To Love a Highlander Read Online Free Page B

all went well, would soon play expertly over hers, claiming her in passion.
    The only problem was she’d rather make her proposition when he was fully clothed.
    Confronting him now would only compound her troubles.
    So she pressed a hand to her breast and retraced her steps to the door. It stood ajar, the passage beyond beckoning, urging escape. Scarce daring to breathe, she peered from one end of the corridor to the other. Nothing stirred except a cat scurrying along in the darkness and a poorly burning wall sconce that hissed and spit.
    Or so she thought until two chattering laundresses sailed around a corner, their arms loaded with bed linens. A small lad followed in their wake, carrying a wicker basket brimming with candles.
    They were heading her way.
    “Botheration!” She felt a jolt of panic.
    Nipping back into Sorley’s bedchamber, she closed the door.
    It fell into place with a distinct
knick.
    Before she could catch her breath, Sorley was behind her, gripping her shoulders with firm, strong fingers. He lowered his head, nuzzling her neck, his mouth brushing over her skin. She bit her lip as he slid his hands down her arms, pulling her back against him.
    He was still naked.
    She could feel the hot, hard length of him pressing into her.
    Almost as bad, he was now rubbing his face in her hair, nipping her ear. His warm breath sent shivers rippling through her.
    She gasped, her heart thundering.
    “Sweet minx, I didnae expect a visitor this night.” He chuckled and closed his hands more firmly around her wrists. “Followed me from the Red Lion, did you?”
    “To be sure, I didn’t!” Mirabelle found her tongue at his mention of the notorious tavern, an ill-famed place frequented by rogues and light-skirts. She jerked free, whirling to face him. “Nor am I a minx. I’m—”
    “You are Lady Mirabelle.” His voice chilled, his eyes narrowing as he looked her up and down. He stepped back, folding his arms.
    He made no move to cover his nakedness.
    “I’d heard you were at court.” His gaze held hers, his face an unreadable mask. “Indeed, I’ve seen you in the hall a time or two. I didn’t think to find you here, in my bedchamber.”
    “Neither did I.” Her chin came up. “I lost my way.”
    “You’re also a terrible liar.” He angled his head, studying her. “You wouldn’t be here without a reason. My quarters are no place for a lady.” A corner of his mouth hitched up in a smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “So tell me, to what do I owe the honor?”
    Mirabelle drew a tight breath, the words lodging in her throat. The explanation, her carefully crafted plea for help,had slipped her mind. Vanishing as if she hadn’t spent hours, even days and nights, practicing everything she’d meant to say to him.
    “Sir, you’re unclothed.” Those words came easily. They also caused her cheeks to flame.
    “So I am.” He glanced down, seemingly unconcerned. Turning, he took a plaid and a shirt off a peg on the wall, donning both with a slow, lazy grace that embarrassed her almost as much as his nakedness.
    “Now that I’m decent”—he placed himself between her and the door, crossing his arms again—“I’d know why you’re here.”
    “I told you—”
    “You told me a falsehood. I’d hear the truth.”
    Mirabelle wanted to sink into the floor. Unfortunately, such an escape wasn’t possible, and as she prided herself on being of a practical nature, she kept her head raised and flicked a speck of lint from her sleeve. Her mind raced, seeking a plausible explanation. It came to her when the wind whistled past the long windows, the sound almost like the keening cry of a woman.
    “I thought to see the castle’s pink lady.” She didn’t turn a hair mentioning the ghost. Everyone knew she existed. Believed the wife of a man killed when England’s Edward I captured the castle nearly a hundred years before, the poor woman was rumored to be beautiful, her luminous gown a lovely shade of