Devil of Kilmartin Read Online Free

with bits of pine straw and dead leaves, its color uncertain in the wash of moonlight. Her gown was ripped and mud-spattered. He sensed a fragility to her despite the pitched struggle they’d just been through. Why was she running? Why did that man want her back so badly as to track her with hounds?
    And where was the peace he had felt before when they touched? He took stock, waiting for calm to wash over him. The lass remained rigid in his arms.
    “What do you want of me?” she said at last, her voice rising and cracking as if she fought to control it.
    Symon spun her in his arms so she faced him. She gasped and managed to wedge her hands between them. Warmth radiated from her palms. He waited for that fleeting clarity of mind to follow the heat, needing to prove to himself he had not imagined it.
    But clarity did not follow. She balled her fists and shoved against him.
    “Release me.”
    “Nay.”
    “ ’Tis true? You are the Devil of Kilmartin?” She stood, her head held proudly, concentration etched on her face. For a moment he fancied her a priestess of the ancient builders of the stone circles.
    “I am Symon, chief of Clan Lachlan.” He pressed his fingers to his temple, physically forcing the returning stabs of pain back. “He called you Elena, but of what clan are you?”
    She did not answer.
    The surge of power he had experienced in the scuffle with the lass’s hunter was gone and all the effects of his madness stormed back through him like a battle-crazed army bent on destruction. Symon’s head was splitting asunder. His mouth was dry and his throat begged for water.
    If he wanted to learn the truth of who this lass was, and what had caused that strange, wonderful moment, he would have to act quickly, before he once more lost his grasp on reason. He must secure the lass until he could question her. Most likely, she was a witch, but he did not care. Anything that would dampen his madness, give him even a few extra moments of clarity, would strengthen his position with the clan. It did not matter the source. Sweat broke out on his brow and between his shoulder blades. His stomach heaved and the trees threatened to bend and bow to him once more.
    “Come.” Symon dragged the girl by one thin wrist.
    “Why should I go with you?”
    Fear radiated from her, and he could feel her glare aimed at his back. Still he pulled her along. She could glare all she wished as long as she obeyed his command.
    As they passed into the circle once more, she dug in her heals, forcing him to stop or risk snapping her wrist. “Where do you take me, Devil ?”
    He had to admire her courage, though her eyes showed the fear of a cornered animal. But he did not have time for pretty words to bend her to his wishes. The madness could crash around him again at any moment, and he must get her to safety before that happened. He could not guarantee she would live to see the next morn if he did not. And he desperately wished her to do so.
    Symon released her arm and quickly scooped her over his shoulder.
     
    T he lass had fought him all the way to the horse but became sullenly compliant when he told her she could flop like a sack of oats across his lap, or she could behave and ride behind him in relative comfort. She had chosen the latter, but just in case she changed her mind about cooperating, Symon kept a firm hand on her arm where it wrapped stiffly about his waist.
    Every so often he would feel her relax, then jerk awake again. At last her arms fell slack about his waist as she finally succumbed to sleep. Her gentle weight settled against his back, her body heat mingling with his own. After a few moments he realized his head had begun to subtly ease and his unruly stomach had calmed.
    Surprise roused him. He had not imagined the influence of her touch upon him. Though apparently she was strongenough to control this strange effect her body had upon his, at least some of the time. Anger mingled with grudging admiration. Few would