Read Online Sue-Ellen Welfonder - [MacLean 02] by Master of The Highland (html) - Free Book Online Page A

both.”
“I am fine. ’Tis you causing me worry,” Nella panted, tugging off her calfskin brogans. “Grand or nay, my lady, a shrine holds naught but the dust of old bones,” she declared, rolling down her stockings.
She turned a keen eye on Madeline. “Do you wish to speak of the reason for such an ignominious flight?”
“Nay.” The swift denial drew a frown.
And before Nella could read even more into her hasty retreat from St. Kentigern’s tomb and her wild dash down the sloping braeside, Madeline fixed her gaze on the thick growth of birch and juniper scrub edging the riverbank.
Tendered explanations could wait until her heart ceased hammering and her blood cooled.
If such were even possible.
Another wave of frustration began heating its way up her neck, so she swatted at the little bits of twigs and bracken clinging to her cloak . . . tenacious flotsam to remind her of her foolhardy flight and the futility of expecting the tension thrumming inside her to ease.
A thousand tomorrows wouldn’t suffice for such a wonder.
Not unless her shadow man’s mellifluous voice relinquished its hold on her, ceased spooling its richly timbred warmth so seductively round her heart.
“I’ faith!” She sniffed, her patience with herself near flown. Half-convinced some snag-toothed witch-wife had charmed her—and on his behalf—she gave her skirts a vigorous shake, but the twigs and bracken remained. They clung to her just as stubbornly as the tall, powerfully built pilgrim lingered in the periphery of her mind.
Nay, lingered everywhere, for his darkly handsome face seemed to hover in the leafy green shadows of the burnside copse, his haunted eyes, a rich peaty brown, beguiling her from the shelter of the trees.
Holding her fast in his golden-voiced spell, and as firmly as if he’d strode right up to her, closed strong fingers upon her chin, and simply let the smolder in his eyes compel her to his will.
Madeline swallowed, a tingling cascade of shivers rippling her length. Seductively delicious tingles prickling every inch of her . . . including her most private places.
Feeling almost besieged, she stared up at the cloud-fleeced sky, bit her lower lip until she tasted blood.
Romanticizing about her shadow man had been . . . sweet.
Proximity to the dark-eyed stranger outside the bounds of her dreams proved dangerously perilous.
Even if she ignored the allure of his strapping build and great height, an inherent aura of power and depth simmered beneath his dark good looks, his intensity speaking to her, and calmly winding its magic around each uncharted corner of her femininity.
Truth to tell, everything about him shouted loud contrast to the shuffle-gaited, staff-clutching pilgrims she’d grown accustomed to seeing on the road.
Her braw shadow man—for he could be no other— proved unlike any man she’d e’er seen anywhere.
Pilgrim, common man, or lordling.
And that knowledge sank her heart, for ne’er had there been a darker hour for a man to stir her interest . . . make her burn to see him again.
Closing her eyes, she took a deep, cleansing breath of the cool, damp air. And another and another, until she’d filled her lungs to bursting with the pungent scents of gorse, pine, and rushing water.
But such measures helped not a whit.
All the clean woodsy air in Scotland wouldn’t be enough to wash away the desperate yearning he’d ignited inside her. A profound need, deep beyond measure, raged through her like an all-consuming firestorm, and once awakened, she feared nothing would quell her thirst to taste the kind of fierce, undying love carved so indelibly into the walls of his heart.
Her own heart twisted with impossible longing.
She’d felt the boundless wealth of his emotion, its pounding intensity near bruising her ribs as, night after night, her accursed abilities delivered him into her dreams, revealing not just his pain but his never-to-besevered bond with one single woman.
A faceless female he cherished beyond measure, and who now bore