The Highlander's Bride Read Online Free Page B

towards shore, Conor could see bruises on her arms in the shape of large hands that had once gripped her tightly. He still could not see the front of her body, but he was sure the same brutal markings would be there as well. She had never said a word. He could not help but respect the English maiden’s strength. She was beautiful and courageous and, as he watched the water drip off her naked form, she was more desirable than any woman he had ever seen.
    Not today—but soon—he would kill the Douglass beast for laying a hand on her. He would have his answers about what happened before they arrived home. Whoever he was, he had touched Laird McTiernay’s woman. And for that, he must die.
    Conor paused at that thought. Laird McTiernay’s woman. Was that who she was to him? Or was she a temporary fascination that would soon fade?
    The ache in his loins grew as he watched her dress, unable to turn away. The unmarked portion of her skin, now clear of the dirt and blood, was exquisite. It had been kissed by the afternoon sun, making it appear warm and sensuous. He shook his head, ran his fingers roughly through his hair, and tried to gather his thoughts. He was filled with waves of emotions—lust, possessiveness, need, and an overwhelming urge to keep her safe.
    When he finally moved into the clearing, Laurel had donned her delicate thin chemise and was trying to pull on her bliaut. Both were still fairly damp from her attempt at washing them. She should have been embarrassed or at least uncomfortable by his appearance and her state of undress. Instead, she only felt relief.
    She looked at him beseechingly. “Could you please help?”
    He gripped the damp garment and took it completely off of her. “I need to examine your ribs.” Her teal-colored eyes darted around the small clearing as if she expected others to approach.
    “No one will see you. The others know that I am seeing to your safety,” Conor stated.
    She snatched her bliaut from his hands and covered her chest. “My ribs are fine, really.”
    Conor was not deterred. “Your breaths have been shallow all day, and you winced every time my horse had to turn.”
    Her eyes widened. “I’m just bruised. I assure you I am fine. I will not be any trouble,” Laurel said, backing away.
    Conor was getting annoyed. “Stop cowering. I will not harm you.”
    Laurel shot him a look of contempt. “I am no coward, sir, and I will tell you now that I have never cowered.” Heated emotion flooded her eyes, turning them the color of a North Sea storm again. “I just do not wish you to feel my—my ribs,” she finished in a bit of a fluster.
    “Fine, my English mystery, you are no coward. But I will be looking at your ribs.” He reached out and held her gently, but firmly, giving her no choice but to submit to his examination. He started gently pressing on her ribs one by one.
    “Breathe, lass.”
    Laurel was trying to, but, with his hands touching her so tenderly, it was impossible. She had never been around a man quite like this Conor. He was huge, but kind. A warrior, but a protector. When he was near her, like this, she never wanted him to leave. Oh, what was wrong with her? The sheer closeness of his body with hers made her feel incredibly alive and aware that she was a woman with physical needs and desires.
    She gasped and then moaned. She tried not to, but he kept probing. “Enough,” she softly cried, “please, no more.” She collapsed against him.
    He held her gently, stroking her hair. “It’s all right, lass. It’s all right.” He waited until she had stopped trembling. He lifted her chin. And what happened next he would blame on those sea-colored eyes.
    As he softly brushed his lips against hers, Conor felt a sharp tug in the vicinity of his groin. Her lips were full and yielding underneath his. He continued his miniature foray into heaven and felt her quiver against his chest.
    Instinctively he reached up and cupped her head so he could increase the