Amanda Scott Read Online Free

to the terrain even when they neared a swiftly flowing burn. Their horses barely checked before plunging into the icy water and out the other side.
    When they did slow at last, she tried to pry his armaway enough to let her breathe freely, but he only gripped her tighter.
    “You’re hurting me!” She tried to scream the words at him, but the result was no more than a ragged croak.
    He did not bother to respond or ease his hold. He did shift her so that she sat half on his thigh, half on his saddlebow, which was an improvement but scarcely a comfortable one. Nonetheless, she tried to force herself to relax, realizing that further exertion would only add more bruises to her sore ribs.
    Despite her new position, their pace was still dangerous, even foolhardy. She doubted that anyone would follow them unless Ardelve wanted to reclaim his bride. He was a kind man, a gentle man, for all Sorcha thought him a pompous one. But he was of an age with Macleod, and lacked both Macleod’s temperament and bluster.
    She had thought all those qualities admirable when she had agreed to marry him. But she found it impossible to imagine Ardelve leaping into a saddle to pursue her abductors. Moreover, if he knew of Sorcha’s attempts to inform Sir Hugo of her wedding, as so many others clearly did, and guessed that Hugo had taken her, perhaps Ardelve believed that she had wanted him to. If that were the case, then he, like Macleod, would be furious and do nothing.
    She was angry herself, but if she had to be honest, she was also pleased that Sir Hugo had cared enough to come for her. Not that she would marry him, even so. Had he truly wanted her, he ought to have approached her father in the proper way, and then courted and wooed her. He had done none of that.
    Indeed, Sir Hugo Robison had not struck her as a manwho would lift a finger to pursue any woman. He seemed more the sort who expected women to pursue him, and to swoon at his feet if he so much as glanced in their direction.
    Adela would not swoon for any man, ever. Nor did she admire men who thought more of themselves than of others. Sir Hugo was in for a surprise if he thought this outrageous abduction would impress her.
    The four men continued to ride without speaking, their pace picking up when they reached the top of a ridge she recognized as the south boundary of Glenelg. To the southwest lay the Sound of Sleat and the sea. To the southeast lay Loch Hourn.
    They were well away from Chalamine and from Glen Shiel, through which ran the main track for travelers heading inland. So where on earth was he taking her? How much longer did he think he could carry her in such a way before she succumbed in his arms from lack of air?
    They wended their way down through dense woodland almost aimlessly, and she had no idea how long they rode. Nor did she recognize the clearing where at long last they stopped. Feeling only relief that the wild ride was over, she looked forward to letting Sir Hugo Robison know what she thought of his impudence.
    He dismounted without releasing her, apparently little the worse for carrying her so far in such rough-and-ready fashion. When he put her down, she stumbled and nearly fell, but he did nothing to steady her. Despite her weariness, her temper stirred again as he put a hand to his mask and pulled it off.
    Having fully expected to see Sir Hugo’s impudent grin, she beheld instead the grim face of a barely remembered stranger—if, indeed, it were even he. What little she hadthought she knew of that man had no meaning, however, as evidenced by his very presence among mortals. She opened her mouth to demand to know what demon had possessed him to abduct her, but the look he gave her chilled her to her soul and froze the words in her throat.
    “Well?” he said, planting his hands on his hips and glowering at her, his head at least a foot above her own. His hair, she saw, was darker than Hugo’s, his eyes a grayer blue. He probably weighed twice the eight