Read Online Night of the Highland Dragon by Isabel Cooper - Free Book Online

he’d never yet seen looking less than watchful. She wouldn’t take anything on faith. She had consciously decided to accept what he said—for as long as it made sense to do so. He didn’t think she gave a damn about his word.
    â€œI hope I’ve set your mind at ease,” he said nonetheless, because one said certain things.
    â€œI wouldn’t hang well,” she replied with a grim little smile, and then went briskly on. “I don’t recall this man you talk about. We do have peddlers once in a while. Once in a great while. It’s possible.”
    â€œPossibilities are all I have to go on just now. It’s my duty to look into them.”
    â€œAh,” she said. “Speaking of duty, I should be getting back to mine.”
    The lady got to her feet. Naturally, he did too, and the size and excessive furniture in the room meant they stood facing each other for a moment, only a step or two from touching. Close at hand, Lady MacAlasdair smelled of autumn leaves and woodsmoke. William felt his pulse quicken.
    Being a gentleman, he kept his eyes on her face. He did not let himself regard the way her breasts swelled beneath her blouse. He did, however, see the movement of her throat as she swallowed before speaking.
    â€œI still don’t know what you’re hoping to find here, Mr. Arundell,” she said. “Dead is dead. Bad, good—once it’s over, it’s over, and most of the time it’s better that way. No answer you’ll get here will change that, not from me nor from any of my folk.”

Eight
    Judith didn’t sleep easily that night.
    She couldn’t blame all of that on Mr. Arundell. Sleep wasn’t as chancy for her now as it had been when she’d first come back from the outside world, but she still had bad nights caused by a scrap of conversation troubling her dreams, or a face looking too much like one she’d seen in pain, or seemingly nothing at all. Changes in weather, phases of the moon—the mind turned on itself once in a while, and it did little good to ask why.
    Why was never a good question. She’d tried to tell Arundell that. She doubted he’d take it to heart. People always wanted reasons—and he wasn’t the one to convince, if he’d been telling the truth.
    Judith thought he’d come closer to honesty than on the day he’d met her. The thought brought her no triumph, nor any real sense of relief. It was almost more disturbing to know that she could get a straight answer out of him if she pressed hard enough. It made her feel almost obligated to try.
    Almost compelled to.
    She paced the room in the moonlight, feeling the floor beneath her feet—reassuringly solid and cold, motionless and dry. She had learned that pacing helped. Flying didn’t, not unless she gave herself so fully to the flight and the hunt that she risked discovery. She had lived too long among humans to find comfort in inhuman things.
    Men had made the floor and the walls. She could not break them, not in this form and not without difficulty in the other. The rugs were braided wool, the dresser carved oak, the lamps on the wall brass and oil that she’d seen put in herself. These were normal things, everyday things. Judith caught them with her mind and steadied herself, turned away from the fields of blood and the sound of cannon.
    Once it’s over, it’s over , she heard herself say.
    She laughed into the empty room.
    Well, it was over, but nobody got through life unscarred, and a sleepless night had never killed her yet. She did hope Arundell was having as restless a time. She wouldn’t wish her dreams on him, but maybe a screech owl could take up residence outside his window. He hadn’t given her the dreams, but he’d certainly stirred them up this time, he and his need for perspective.
    He’d stirred up a few other things too. She’d meant to be disparaging with that glance at his