Sword of the Raven Read Online Free
must have a mother of a headache. Probably why he was acting so…strange.
What was her excuse?
She pulled out black jogging pants and a faded yellow and green University of Oregon Ducks sweatshirt and hugged them to her chest. Just last fall, which seemed like an eternity ago, she’d tackled her brother during her traditional birthday picnic football game in the park with their friends. Connor had toppled into crisp autumn leaves, laughing while his best bud Zack had swept Delaney up, kissed her, and wisecracked about her ball-handling ability.
She buried her face in the worn fleece as scalding sorrow fought for release. Sometimes a photographic memory was a blessing…and other times a curse. Zack was nothing but a bad memory, and Connor seemed beyond her help.
I want my life back. I want my brother safe.
“Delaney?” Concern warmed Rowan’s soft brogue. “What’s wrong?”
She cleared her throat. Tears never solved anything. Marching to the doorway, she handed him the pants and sweatshirt, then gestured at her concealed pistol. “Be straight with me. You’re not under the delusion that you’re some sort of…uh…vampire or something, are you?”
His lips twitched. “I’m sky-clad and battered, not barmy.”
“Do you believe you’ve traveled here from another time?”
“Points for imagination, but no.”
“An alien scout on an earthbound mission?”
“Absolutely not.”
“An immortal 16 th century Highlander who believes ‘there can be only One?’”
He snorted. “Bloody hell, lass, you watch too much Syfy Network.”
Desire and deep regret twisted inside. How could she be so attracted to this enigmatic Scot…while at the same time so very afraid of him?
Delaney studied the sincerity stamped on Rowan’s striking features, and every instinct clamored in warning.
Despite his protests to the contrary, Rowan MacLachlan was no ordinary man.
Chapter 2
In the kitchen, Delaney dipped sturgeon chunks into spicy beer batter and plopped them onto a plate. Julienned potatoes soaked in a bowl of ice water beside her while canola oil simmered in a cast-iron skillet on the stove.
Blackness smothered the twilight outside the windows as October’s screeching tantrum raged unabated. The first weeks of autumn could be crisp and sunny, but western Oregon climate fluctuated wildly with Mother Nature’s moods. Apparently, Mom was pissy this weekend.
Down the hallway, the bathroom shower picked up tempo and the cabin’s sixty-year-old pipes groaned and rattled in protest. She’d at least provide MacLachlan with a hot shower and food before driving him into town.
Hopefully she wouldn’t regret her generosity.
Delaney chopped and mixed and grated. She diligently did not think about Rowan in the shower. Didn’t imagine sparkling rivulets flowing through thick, wavy locks. Or soap bubbles caressing bronzed, sculpted pecs. Refused to picture pearly suds gliding over a fierce eight-pack, down that treasure trail of dusky hair circling his navel—and then sliding lower, to…
“Ow!” She’d grated her knuckle instead of the onion meant for the tartar sauce.
Cursing, she stuck her bloody finger beneath the faucet before improvising a paper towel bandage. Serves you right. After the Zack disaster, she’d sworn off men. Not forever. Just a decade or so. And her time-out had barely edged past year one.
Delaney clamped her renegade hormones into lockdown as she stalked down the hall, leaving the fish and potatoes sputtering in hot oil. She waited outside the bathroom door until the shower hissed off, then knocked. “Hey, MacLachlan. After you’re dressed, could you please pass me a Band-Aid and antibiotic ointment from the medicine cabinet?”
“You said you weren’t burned.” The door flew open, and she was confronted by a hot cloud of clean-man-scented steam billowing around a very large, gleaming wet Scotsman. Wearing a very small towel.
“I…uh…” Her hormones broke into a
What was her excuse?
She pulled out black jogging pants and a faded yellow and green University of Oregon Ducks sweatshirt and hugged them to her chest. Just last fall, which seemed like an eternity ago, she’d tackled her brother during her traditional birthday picnic football game in the park with their friends. Connor had toppled into crisp autumn leaves, laughing while his best bud Zack had swept Delaney up, kissed her, and wisecracked about her ball-handling ability.
She buried her face in the worn fleece as scalding sorrow fought for release. Sometimes a photographic memory was a blessing…and other times a curse. Zack was nothing but a bad memory, and Connor seemed beyond her help.
I want my life back. I want my brother safe.
“Delaney?” Concern warmed Rowan’s soft brogue. “What’s wrong?”
She cleared her throat. Tears never solved anything. Marching to the doorway, she handed him the pants and sweatshirt, then gestured at her concealed pistol. “Be straight with me. You’re not under the delusion that you’re some sort of…uh…vampire or something, are you?”
His lips twitched. “I’m sky-clad and battered, not barmy.”
“Do you believe you’ve traveled here from another time?”
“Points for imagination, but no.”
“An alien scout on an earthbound mission?”
“Absolutely not.”
“An immortal 16 th century Highlander who believes ‘there can be only One?’”
He snorted. “Bloody hell, lass, you watch too much Syfy Network.”
Desire and deep regret twisted inside. How could she be so attracted to this enigmatic Scot…while at the same time so very afraid of him?
Delaney studied the sincerity stamped on Rowan’s striking features, and every instinct clamored in warning.
Despite his protests to the contrary, Rowan MacLachlan was no ordinary man.
Chapter 2
In the kitchen, Delaney dipped sturgeon chunks into spicy beer batter and plopped them onto a plate. Julienned potatoes soaked in a bowl of ice water beside her while canola oil simmered in a cast-iron skillet on the stove.
Blackness smothered the twilight outside the windows as October’s screeching tantrum raged unabated. The first weeks of autumn could be crisp and sunny, but western Oregon climate fluctuated wildly with Mother Nature’s moods. Apparently, Mom was pissy this weekend.
Down the hallway, the bathroom shower picked up tempo and the cabin’s sixty-year-old pipes groaned and rattled in protest. She’d at least provide MacLachlan with a hot shower and food before driving him into town.
Hopefully she wouldn’t regret her generosity.
Delaney chopped and mixed and grated. She diligently did not think about Rowan in the shower. Didn’t imagine sparkling rivulets flowing through thick, wavy locks. Or soap bubbles caressing bronzed, sculpted pecs. Refused to picture pearly suds gliding over a fierce eight-pack, down that treasure trail of dusky hair circling his navel—and then sliding lower, to…
“Ow!” She’d grated her knuckle instead of the onion meant for the tartar sauce.
Cursing, she stuck her bloody finger beneath the faucet before improvising a paper towel bandage. Serves you right. After the Zack disaster, she’d sworn off men. Not forever. Just a decade or so. And her time-out had barely edged past year one.
Delaney clamped her renegade hormones into lockdown as she stalked down the hall, leaving the fish and potatoes sputtering in hot oil. She waited outside the bathroom door until the shower hissed off, then knocked. “Hey, MacLachlan. After you’re dressed, could you please pass me a Band-Aid and antibiotic ointment from the medicine cabinet?”
“You said you weren’t burned.” The door flew open, and she was confronted by a hot cloud of clean-man-scented steam billowing around a very large, gleaming wet Scotsman. Wearing a very small towel.
“I…uh…” Her hormones broke into a
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