Highland Jewel (Highland Brides) Read Online Free Page A

tremor in her hands.
    "Na even if I return what is yers?" he asked huskily, his voice so soft only Rose could hear.
    She froze in her tracks. Her heart had risen suddenly into her throat and now refused to beat. "Mine?" she breathed, managing to turn toward him.
    "Aye." He nodded.
    She watched him in breathless panic, seeing one corner of his mouth lift in a devilish smile.
    "Found near the wee lochan yonder," he murmured.
     

Chapter 3
    Her cross! Rose clenched her hand over the empty place where it usually lay against her breast Air rushed into her lungs in one breathy inhalation. God's toenails! The barbarian had found it!
    Behind her the abbess and chaplain were silent. Did they know?
    "If ye could find it in yer heart to come..." The Scotsman slipped one hand neatly into the pocket of his dark doublet, his voice quiet. "There'd be na need for discussing—last night."
    Her gasp was audible now. Her hand rose to where her throat was covered by the coarse wimple, as if to shield herself from his eyes. Had he seen her nakedness then, or just found the cross?
    With a concerted effort Rose drew the shattered remains of her dignity about her, but her hands shook near her throat and she wondered if he could see. If the abbess learned of her shameful behavior of the night before, she would surely banish Rose from the abbey—or worse. She swallowed once, thinking fast and hard. But there seemed to be very few choices, for through the fabric of the barbarian's pocket she was sure she could see the telltale outline of her perfidious cross. "Your..." She cleared her throat, trying to sound concerned and sympathetic, but the single word squeaked rustily, so that she had to clear her throat yet again.
    "Your lord is very ... ill then?" she breathed.
    "Verra ill." His smile was gone now, replaced by an expression she could not discern in the dimness.
    "And he has a ... Christian soul?" she asked weakly.
    He hesitated only a moment. "Aye. He does."
    'Then..." Her fingers curled emptily near her chest as she lifted her chin a bit. "It is my duty togo.” She'd said the words stiffly, with not the least bitof feeling, and Leith raised his brows silently.
    "Ye've a heart of gold, lass," he murmured, but histone held no more sincerity than hers had.
    "You will find a companion to travel with her," commanded the abbess softly. "Someone from the village perhaps."
    The Scotsman nodded, his gaze shifting to Lady Sophie.
    "And you will vow to protect her," added the abbess.
    "Aye, lady," he promised solemnly. "With me life."
    Rose noticed with some irritation that the tone he used for the abbess was vastly different than the tone he used with her. There was no sarcasm now, no quirking of the lips that would make one wish to slap him. Only sober, quiet respect as he spoke to that lady.
    "And return her here—if she wishes—after you have no more need for her skills."
    "Aye," Leith promised, then shifted his deep-set eyes, so that they clashed abruptly with Rose's. "I will return her when I need her no longer."
     
    Rose would have paced but there was no room in her cell. Instead she sucked her lip and wrung her hands.
    The man was Satan personified. She was sure of it. Who else would be sneaking about in the woods in the midst of the night? she wondered, dismissing the fact that she herself had been there. Who else would ransom the cross of a poor postulate of the Lord to gain his own ends?
    And what were his ends exactly? For all she knew there might not even be a dying laird.
    Prayer time came and she prayed—with a vengeance. They would leave in two days. Enough time, he'd said, for her to gather her belongings and say her good-byes.
     
    Leith had not slept the previous night, kept awake by visions of a fairy princess. A fairy princess with auburn hair and fawn-like eyes. A fairy who was not a fairy at all but the answer to his prayers. A woman of flesh and blood who could as easily as not be the daughter of the old laird of the