Taken By The Highland Wolf (The Clan MacGregor Book 2) by Stephanie Marks
Book: Taken By The Highland Wolf (The Clan MacGregor Book 2) by Stephanie Marks
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Authors: Stephanie Marks
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Historical, Paranormal, Adult, series, Murder, Secret, Erotic, shifters, safety, Daughter, commitment, challenge, wolves, Emotions, Treachery, betrayed, Myth, legend, curse, Highlands, Short Storys, Clan MacGregor, Love Match, Whispers, Battling, Highland Chief, Blood Of Wolf, Exposed
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EXCERPT
There was a flurry of activity in the lower hall the next morning as I made my way through the castle. I hurried toward the sounds of shouting to see three of Alastair's clansmen carrying a fourth, unconscious, man between them.
"What's happened?" I asked them as they lowered the man to the stone floor. "Who is he?"
"We don't know, miss," said one. "We found him on the road like this."
My mind raced as I tried to think of what to do. "Bring him with me," I told them. "He must be seen to."
The man was picked up and brought with me to one of the guest chambers, where I directed them to lay him on the bed.
"Fetch me a bowl of hot water and another of cold. I will also need some fresh cloths. And see if Mrs. Fletcher has any willow bark for when he awakens."
"Right away, miss. Should we bring Mrs. Fletcher to see to him?" one of the men asked.
"No, there is no need. I'm sure she is busy enough already. I'll see to him myself."
The clansman nodded and hurried out the door with the others.
I put my hands on my hips and looked down at the bed, studying the unconscious man before me. His face and clothes were torn and covered with dust and dirt. It had mingled with the blood and sweat on his face, forming thick, cakey patches.
After the men came back with the items I had requested, I wasted no time in carefully cleaning away the blood and grime from the injured man's face.
By the time I was finished, the bowl of hot water was dark brown and the extent of the injuries on his face was exposed for my examination. I could see clearly that he had a black eye and a split lip, with some bruising along his upper cheek, but not much more damage had been done to his face. I bit my lip and wondered about the extent of the injuries to the rest of his body.
I could not strip him. But maybe, if I were to simply lift his shirt to see if there were any major injuries that needed to be seen to?
I moved hesitantly at first but then with more determination. Moving the top part of his plaid aside, I tugged his shirt from his kilt and raised it over his stomach to expose his chest, revealing a smooth expanse of muscle.
I could feel the warmth rising in my cheeks as I examined him, but tried to ignore it as I took in the extent of his injuries. Large patches of bruises covered his chest, as if he had been badly beaten. I prayed that nothing was broken.
CHAPTER 1
The rough, worn wood of the raised platform scraped at the soles of my bare feet. I was not bound, but I found that I could not run. My legs felt as though they were trapped in tar and were able to move only by the will of the mob. Standing in the middle of the village square in naught but my shift, I looked out at the angry faces surrounding me. Neither the voices of the shouting humans nor the howls of the giant wolves could be heard as the group surged forward, pressing me back. I was somehow deaf to their cries but I could see the contorted rage on their faces all too clearly as their mouths formed words that I could not make out.
The smell of smoke filled my nose even as the heat of a nearby flame could be felt at my back. They continued to press forward, their eyes filled with hatred, every face so indescribably angry as they called for my death...
***
I stood in the darkness of my bedchamber and wrapped my shawl tightly around my shoulders. Though the days were getting warmer, the night air still held a refreshing chill that banished the lingering memory of the flames. The window shutters were thrown wide and I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, enjoying the cool breeze on my face.
I had awakened from my nightmare to find myself alone, with neither the angry mob nor Alastair's sleeping form to be found. He must have left me sometime in the night to go back to his own room. Though I missed the nearness of him, I had to admit to myself that a part of me was glad to be alone. He would only worry over me until he compelled me to tell him what I had dreamt of,
There was a flurry of activity in the lower hall the next morning as I made my way through the castle. I hurried toward the sounds of shouting to see three of Alastair's clansmen carrying a fourth, unconscious, man between them.
"What's happened?" I asked them as they lowered the man to the stone floor. "Who is he?"
"We don't know, miss," said one. "We found him on the road like this."
My mind raced as I tried to think of what to do. "Bring him with me," I told them. "He must be seen to."
The man was picked up and brought with me to one of the guest chambers, where I directed them to lay him on the bed.
"Fetch me a bowl of hot water and another of cold. I will also need some fresh cloths. And see if Mrs. Fletcher has any willow bark for when he awakens."
"Right away, miss. Should we bring Mrs. Fletcher to see to him?" one of the men asked.
"No, there is no need. I'm sure she is busy enough already. I'll see to him myself."
The clansman nodded and hurried out the door with the others.
I put my hands on my hips and looked down at the bed, studying the unconscious man before me. His face and clothes were torn and covered with dust and dirt. It had mingled with the blood and sweat on his face, forming thick, cakey patches.
After the men came back with the items I had requested, I wasted no time in carefully cleaning away the blood and grime from the injured man's face.
By the time I was finished, the bowl of hot water was dark brown and the extent of the injuries on his face was exposed for my examination. I could see clearly that he had a black eye and a split lip, with some bruising along his upper cheek, but not much more damage had been done to his face. I bit my lip and wondered about the extent of the injuries to the rest of his body.
I could not strip him. But maybe, if I were to simply lift his shirt to see if there were any major injuries that needed to be seen to?
I moved hesitantly at first but then with more determination. Moving the top part of his plaid aside, I tugged his shirt from his kilt and raised it over his stomach to expose his chest, revealing a smooth expanse of muscle.
I could feel the warmth rising in my cheeks as I examined him, but tried to ignore it as I took in the extent of his injuries. Large patches of bruises covered his chest, as if he had been badly beaten. I prayed that nothing was broken.
CHAPTER 1
The rough, worn wood of the raised platform scraped at the soles of my bare feet. I was not bound, but I found that I could not run. My legs felt as though they were trapped in tar and were able to move only by the will of the mob. Standing in the middle of the village square in naught but my shift, I looked out at the angry faces surrounding me. Neither the voices of the shouting humans nor the howls of the giant wolves could be heard as the group surged forward, pressing me back. I was somehow deaf to their cries but I could see the contorted rage on their faces all too clearly as their mouths formed words that I could not make out.
The smell of smoke filled my nose even as the heat of a nearby flame could be felt at my back. They continued to press forward, their eyes filled with hatred, every face so indescribably angry as they called for my death...
***
I stood in the darkness of my bedchamber and wrapped my shawl tightly around my shoulders. Though the days were getting warmer, the night air still held a refreshing chill that banished the lingering memory of the flames. The window shutters were thrown wide and I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, enjoying the cool breeze on my face.
I had awakened from my nightmare to find myself alone, with neither the angry mob nor Alastair's sleeping form to be found. He must have left me sometime in the night to go back to his own room. Though I missed the nearness of him, I had to admit to myself that a part of me was glad to be alone. He would only worry over me until he compelled me to tell him what I had dreamt of,
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