The Highlander's Heart Read Online Free Page B

hands on her hips. “I warrant you have younger siblings.”
    “Aye, verra good.”
    “I pity them.”
    “I will send them yer regards. Come wi’ me, lassie. I’ll set ye at the next burgh.” He pushed through some thick brush to reach the road.
    Isabelle hobbled after him, deciding she would do better to stay with him, at least for the night. Tomorrow she could try again to return to England. No more forest beasties for her this night.
    Loud shouting got her attention and she hustled through the brush to find her Highlander standing in the middle of the road yelling at the disappearing figure of the man with the red cap riding the Highlander’s horse down the road. Though he spoke a foreign tongue, Isabelle had no need for translation to have a basic understanding of what the warrior was shouting at the horse thief.
    The large man stood in silence, watching the dusty cloud left by his stolen horse waft into the light of the setting sun. Isabelle fingered her dress, wondering what sort of expression he might be wearing. She doubted she wanted to know. Surely he would not blame her for the incident… would he?
    “How many attacked ye?” the Highlander asked, without turning.
    Isabelle gulped at being addressed. “There were three, No Teeth, Porridge Shirt, and Red Cap.”
    The hulking shape in front of her cursed again in some foreign tongue. Well, she guessed it was cursing; it sounded very angry.
    “I only got two of them and now yer Red Cap has stolen my horse,” shouted the barbarian, still not turning around.
    Isabelle glanced at the forest, wondering if she might do better to take her chances with the beasties. The Highlander turned slowly and Isabelle clenched her velvet gown. His eyes blazed. Any trace of gentleness or compassion was gone. He strode toward her, shouting more in his unknown language. Isabelle stood her ground, more because she was frozen in fear than due to any abundance of courage.
    Isabelle made an unfortunate shriek when he reached for his sword. The man stomped past her to the brush by the side of the road and attacked the foliage with abandon. Isabelle was flooded with a mixture of horror and awe as he hacked at the brush with enraged vengeance, bits of twig and branch flying every which way. When the leaves finally settled, the square-shouldered man stood panting for a moment, then sheathed his sword and turned to her. She was startled by his calm appearance.
    “We’ll rest here for the night,” he said in a mild tone, but Isabelle could still see the veins bulging in his forehead. Isabelle followed him into the clearing he had just made, walking slowly and giving him a wide berth. She did not wish to disrupt the perilous calm.
    ***
     
    Isabelle sighed contentedly. She took another bite of roast pork, though her belly was already full. She had not quite realized how hungry she was until her Highlander rigged up a spit and started roasting part of the boar. Despite her irritation at this Scot’s presumption regarding her morals, she had to admit he was a fine camp cook. He had a large fire roaring, a fine roast of wild pork, water from a small stream, and he had even fashioned a comfortable bower for her bed with the brush he had so aggressively hacked.
    He had spoken very little to her, focusing on his work. Occasionally he had barked out orders, but since they were mainly commands like, “Sit by the fire,” and “Here, eat this,” she was inclined to overlook his tone and comply. She stretched out on her bower, warmed from the heat of the fire and her full belly.
    Niggling in the back of her mind was the objection that sleeping alone with a barbarian was hardly an acceptable situation for an English lady such as herself, especially since the barbarian in question believed she was of loose moral character. To be fair, she could not blame him for that assumption, considering her appearance and unfortunate situation. Her behavior toward him after he rescued her from the boar