Morganna (The Brocade Collection, Book 4) Read Online Free Page A

filthy garments and don fresh. ‘Course I’ll see that KilCreggar plaid shredded before I’d keep it, and—”
    The final blade went s licing through the kilt between his thighs, ripping material and thudding as it hit the log behind him. She heard his roar, and it wasn’t one of pain. She was already leaping obstacles and dancing around trees to escape him.
    Damn him for being small, she thought.
    Morgan was fast. She was light. She was able to move quickly and expertly, even though the sun was fast sinking, and he’d pitched his ruined tent near a lot of dead-fall from the trees. He’d also camped close enough to some source of water that the mist it would bring wasn’t far off. If she could keep him at bay until then, she could hide easily.
    She stopped, instantly attuned to the woods around her, and didn’t hear a sound. She didn’t feel the shove, either. All she knew was the tree he slammed her front-first into, before he had her shirt collar in one hand and actually had her dangling off the ground while he shook her. Morgan watched him with a stunned expression, not because he could heft her above him with one arm, but because her ears were still ringing from the blow she’d received.
    Then, she was drowning as he shoved her under the water and held her against the creek bottom. Just before she lost consciousness and sucked in water, he lifted her, holding her up long enough to shake her until her head rattled, and then he shoved her back again. Morgan’s belly was full of water, and she was coughing it up on the third dunking, and that wasn’t enough for him.
    The fifth time, Morgan forgot to suck in air, and just lay on the bottom of the creek, her face scraping pebbles, and being washed by moss. She was going to die, and all because she was too stupid to put a death-blow into her enemy when she had the chance.
    She could actually see bright light behind her lids when he finally pulled her up and held her at arm’s length in order to scowl at her. She wondered when it had gotten so bright, and had a chance to watch black dots swim through her vision before it settled back to semi-normal. There was nothing normal about the black hatred coming from his eyes and seeing into every secret crevice she’d ever hidden in, though.
    He swore again, and heaved himself backward onto the bank, hauling her with him. He had her torso locked between his thighs, and that was stupid of him. She hadn’t any fight left in her. None. She saw the glint of a knife and closed her eyes.
    “Open your eyes and face your punishment, Morgan!”
    He had one hand locked about her neck, lifting it from his chest, and the other holding a skean that made her blades look like the toothpicks he’d called them. Morgan felt the sting of tears, and hated every bit of herself for such a weakness, as they dripped out of eyes she didn’t even dare blink with.
    “Tears? You cry woman-tears, now?”
    “Just kill me and get it over with,” she snarled.
    “As much as I’d like to, I’ll not kill you. A good Scot’s squire is hard to come by. A fighting Scotsman even harder, especially one as talented with a dirk as you are. I’m just giving you a taste of your own barbering.”
    “Nay!” She screamed as his hand moved underneath her braid to raise it. She felt the cold of his steel against her skin.
    “This hank of hair?”
    He was slicing his blade through it, and Morgan started shuddering with the sobs. It was the only thing she had left of her childhood, and the only thing she had that marked her for what she was. A woman. Morgan hated herself anew for the realization. “Please?” she whispered.
    He stopped sawing. Morgan held her breath.
    “This means so much to you?”
    She nodde d.
    “Why?”
    “I don’t know,” she whispered.
    “ It’s too long, it’ll be in your way. It comes loose in a fight and you’re useless.”
    “It does na’ come loose,” she answered.
    “ Mine does na’ grow past the midst of my