Highlander's Ransom by Emma Prince Page B

Robert’s force of will, that she wouldn’t let her spirit be
crushed by Robert’s disregard and callousness toward her. From what he had seen
of the lass so far, he imagined that the struggle between them was only just
beginning.
    The bang of the cottage door as it slammed with a good
deal of force against the wall startled Burke out of his thoughts. He turned to
see Robert storming through the doorframe, looking like an angry bull. He
stomped right by Burke, but as he passed, he said in a low and dangerous voice,
“Not a word.” He kept walking until he was amongst his men, where he silently
saw to saddling up Dash.
    All the preparations for departure had been made and
half of the men were already mounted when Alwin finally emerged from the
cottage. Her cheeks were dry, but Burke could see the tear tracks down her
face, and her eyes were red-rimmed and tight. She held her chin steady, though,
and glided over to Burke’s side.
    “Although we have a thing or two to discuss, Burke,”
she said tautly, “I would like to ride with you the rest of the way to Roslin
if that would be alright.”
    Just then, Robert wheeled Dash over and glared down at
them. “No, that will not be alright. You ride with me, lass.” The deadly calm
in his voice belied the fire and ice warring in his light blue eyes.
    Alwin stared up at him, first with disbelief in her
clouded eyes, then with a combination of hate and sadness. Burke caught the
slightest quiver in her lower lip, but then she pressed her lips together to
steel herself. She turned to him and said, “Please thank Father Paul for all he
had done to…help us.” She seemed to nearly lose control again in getting out
those words, but before she could, Robert scooped her up from the ground and
placed her in front of him on the saddle.
    Burke rushed to thank Father Paul for his hospitality,
then mounted up with the others, and after a whistle from Robert, nudged his
horse into a trot toward the mountains in the north.
     
    Raef Warren slammed the door of his study in the
curious face of his page. Thankfully, none of his staff had voiced their
questions, but they didn’t need to. They had all witnessed him ride back
through his keep’s gates, with less than a third of the men he had ridden out
with earlier. Those who had returned had been in a sorry state—some were
injured, and most had scrapes and dents in their armor. And Raef was no exception.
Deep red scratches ran down his face and neck from where that little bitch had
clawed him.
    He flopped down in the finely upholstered chair behind
his desk and drew a small circular mirror from one of the drawers. He cursed
loudly at the sight of his face. She would pay for each scratch, never mind the
fact that they would heal in a matter of days. It wouldn’t happen soon enough
for Raef, though. Undoubtedly there would be whispers within his walls of his
being bested by the tiny little twit of an English girl, the one whom he was
supposed to be rescuing. Word of her resistance would also be a problem.
    A soft knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.
“Who is it?” he shouted crossly.
    “It is Jossalyn, brother,” came the timid reply
through the door’s thick wood.
    “Come,” he said with irritation.
    His sister eased the door open and stepped into his
study hesitantly. She was carrying a few jars in one hand. “I thought you might
want me to see to those scratches,” she said quietly, keeping her blond head lowered
and her green eyes on the floor. “I already saw to the men who returned with
you. They will all be fine, I think.”
    “I don’t need any of your little ointments, sister,”
he said coldly. “Is there anything else?”
    She shook her head and backed toward the door, but
hesitated and seemed to search for resolve. Finally, she spoke again, trying to
hold her voice steady and clear this time. “Perhaps your people would respond
better to you if you let them see me for healing. While you were gone I went