Read Online The Return of Black Douglas by Elaine Coffman - Free Book Online Page A

fallen branches. When at last she rolled to a stop, she was certain she was paralyzed, and the only medical doctor in this whole time period had just gotten herself seized. Why had she had to cry over the effigy of the Black Douglas? And where was he now?
    A light breeze stirred. A few dried leaves fluttered and fell back to the ground. Then everything fell silent. She hurt everywhere, and what didn’t hurt ached abominably. However, if she hurt, she wasn’t paralyzed. Her thumb, especially, hurt like hell—probably jammed or broken.
    Glancing down, she could see her body looked like she had run through briars or had an encounter with a giant porcupine. Dozens of scratches oozed blood. She also had that tinny taste in her mouth. And those were just her obvious injuries. She didn’t even want to think about the numb places or how her insides might have suffered.
    She remembered her Prada backpack and, after a brief search, was relieved to find it had survived the fall and that her arms were still wound through the straps. She removed it and absently placed it on the ground next to her, trying to come up with a plan. She rolled over and struggled to stand, but her ankle hurt too much to put weight on it.
    She doubted it was broken—probably a severe sprain or minor fracture that would take eons to heal. Either way, there was nothing she could do about it. Her legs were burning like fire, and she cursed her stupidity for wearing shorts. Showing so much flesh will garner lots of points with the womenfolk before they scratched her eyes out. If she didn’t end up being raped, it would be a miracle.
    She put weight on her foot again, simply because she had to get out of this place before dark. She tried to take a step and fell. She gritted her teeth against the ripping pain in her ankle. While she wondered what else could go wrong, she was beginning to think Elisabeth was the more fortunate of the two. At least she didn’t have to spend the night alone in a strange landscape, at the mercy of God knows what. All sorts of creatures could be lurking about—wolves, wildcats, wild boars, and the like—all probably ravenously hungry.
    She didn’t know where she was, and even if she did, there wouldn’t be any clothing stores about and she had no money—and no one to contact even if she did. If she did find a village, they would probably murder her for looking like a harlot on hard times.
    Welcome to Scotland…
    A faint breeze stirred. A solitary quietness settled around her. A lonely owl hooted somewhere in the distance. Isobella shivered at the reminder that she was all alone and there was no escape. Her ankle was swelling like a yeast cake, and she could hear the rush of water from a nearby burn. Cold water would help her ankle, so she attempted to stand, fell, and decided to stay there.
    She feared for Elisabeth. Would she be raped or killed, or would she spend her life in the bowels of a castle’s dank dungeon? Isobella knew this time period, and the chances of Elisabeth being carted off by a sympathetic and kind-hearted band of men were about as slim as her own chances of being rescued by anyone. Here she was, the lead character in a time-travel tale hosted by a famous warrior-ghost and set in sixteenth-century Scotland. So, where were the spine-tingling feats of daring, the heroine nearly ravaged and rescued at the last moment? Where was the hero who would appear out of nowhere to rescue her?
    She didn’t want to die like this. She wanted to live. Give me another chance. Give me a hero…
    A breeze stirred. Leaves rustled. A rock tumbled down the crag. She looked up and saw him astride a sturdy horse, staring down at her. The sun glinted on his armor, making him look like an avenging angel. The two of them looked at each other for a moment, studying each other intently. Something about the aura that surrounded him said he was not a commoner, and his clothes seemed to verify that, for he wore a dark red surcoat that