A Promise Given Read Online Free Page A

the two were sisters. There was scant resemblance
between them; Margaret was blond, as cool and serene as her perfectly formed
features and hair, while Sabrina was flame-haired with a mouth that knew not
when to close. He nearly laughed aloud as he recalled the time she'd stolen his
sword and hacked off her skirts to resemble his kilt. She had then marched full
tilt into the hall for the evening meal like the veriest soldier swaggering into
battle.
    He hadn't been quite so amused then.
    Nor had her father been pleased.
    A smile of remembrance on his face, Ian nudged his horse forward through the
forest. The rich, pungent scent of trees and damp earth filled his senses, yet
his mind remained otherwise engaged. What mischief was the imp into these days?
Faith, but she had plagued him endlessly with her pranks and her prattle! She'd
incited his ire, and on occasion, his sympathy, though he'd never let the little
minx know it. Never had he understood why Duncan had let his youngest daughter
run wild as she did, dirty and with no regard for authority, save a switch on
her behind from her father's hand. He chuckled anew, just thinking about the
little witch.
    The sound of a sudden splash snared his attention. Curious, he followed the
sound toward its source—a small, sparkling pond hidden beneath a leafy green
bower.
    The splash came again. What he saw brought him up short, for here was a sight
that wrenched all thought of the bratling from his mind in aught but the blink
of an eye.
    Now here was a woman… aye, and one who could turn many a man's head—and no
doubt had! She walked to a rocky ledge, her body naked in all its splendor,
angled slightly away from him. Her hair was a dark, wet rope twined over one
shoulder; it hung well past her buttocks.
    Ian's mouth grew dry. Why, she might have been a wood nymph sprung from some
secret glade solely to pleasure his eyes—and his other senses. Indeed, he'd much
rather gaze on this sweetly formed lass than dwell on the troublesome little
sprite who had so tormented his youth.
    He dismounted, his gaze never leaving her. She was small in stature, yet
unusually beguiling. Her skin gleamed with the luster of a pearl. Her breasts
were surprisingly full, tipped by rose-hued nipples that peaked hard and tight
from the coolness of the water. Below the narrow indentation of her waist, her
hips flared in sweet enticement. She raised one hand to her hair, sweeping back
an errant lock and displaying the generous curve of one full breast before
diving cleanly into the water. She broke the surface with a tiny splash, then
swam toward the shore. Rivers of water sluiced from her body as her feet found
purchase. She moved forward, coming closer to where he now crouched at the base
of a stout oak… ever closer.
    All that was male within him surged to the fore. Desire unchecked simmered in
his veins. Bold gray eyes roamed avid and hot, for she had yet to glean his
presence. His mind consumed by blatantly erotic fancies, he longed to attach a
face, for the profile she presented foretold a beauty exquisite, a sweetness and
youth he could only imagine. All he sought was but  a glimpse. Ah, if she
would only turn her head…
    She did, shaking the water from her hair, her eyes squeezed shut.
    Her face was small and oval. Her mouth was damp and dewy, the exact shade of
pink as her nipples. The arch of slanted  brows lent her a look that was
almost elfish. An odd feeling knotted his belly, for she  seemed faintly
familiar.
    Her lashes lifted. Suddenly he felt he'd been struck in the chest with the
butt of a lance. He stared into eyes as misty green as…
    As the hills of Dunlevy.
    Yet his mind balked. Nay, he thought numbly. It could not be…
    Their eyes locked endlessly. For one horrified moment, neither could move,
nor speak.
    It was she who broke the spell, and it appeared she had no such lapse where
his identity was concerned. She scrambled backward,