Read Online Kate Wingo - Highland Mist 01 by Her Scottish Captor - Free Book Online
Authors: Her Scottish Captor
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and snatched his tunic from the ceiling hook.
“Hurry and get dressed,” he said to her over his shoulder, his expression grim. “Riders have been sighted. There is no time to lose.”
Yvette was still scrambling from their makeshift bed when Iain unceremoniously yanked the plaid out from under her. As his cousin laced him into the leather breastplate, he wrapped the kilt around his waist.
Her l ust suddenly replaced with an unbounded hope, Yvette quickly dressed. Until just a few moments ago, she’d had no expectation of being rescued before they reached Iain’s Highland lair. The Earl of Angus was in Edinburgh on business and was not due to return to Castle Airlie until week’s end. And her father, having yet to receive the ransom demand, had no idea she’d been abducted. Which meant that the only person available to rescue her was the earl’s nephew, Sir Galen de Ogilvy.
I n all honestly, Yvette had assumed that Sir Galen would be glad-hearted at her sudden disappearance. As the earl’s sole living heir, he had more incentive not to rescue her. If she wed the earl as planned, and then produced an heir, Sir Galen would lose his only chance at inheriting the title.
Obviously, I misjudged Sir Galen.
And though she found Sir Galen de Ogilvy odious, she’d welcome the devil himself if it meant her rescue from the clutches of Iain MacKinnon.
Dear God! How could I have p ermitted the man to take such liberties with my body?
As he’d said so succinctly, it had been ‘a verra near thing.’ So near, Yvette had yet to catch her breath, her heart still beating an erratic tattoo. In truth, something wholly unexpected had transpired within the walls of the dank, cheerless hovel. And though arousing, it had been an illicit pleasure. She would even go so far as to call it a sinful indulgence. Still baffled as to why it happened, she only knew that for one brief, forbidden moment, she’d lost all sense of herself, having quickly succumbed to lust.
Fumbling with the buckle on her girdle – her trembling fingers making it difficult to slide the metal-studded leather through the clasp – Yvette offered no protest when Iain took the belt from her hands and deftly buckled it around her waist. Then, snatching her fur-lined mantle from the ceiling hook, he draped the garment over her shoulders, hooking the jeweled brooch at her throat.
“We mustn’t tarry,” he said, wrapping a proprietary hand around her elbow as he ushered her to the doorway. “If the bastards catch up to us, all will be lost.”
Yvette knew that he referred to the two thousand pound ransom, the fortune uppermost in his mind. Iain MacKinnon didn’t care a pittance for her. While he might fondle her body and trifle with her feelings, he would do so only to amuse himself while he waited for her father’s gold to arrive.
As Yvette exited the hovel, she noticed that the lusterless gray light of early dawn cast somber shadows onto Iain’s gathered kinsmen, the five men already mounted. Pulling her mantle closer to her chest, she braced herself against the chill, damp wind that blew with a ferocious intensity.
With a n air of barely contained excitement, Diarmid led a saddled horse over to where they stood, Iain swinging himself onto the beast in one lithe, graceful motion. Extending his arm, he offered his hand to her. Unlike his younger cousin, Iain appeared impassively calm. Although there was no mistaking the fierce light, like blue fire, that gleamed in his eyes.
Suffering a moment’s indecision, Yvette stared at Iain’s outstretched hand. If the brawny band of Highlanders managed to successfully elude Sir Galen and his men-at-arms, she would be at the fiend’s mercy for weeks, possibly even months.
S urreptitiously, she glanced at the deserted village, wondering what would happen if she suddenly grabbed her skirts and took off running. Because Sir Galen and his men-at-arms would soon be upon them, the Highlanders might decline to give
“Hurry and get dressed,” he said to her over his shoulder, his expression grim. “Riders have been sighted. There is no time to lose.”
Yvette was still scrambling from their makeshift bed when Iain unceremoniously yanked the plaid out from under her. As his cousin laced him into the leather breastplate, he wrapped the kilt around his waist.
Her l ust suddenly replaced with an unbounded hope, Yvette quickly dressed. Until just a few moments ago, she’d had no expectation of being rescued before they reached Iain’s Highland lair. The Earl of Angus was in Edinburgh on business and was not due to return to Castle Airlie until week’s end. And her father, having yet to receive the ransom demand, had no idea she’d been abducted. Which meant that the only person available to rescue her was the earl’s nephew, Sir Galen de Ogilvy.
I n all honestly, Yvette had assumed that Sir Galen would be glad-hearted at her sudden disappearance. As the earl’s sole living heir, he had more incentive not to rescue her. If she wed the earl as planned, and then produced an heir, Sir Galen would lose his only chance at inheriting the title.
Obviously, I misjudged Sir Galen.
And though she found Sir Galen de Ogilvy odious, she’d welcome the devil himself if it meant her rescue from the clutches of Iain MacKinnon.
Dear God! How could I have p ermitted the man to take such liberties with my body?
As he’d said so succinctly, it had been ‘a verra near thing.’ So near, Yvette had yet to catch her breath, her heart still beating an erratic tattoo. In truth, something wholly unexpected had transpired within the walls of the dank, cheerless hovel. And though arousing, it had been an illicit pleasure. She would even go so far as to call it a sinful indulgence. Still baffled as to why it happened, she only knew that for one brief, forbidden moment, she’d lost all sense of herself, having quickly succumbed to lust.
Fumbling with the buckle on her girdle – her trembling fingers making it difficult to slide the metal-studded leather through the clasp – Yvette offered no protest when Iain took the belt from her hands and deftly buckled it around her waist. Then, snatching her fur-lined mantle from the ceiling hook, he draped the garment over her shoulders, hooking the jeweled brooch at her throat.
“We mustn’t tarry,” he said, wrapping a proprietary hand around her elbow as he ushered her to the doorway. “If the bastards catch up to us, all will be lost.”
Yvette knew that he referred to the two thousand pound ransom, the fortune uppermost in his mind. Iain MacKinnon didn’t care a pittance for her. While he might fondle her body and trifle with her feelings, he would do so only to amuse himself while he waited for her father’s gold to arrive.
As Yvette exited the hovel, she noticed that the lusterless gray light of early dawn cast somber shadows onto Iain’s gathered kinsmen, the five men already mounted. Pulling her mantle closer to her chest, she braced herself against the chill, damp wind that blew with a ferocious intensity.
With a n air of barely contained excitement, Diarmid led a saddled horse over to where they stood, Iain swinging himself onto the beast in one lithe, graceful motion. Extending his arm, he offered his hand to her. Unlike his younger cousin, Iain appeared impassively calm. Although there was no mistaking the fierce light, like blue fire, that gleamed in his eyes.
Suffering a moment’s indecision, Yvette stared at Iain’s outstretched hand. If the brawny band of Highlanders managed to successfully elude Sir Galen and his men-at-arms, she would be at the fiend’s mercy for weeks, possibly even months.
S urreptitiously, she glanced at the deserted village, wondering what would happen if she suddenly grabbed her skirts and took off running. Because Sir Galen and his men-at-arms would soon be upon them, the Highlanders might decline to give
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