Read Online Some Like it Scot (Scandalous Highlanders Book 4) by Suzanne Enoch - Free Book Online Page B

time to time, and I didnae want him coming across ye by accident.”
    â€œSo ye brought him by on purpose? Would ye like me to set out some tea and biscuits, then?” came her sarcastic reply. “I can dig two holes in the ground as easy as one large enough to fit ye. Now fer the last damned time, go away.”
    â€œI dunnae think I will. In fact, I intend to untie this basket and walk it through the front door. So if ye think I mean harm to ye, ye’d best put a ball through me.” With that he swung down from Saturn.
    Peter made a wheezing sound. “Bear, please dunnae do this. If ye get yerself killed, yer brother’ll see my bones scattered across the Highlands fer the crows to dine on.”
    â€œYe and yer bones stay here, Peter.” Munro untied the heavy basket and slung it over his left forearm. “I’ve been shot before, and I’m still standing.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œAside from that, I think the lass likes me. She’ll nae shoot.” Intentionally leaving his rifle behind with the fishing pole, he started forward. Tree branches obscured the upper level of the structure, but she seemed to have found a good vantage point. Dangerous as the footing was up there, that was where he would be. Especially if he had someone else to protect.
    Setting the basket on the low wall, he clambered over. A musket ball slammed into the stone just where his hand had been a heartbeat earlier. Mortar and stone chips blasted outward, biting into his cheek. Damn, she was a fine shot—unless she’d meant to hit him just then. Without bothering to brush the dust and rocks off him, he picked up the basket and continued forward, to the front door. At the same time, he counted off in his head—a seasoned soldier could reload and fire a musket in fifteen seconds.
    Fifteen plus two seconds later, the door frame directly by his head disintegrated. And he decided he’d damned well been patient enough.
    Dropping the basket, he charged for the half-collapsed stairs and scrambled up them. She’d have to reload again, and this time he wasn’t being some lunk with a target painted on his skull. She would have to be in the northeast corner and leaning halfway out the window to get off that last shot, and he leaped over a tumble of wall and furniture that blocked his path. Whether she would actually shoot him the next time or not, he didn’t mean to stand there and make it easy for her. He might be attempting some patience, but he wasn’t weak-hearted.
    An unhinged door looked like it had been wedged closed. Munro put his foot to it and shoved. The old oak slammed onto the floor, dust and plaster filling the air like snow. And there she was, dropping the ramrod and lifting the muzzle in his direction.
    Dark brown eyes widened, a curse crossing her lips. He saw it all with startling clarity even as he roared and threw himself forward. Munro grabbed the weapon away from her with one hand and caught up the material at her throat with the other, dragging her up against him before she could flee or, more likely, punch or kick him.
    â€œThat is enough shooting,” he growled.
    â€œLet go!” she yelled back at him, leveling a kick at his man parts.
    Munro lifted her off her feet before the blow could connect. “How many bloody times do I have to swear I dunnae mean ye harm, ye wildcat?” he returned, his gaze lowering to her cursing mouth.
    Not certain whether he was about to make things better or worse, only knowing that simply grabbing her by the shirt wasn’t enough to satisfy him, he bent his head and took her mouth with his. It wasn’t gentle, or subtle, but her lips were warm and softer than he expected, and she immediately stopped trying to thrash him.
    â€œYe damned heathen,” she spat, wiping at her mouth.
    â€œAye, and dunnae ye ferget that, next time.”
    He set her down and took a step backward before he turned on his heel.