said, “You will need to untie me.”
    With a grim smile he said, “You can see to your needs fine, lass, without my untying your hands. ’Twill be awkward but you’ll manage, and save me the task of chasing you down later when you try to escape again.”
    That wasn’t the answer she’d wanted. “You have a suspicious nature, Gordon,” she informed him.
    “Aye, and it is the reason I still have you, Constance,” he replied.
    “Yes, but you’ve obviously never had to see to your needs wearing a skirt and petticoats. It’s not easy.”
    The argument worked. He gave her a suspicious eye, but pulled a knife from his boot and cut her rope.
    “Don’t try to run.”
    Constance opened and closed her fingers. It felt good to move freely again. She looked up at him. “You know, if you let me go, no one would know you kidnapped me. I would go straight to Edinburgh and you wouldn’t have to worry about your neck.”
    He raised his eyes heavenward. “You could try the patience of a saint,” he said, with very little admiration in his voice.
    “Why? Because I want my freedom?”
    “No, because you are more annoying than a black fly, with your single-mindedness.”
    “Some would call being single-minded a virtue—”
    “Not I—” he started.
    “—because such a title could be applied to you,” she finished, neatly cutting him off.
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    He opened his mouth to retort, then stopped. “Do you want a moment alone? Or shall we be on our way?”
    “I’d like a moment alone,” she answered.
    “Then take it,” he snapped. “I’ll wait here.”
    Constance was tempted to bait him again. She liked verbally sparring with him. However, shedid need a bit of privacy. And at some point he’d turn his back, and then she’d have a chance to run.
    She began walking. At the stream’s edge there were some shrubs and the shelter of tall grass. “That’s far enough,” he warned.
    She glanced at him. He watched with guarded eyes.
    “I thought you were giving me a moment of privacy?” she accused.
    “That’s private enough. And I want to see your head at all times.”
    “You can’t,” she protested. “I won’t be able to do what I must do.”
    “Oh, you can do it,” he assured her.
    “You sound grumpy. You may need some sleep,” she countered.
    He growled an answer.
    Constance knew better than to argue. As the youngest in the family, she knew when she’d pushed too far.
    Happily, she set about her business.
    When she was finished, she went over to the stream, taking off the tartan he’d given her as she walked.
    The pattern was a deep blue and green, with a bloodred line running through the plaid. She set it aside and knelt to wash her hands and face in the clear, frigid water. She’d grown up washing in cold water and the outdoors, but this time she discovered, to her surprise, that she didn’t like it.
    England was taming her.
    She sat back on her moccasined heels and assessed her surroundings, something she would have done immediately back home.
    A crow called. Beside her moccasins, Constance saw deer tracks. All was peaceful here. She closed her eyes, listening not just to the water in the stream bed running over rocks, but the sounds beyond. To her left a leaf fell and there was a scurry of movement. It was a squirrel digging an acorn.
    There was another sound—a whisper. She strained her ears and realized Gordon was speaking to someone.
    Constance opened her eyes, wondering what it was he didn’t want her to overhear.
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