Samantha Holt (Highland Fae Chronicles) Read Online Free Page B

as the waves swelled beneath them and surf spattered over the boat. Here the scent of salt and seaweed hung strong in the air. They were near the coast, but surely not Norway? She would have known had she been sleeping for that long.
    Scooting into a sitting position, she arranged the pelt around her bare legs and peered over the edge of the vessel. Sure enough a beach loomed. Moonlight picked out the hills above them, dusting their tips with silver streams. Catriona scowled and gripped the wood with her free hand. It was the mainland. She knew this place. They must have taken the shortest crossing from Bute to Scotland. But why kidnap her only to bring her to the mainland?
    Soon the waves had turned into a seething mass, breaking on the shoreline with a crash. She saw the foamy tips and braced herself as they came closer to the beach. Though the sea was not as rough as some days, bringing a small boat into land was difficult for it was easily tossed about.
    She turned and gazed up at the fair man as he directed the men confidently. He stood, legs apart, assured and steady. It seemed as though he was the master of the seas, his confidence unshakable. Surely men bowed to his will. Mayhap he thought the ocean would too?
    His deep voice, smooth yet exciting, just reached her ears and she pondered his Gaelic tongue. She had spoken with Norse-Gaels before and many had their own distinct way of speaking but she had never heard any so… so Scottish sounding as he. Catriona blinked as she took a proper study of him. Gone was his fur. Now it likely hung over her shoulders, brushing her bare skin. But what disconcerted her most was his manner of dress. He looked as Scottish as any highlander. Only his shoulder length fair hair made him stand out. And when she looked to the other men, she realised they too wore plaids. Mayhap they always had. Mayhap she had been too horror stricken and disorientated to notice. But for what purpose?
    Was she to be part of some great deception? The attack on Bute was the first after months of discontent on the Norse peoples’ part. Bute once belonged to the Norse but the King of Scots wanted the Western Isles back and the King of Norway would have none of it. That did not surprise Catriona. For as long as she had understood men, she had known greediness. But the invasion took them by surprise. None expected the keep to fall.
    Sand ground under the hull, making Catriona wince. They had made it through the surf and now the waves fell weakly about the boat. She released a breath, relieved to be on land once more. She did not intend to get soaked again. Once her feet touched the sand, she would consider her next move. Without her garments, she could hardly escape. However, being on the mainland made her chest expand with hope. If she could find a moment to run there would surely be shelter somewhere.
    She hoped.
    The man jumped deftly over the side and another three men followed. Together they worked to pull the boat fully ashore. Catriona tried to keep her gaze from tracking the tug of his shirt against his muscles but failed repeatedly. He should not, but for some reason the Norseman fascinated her. His features were partially hidden in the gloom of the night but his profile begged her to trace her gaze over it, to follow the sharp lines and dips.
    She hunched down when he released his grip on the bow and took a step forward. Gone was her fascination. Now she recalled he had taken her against her will, and there was nothing to prevent him from doing what he wished with her. He offered a hand and she glanced around as her heart threatened to beat out of her chest. She had to get out of the boat. Had to cooperate for the moment. If she played the meek captive, mayhap they would let their guards down and she could escape. She frowned and slipped her hand into his. Once she got her gown back that was. Catriona squeezed the furs tight at her neck, aware of the breeze swirling about her nude legs.
    Feet sinking