Read Online The Highlander's Touch by Karen Marie Moning - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Karen Marie Moning
Ads: Link
cannot send you back, lass. I doona know how.”
“What do you
mean
you don’t know how?” she exclaimed. “Wouldn’t touching the flask do it?”
He jerked his head in a sharp gesture of negation. “That is not the flask’s power. Traveling through time—if indeed you did—was an incidental part of the curse. I doona know how to send you back home. When you said you were from across the sea, I thought I could put you on a ship and sail you home, but your home is seven hundred years from happening.”
“So curse something
else
to send me back!” she cried.
“Lass, it does not work like that. Curses are wily little creatures and none can command time.”
“So what are you going to do with me?” she asked faintly.
He rose to his feet, his face devoid of expression, and he was once again warrior-lord, icy and remote. “I will tell you when I have decided, lass.”
She dropped her head in her hands and didn’t need to look up to know he was leaving the room and locking herin again. It offended her that he was so much in control of her, and she felt an overwhelming need to have the last word, childish though the impulse was. She decided that making small demands early on might strengthen her position.
“Well, are you going to starve me?” she yelled at the closed door. She’d also learned years ago that mustering defiance could prevent tears from spilling. Sometimes anger was the only defense one had.
She wasn’t certain if she heard a rumble of laughter or if she imagined it.
L ISA WOKE WITH SORE, KNOTTED MUSCLES AND A KINK in her neck from sleeping without a pillow—sensations so tangible they shouted,
Welcome to reality
. She was surprised she’d managed to fall asleep at all, but exhaustion had finally overcome her paranoia. She’d slept in her clothes and her jeans were stiff and uncomfortable. She was cold, her T-shirt was twisted around her neck, her bra had come unsnapped, and her lower back ached from the lumpy mattresses.
She sighed and rolled over onto her back, stretching gingerly. She had slept, dreamed anxious, eerie dreams, and awakened to the same stone chamber. That sealed it: This was no dream. Had she any residual doubts, they disintegrated in the pale light of dawn that lined the edges of the gently blowing tapestries. No nightmare could have conjured the nauseating food she’d choked down late last night, nor in any dream would she have subconsciously surrounded herself with such primitive amenities. Fertile though her imagination was, it was not sadistic.
Although, she reflected, Circenn Brodie was indisputably the stuff of dreams.
He’d kissed her. He’d lowered his mouth to hers and thetouch of his tongue had sent heat lancing through her body, despite her fear. She’d trembled, actually
shaken
from head to toe, when his lips had bruised hers. She’d read about things like that happening but never thought to experience it. Before she’d fallen asleep last night, she had filed every detail of the kiss away in her memory, a priceless artifact in the barren museum of her life.
Why
had he kissed her? He was so intent and controlled, she had imagined that if he ever touched a woman it would have been with a disciplined caress, not such a kiss as he’d given her—one that had been wild, hot, and uninhibited. Bordering on savage, yet infinitely seductive. Made a woman want to toss her head back and whimper with pleasure while he ravished her. He was skilled, and she knew she was out of her league with Circenn Brodie.
It must have been a strategy, she decided; the man dripped strategies. Perhaps he’d thought to seduce her into compliance. Given his appearance coupled with the dark sexuality he exuded, he’d probably controlled women all his life in such a fashion.
“Somebody—anybody—please help me,” she whispered softly. “I’m in
way
over my head.”
Pushing the memory of his kiss far from her mind, she stretched her arms over her head, testing for bruises
“What do you
mean
you don’t know how?” she exclaimed. “Wouldn’t touching the flask do it?”
He jerked his head in a sharp gesture of negation. “That is not the flask’s power. Traveling through time—if indeed you did—was an incidental part of the curse. I doona know how to send you back home. When you said you were from across the sea, I thought I could put you on a ship and sail you home, but your home is seven hundred years from happening.”
“So curse something
else
to send me back!” she cried.
“Lass, it does not work like that. Curses are wily little creatures and none can command time.”
“So what are you going to do with me?” she asked faintly.
He rose to his feet, his face devoid of expression, and he was once again warrior-lord, icy and remote. “I will tell you when I have decided, lass.”
She dropped her head in her hands and didn’t need to look up to know he was leaving the room and locking herin again. It offended her that he was so much in control of her, and she felt an overwhelming need to have the last word, childish though the impulse was. She decided that making small demands early on might strengthen her position.
“Well, are you going to starve me?” she yelled at the closed door. She’d also learned years ago that mustering defiance could prevent tears from spilling. Sometimes anger was the only defense one had.
She wasn’t certain if she heard a rumble of laughter or if she imagined it.
L ISA WOKE WITH SORE, KNOTTED MUSCLES AND A KINK in her neck from sleeping without a pillow—sensations so tangible they shouted,
Welcome to reality
. She was surprised she’d managed to fall asleep at all, but exhaustion had finally overcome her paranoia. She’d slept in her clothes and her jeans were stiff and uncomfortable. She was cold, her T-shirt was twisted around her neck, her bra had come unsnapped, and her lower back ached from the lumpy mattresses.
She sighed and rolled over onto her back, stretching gingerly. She had slept, dreamed anxious, eerie dreams, and awakened to the same stone chamber. That sealed it: This was no dream. Had she any residual doubts, they disintegrated in the pale light of dawn that lined the edges of the gently blowing tapestries. No nightmare could have conjured the nauseating food she’d choked down late last night, nor in any dream would she have subconsciously surrounded herself with such primitive amenities. Fertile though her imagination was, it was not sadistic.
Although, she reflected, Circenn Brodie was indisputably the stuff of dreams.
He’d kissed her. He’d lowered his mouth to hers and thetouch of his tongue had sent heat lancing through her body, despite her fear. She’d trembled, actually
shaken
from head to toe, when his lips had bruised hers. She’d read about things like that happening but never thought to experience it. Before she’d fallen asleep last night, she had filed every detail of the kiss away in her memory, a priceless artifact in the barren museum of her life.
Why
had he kissed her? He was so intent and controlled, she had imagined that if he ever touched a woman it would have been with a disciplined caress, not such a kiss as he’d given her—one that had been wild, hot, and uninhibited. Bordering on savage, yet infinitely seductive. Made a woman want to toss her head back and whimper with pleasure while he ravished her. He was skilled, and she knew she was out of her league with Circenn Brodie.
It must have been a strategy, she decided; the man dripped strategies. Perhaps he’d thought to seduce her into compliance. Given his appearance coupled with the dark sexuality he exuded, he’d probably controlled women all his life in such a fashion.
“Somebody—anybody—please help me,” she whispered softly. “I’m in
way
over my head.”
Pushing the memory of his kiss far from her mind, she stretched her arms over her head, testing for bruises
Similar Books
