To Kiss A Kilted Warrior Read Online Free Page A

door at full speed. When he entered, it took precious long moments for his eyes to adjust to the dimness. Masking his inability to see well, he halted just inside the door, planted both feet wide, and challenged his opponent with cold, lethal intent.
    *   *   *
    Morag made it as far as the table before the smaller of the two mercenaries grabbed her skirts and whipped her off balance. She collided with the table, then spun sideways into the wall. Pain exploded in her skull, and black spots filled her vision. The dirt floor rose up to meet her and she hit it hard, all the air in her chest expelling with a low moan.
    A guttural roar of fury came from the door of the bothy. Both mercenaries spun around at the sound, and Morag took advantage of their surprise. She rolled under the table. As she did so, she caught a glimpse of the mighty warrior filling the open doorway. Her heart leapt.
Wulf.
He’d come for her, just as she’d prayed. But this was a version of Wulf she hadn’t seen since the night he was attacked and leftfor dead—bristling with rage, every muscle pumped and ready. His lips were a grim slash on his face, his eyes dark with lethal fury.
    Having drawn the mercenaries’ attention away from her, he wasted no time.
    Wielding his bronze-hilted sword like it was an extension of his arms, he swung the huge blade with such speed that it hummed in the air. The first mercenary went down midstride, never having met Wulf’s steel with his own. The pockmarked leader had better luck. He parried Wulf’s next swing with his sturdy short sword, the sharp blades sliding along each other with sparks a-flying.
    In terms of sheer power, Wulf had the edge. He delivered a series of heavy strikes that pounded his opponent’s defenses and forced the man back, leaving him less and less room to maneuver.
    But the mercenary was aware of Wulf’s weak leg. His swings were calculated to extend Wulf on the left side, and eventually his strategy gained him the edge he needed—Wulf’s leg buckled slightly, allowing the mercenary to escape the torrent of blows. He ducked to the right and put the table between himself and Wulf.
    Morag found herself staring at the man’s trew-clad legs.
    Remembering the sharp yank on her hair, she felt for the wee knife she kept at her belt. A merethree inches long, and dull from cutting yarn, it was hardly a reliable weapon. But if she could aid Wulf at all, it would be worth the effort. Wrapping her fist firmly around the short handle, she drove the blade into the mercenary’s calf.
    He howled.
    But instead of hopping away or pausing to pull the small blade free, as she expected, he shoved the table toward Wulf and grabbed for Morag. Hauling her to her feet, he yanked her to his shoulder and laid his sword blade along her throat.
    “Stand down or she dies,” he said to Wulf.
    Wulf did not lower his weapon. He slowly walked out from behind the table, keeping a wide gap between them, and studied the mercenary with icy calm. “Step away from her now, and I may be persuaded to spare your life.”
    The mercenary snorted. “Let us not waste words. Whether the girl lives or dies is up to me. If you value her at all, you’ll lay down your weapon.”
    Morag stared at Wulf. Although she knew there was a chance she would die, she did not dwell on it. Balancing her weight carefully on one leg, she lifted her other boot slightly to hint to Wulf what she was about to do. Then she kicked backward, aiming for the wood-handled knife she’d planted in the mercenary’s leg.
    Wulf surged forward at precisely the same moment. When the mercenary flinched from thesudden jab in his leg, Wulf knocked the sword from the man’s loosened grip with a solid strike of his pommel, narrowly avoiding a cut to Morag’s throat. Morag ducked clear and darted for the farthest corner of the bothy.
    That should have been the end, but the pockmarked man refused to yield.
    He feinted to the right, picked up his fallen comrade’s