Read Online Quinn: A Scottish Outlaw (Highland Outlaws Book 2) by Lily Baldwin - Free Book Online
Authors: Lily Baldwin
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man, my lady. I do not steal for selfish gain. We’ve the support of Brother Matthew of Haddington and Bishop Lamberton himself. I fight in the name of freedom, against King Edward whose sword claimed both our mothers’ lives and countless lives more. I’m here, leagues from home, on the run with ye. I’m standing by ye when no one else is.” He stepped closer. “Ye’re not alone. Trust in me, Catarina. Quinn is every bit the man Brother Augustine was. I’ll prove it to ye. Trust me as yer father and sister trusted me. I’ll not lead ye astray. I’ll take care of ye.” He cupped her cheeks in his hands. “I’ll make sure this has a happy ending.”
Bone-weary with fatigue and heartache, her knees once more grew weak. Perhaps it was exhaustion clouding her judgment, but at that moment, staring deep into his black gaze, she believed in the strength of his conviction. All evidence showed his goodness. Never had a man treated her with such care and respect. And was that not what she hoped her people would do for her—remember her goodness? She had been a kind and fair lady. She pressed her lips together against the fullness of her emotions. And when she could, she took a breath and whispered, “It is good to meet you, Quinn.”
A slow smile stretched wide across his lips. “’Tis fine to meet ye, my lady.” He drew closer still and rested his hands gently on her shoulders. “’Twill all be alright in the end. I promise ye.” He took her hand then and led her back to camp where he spotted the kirtle and tunic bunched on the ground. “Now that we’ve settled that, I will finish making preparations for our rest. Ye must change out of yer gown.”
She wrinkled her nose at the garments in his outstretched hand and shook her head. “Out of the question.”
Not expecting a refusal, he faltered for a moment, but then thrust his hand out. “Yer gown is covered in blood. Take these.”
She glanced down at herself then met his gaze. He noted the stubborn tilt to her chin. “I shall wash it.”
“’Tis a lot of blood.”
“There is a whole river beyond those trees as you well know.”
“My lady, I really must insist…” he began to say, but she thrust her hand up to stop him.
“Save yourself the trouble of arguing. My refusal is final. I am still a lady.”
As a matter of fact, she was not still a lady, but he would not remind her of that. Anyway, title or no title, the woman standing before him was clearly accustomed to being obeyed. “Ye may be a lady, but ye’re also my responsibility. Ye and yer son are in my care. Let me remind ye, they will be looking for a noblewoman.”
She lifted her chin. “And?”
He pressed his lips, trying to hold fast to his patience. “Well…ye see, my lady, it might behoove ye to not appear to be a noblewoman.”
She threw her shoulders back. “A lifetime of learning and good breeding cannot be disguised.”
He could not help but roll his eyes. “It can it ye wish to live.”
Her eyes narrowed on him. “What do you suggest then?”
“I thought I made that clear,” he said, holding up the maid’s clothes. “Ye must change yer tunic.”
Looking as if she grasped something that had been dragged through refuse, she slowly reached out and pinched the tunic from his hand with two fingers and held it out in front of her. “Truly, you ask too much,” she grimaced.
Quinn snatched it back and held it up. He saw no rips or stains. The tunic was old and had seen better days, but overall it was a serviceable enough garment. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”
She shook her head. “It is ugly and rough to the touch. It will wreak havoc on my skin.”
Quinn pressed his lips together again while he offered her the kirtle to feel. He thought of how different Catarina was from her sister, Bella. Bella had never given them this much trouble. “Here,” he said, shoving it toward her. “Ye’ll not feel the tunic at all over this kirtle. ‘Tis soft as
Bone-weary with fatigue and heartache, her knees once more grew weak. Perhaps it was exhaustion clouding her judgment, but at that moment, staring deep into his black gaze, she believed in the strength of his conviction. All evidence showed his goodness. Never had a man treated her with such care and respect. And was that not what she hoped her people would do for her—remember her goodness? She had been a kind and fair lady. She pressed her lips together against the fullness of her emotions. And when she could, she took a breath and whispered, “It is good to meet you, Quinn.”
A slow smile stretched wide across his lips. “’Tis fine to meet ye, my lady.” He drew closer still and rested his hands gently on her shoulders. “’Twill all be alright in the end. I promise ye.” He took her hand then and led her back to camp where he spotted the kirtle and tunic bunched on the ground. “Now that we’ve settled that, I will finish making preparations for our rest. Ye must change out of yer gown.”
She wrinkled her nose at the garments in his outstretched hand and shook her head. “Out of the question.”
Not expecting a refusal, he faltered for a moment, but then thrust his hand out. “Yer gown is covered in blood. Take these.”
She glanced down at herself then met his gaze. He noted the stubborn tilt to her chin. “I shall wash it.”
“’Tis a lot of blood.”
“There is a whole river beyond those trees as you well know.”
“My lady, I really must insist…” he began to say, but she thrust her hand up to stop him.
“Save yourself the trouble of arguing. My refusal is final. I am still a lady.”
As a matter of fact, she was not still a lady, but he would not remind her of that. Anyway, title or no title, the woman standing before him was clearly accustomed to being obeyed. “Ye may be a lady, but ye’re also my responsibility. Ye and yer son are in my care. Let me remind ye, they will be looking for a noblewoman.”
She lifted her chin. “And?”
He pressed his lips, trying to hold fast to his patience. “Well…ye see, my lady, it might behoove ye to not appear to be a noblewoman.”
She threw her shoulders back. “A lifetime of learning and good breeding cannot be disguised.”
He could not help but roll his eyes. “It can it ye wish to live.”
Her eyes narrowed on him. “What do you suggest then?”
“I thought I made that clear,” he said, holding up the maid’s clothes. “Ye must change yer tunic.”
Looking as if she grasped something that had been dragged through refuse, she slowly reached out and pinched the tunic from his hand with two fingers and held it out in front of her. “Truly, you ask too much,” she grimaced.
Quinn snatched it back and held it up. He saw no rips or stains. The tunic was old and had seen better days, but overall it was a serviceable enough garment. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”
She shook her head. “It is ugly and rough to the touch. It will wreak havoc on my skin.”
Quinn pressed his lips together again while he offered her the kirtle to feel. He thought of how different Catarina was from her sister, Bella. Bella had never given them this much trouble. “Here,” he said, shoving it toward her. “Ye’ll not feel the tunic at all over this kirtle. ‘Tis soft as
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