Tanya Anne Crosby Read Online Free

it, Chloe thought to herself. In fact, if Lindale had ever, even once in his life, allowed his heart to guide him, Chloe would lick his dandy boots. She just didn’t believe it. “Shall I find you a book to read,” she asked, changing the subject, “or are you much too weary?”
    Lady Fiona waved her hand in dismissal, her kind blue eyes sparking with…disappointment?
    Chloe couldn’t help it. She just couldn’t lie about her feelings. She didn’t like Lady Fiona’s wayward son and never had.
    “Reading, my dear, is a pursuit better suited for younger eyes,” Lady Fiona said.
    Chloe stood, squeezing Fiona’s hand, and said gently, “You aren’t old.” She certainly didn’t look it. At fifty-six, Fiona was still lovely, her skin as vibrant and youthful as it had been the day Chloe had first met her. The shocking white in her hair was the only trait to betray her age. Even from the confines of her chair, the set of her shoulders was even, revealing a lean waist and a youthful frame.
    Fiona squeezed back, her delicate fingers gripping with more strength than it seemed possible she should possess in her deteriorated state. “Humph!” she argued. Her eyes glittered fiercely. “I’m indisputably crusty, my dear, and that’s the truth!”
    Her inelegant description of herself brought a reluctant smile to Chloe’s lips. Nothing could be further from the truth; Lady Fiona had more elegance in her tiny finger than most women had in their entire bodies.
    “Then I should bid you good eve.” Chloe relented and left Fiona’s bedside to put out the lamp upon the dresser. “Happy birthday.”
    “No, leave it,” Lady Fiona said, waving Chloe away from the lamp. “It will go out on its own.”
    Chloe screwed her face. It was entirely too dangerous to leave the lamp burning all night, but Fiona seemed fearful of the dark. Still, it always did seem to put itself out. “As you wish, my lady.”
    “Will you kindly please stop addressing me so formally!” Lady Fiona said. “You must call me Fiona. I consider you family, Chloe. Have I not made you feel welcome?”
    “Yes,” Chloe replied.
    Lady Fiona gave her an admonishing look, but said, “Good night, dear.”
    “Sweet dreams,” Chloe said, and left the room, pulling the door closed behind her. Later, after giving Lord Lindale a bit of the devil, she would return to put out the light.
    God knew, Lindale didn’t deserve the respect of his peers, much less anyone else’s. Chloe could scarce bear to address him by his title, except with the contempt he deserved. As impertinent as it may be, except in front of his mother, she couldn’t bring herself to address him as “my lord.” He certainly wasn’t, as the title suggested, a leader of his clan. The old lairds would turn in their graves; he was an utter disgrace to the MacEwen name.
     
    Pain was Merrick’s first awareness. Voices surrounded him. Shadows flitted past his lids.
    “Hawk?”
    “Is ’e dead?”
    “No, y’ arse! Can ye not hear him moaning like a wee one?”
    Merrick opened his eyes to find strange faces peering down at him—faces with hoods drawn back and missing teeth. At first he thought he might be dreaming, so hazy was his vision. It took him a groggy instant to realize that he lay upon the cold ground and that the bodies that belonged to the disembodied faces hovering above were half cloaked in bone-dampening fog.
    “He’s coming aboot!”
    “Are ye a’right, Hawk?” asked one man whose face seemed to suddenly dive down upon him.
    “Damn!” Merrick said, and shook his head, trying to clear his vision. He tried to rise, but fell backward.
    “Bloody bastard. He left ye here to rot,” said the man.
    Another man stepped forward, throwing his hood back as he offered Merrick a hand.
    Pride warred with good sense. He could bloody well get to his feet without assistance from the enemy. He ignored the outstretched hand and struggled to his feet.
    “There was nothing we could do,