Pride of the Clan Read Online Free

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    Riding with an intimidating Highlander atop a monstrous horse seemed more appealing. “I should stay in the wagon with my aunt and uncle,” she said hesitantly.
    “I assure ye no harm will come to them,” Rheade replied, taking the reins in one hand and holding the other out to her.
    She put her hand in his. The sheer size and enveloping warmth of it did strange things to her innards. His skin was rough, as she’d expected for a man who looked like he lived most of his life outdoors, yet his touch was gentle.  
    She threw caution to the winds. Their lives might depend on charming this attractive brother of the chief of the clan. She had never been flirtatious, but decided this was the time to learn. She fluttered her eyelashes as she’d seen maidservants do at Ogilvie House when serving tankards of ale to handsome young men. “’Tis clever of ye to call yer horse Dubh,” she teased. “He is Black.”
    She wondered if she’d gone too far when he looked at her curiously. “Aye, Dubh is black, that’s why I gave him the name.”
    She resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. Like most men of her acquaintance this one had no sense of subtle humor. “I’ve never ridden such a horse,” she lied, hoping Uncle Davey wouldn’t contradict her.
    “Dinna worry,” he replied with great seriousness. “Ye’ll be safe with me.”
    Before her stood the kind of man many young women dreamed of marrying, one she sensed meant what he said. She had no doubt Rheade would protect her—if she were his. But she wasn’t his. She was betrothed to a traitor. The bitter truth left her empty, hollow.
    In the fog of her lonely despair it came to her that Joss was still wailing. “My retainers,” she said. “They are good men.”
    “Logan,” he shouted. “Get them up from the ground. They can drive the wagon.”
    She breathed more easily. “Thank ye,” she murmured. “Joss may seem simple, but—”
    She stopped abruptly when he brushed his thumb across her palm. The gesture likely meant nothing to him, but it sent a jolt of yearning spiraling up her thighs. She fluttered her eyelashes again without meaning to, unsure of what was happening.  
    “They willna be harmed,” he assured her. “And I imagine yer uncle would prefer to ride into Dunalastair on his own mount instead of in a wagon.”
    Davey must have overhead and was out of the wagon in the blink of an eye. “Thank ye,” he said gruffly, heading off towards his gelding. Margaret had no recollection of ever seeing him move with such speed.
    Edythe had fallen silent.
    Margaret got the feeling Rheade was struggling to hide a smile. He cocked his head in the direction of the wagon, his eyes wide, then lifted her up on the back step of the contraption.
    “I’ll ride with ye,” she whispered, as if they were co-conspirators. The notion thrilled her, until she thought again of the king’s murder. “Who conspired with Robert Stewart?” she murmured.
    The humor left his face. “His grandfather, Walter Stewart, Earl of Atholl, and Robert Graham.”
    “And they are all still at large?”
    “Aye,” he replied, mounting Dubh. “But not for long. My brother has sworn to hunt them down, and he’s a bloodhound.”
    He held out his hand and pulled her from the wagon into his lap, wrapping his plaid around her. She nestled into the reassuring comfort of his strong thighs, inhaling the dampness of the wool, struggling to undo the knot of dread in her belly. She was not looking forward to meeting the chieftain of Clan Robertson.

DUNALASTAIR

    Rheade wasn’t sure what he was going to do with his captives once they arrived at Dunalastair. Logan rode beside him, his brother’s frown echoing his uncertainty. They were drawing men away from the search. The assassins weren’t hiding at Dunalastair.  
    “What would ye have me do?” he asked in the Gàidhlig, hoping Margaret wouldn’t understand. “‘Tis an obligation to extend hospitality to strangers