Excerpt
#1
“You could slow
down some,” she muttered under her breath as none other than Laird Conall
Hamilton yanked her through the woods toward Stirling Bridge.
“Not if they are
to believe you are my prisoner,” he stated blandly, his hold on her wrist an
unbreakable vice grip.
Naturally, ever
the hero, he had volunteered to bait the English alongside her. At least six
foot five with broad shoulders and endless muscles she was no match for him
physically. But maybe mentally. Time would tell. Lindsay sighed as she stumbled
along and put up a believable struggle. The truth was, Conall was as smart as
he was strong and that, amongst other things, was getting on her nerves.
Sure, being
flung back in time to days before one of the most famous battles in Scottish
history was daunting, but she had handled it. She had worked her magic with
Hugh Cressingham then even John de Warenne, the Earl of Surrey. As she was so
good at when it came to men, she had been what they needed her to be. But then
that’s what she did for a living.
She acted, and
she did so very well.
Again and again,
over and over, no matter where she was.
“The bloody
Sassenach are watching you, lass,” Conall muttered. “They want you back.”
“That’s what
we’re counting on,” she reminded, nearly tripping on a root.
Fog drifted in
thick waves through the damp, pine-scented forest, obscuring far more than she
would like. It hid things from her. Kept something from her. Up until this
point, she had been strong but something about that, not being able to see
beyond the fog, sent shivers through her. A chill and dread that, of all
things, had her clutching the ring in her pocket for comfort.
Guidance.
Protection.
But why would
she feel that way?
Even as she
shook her head against the idea, she slid the Claddagh ring on. Unfortunately,
it didn’t affect her fear in the least. If anything, it made her feel more
vulnerable. Or was it really the ring? She frowned as her eyes went to Conall.
“So what is your
plan once we get close?” she said. “Because I thought I should be the one to
put on the show seeing how I am a professional actress and you’re ah…well,
rather transparent.”
“I suspect you
will put on a show,” he acknowledged, clearly not all that impressed as he
pulled her along. “I’ll be curious to see how well you perform.”
Like Adlin and
Bryce, he said ‘you’ instead of ‘ye’ when speaking with her. Evidently, it was
how medieval MacLomains made it easier for twenty-first century women to
understand them.
“So why are you
so upset?” Lindsay arched her brows, about over his attitude given their
current circumstances. “Might it be because I spent the night in William’s
tent?”
Conall scowled.
“Why would I care if you spent the night in his tent?”
Lindsay rolled
her eyes. “Because you have been smitten with me since the night all of you
saved me from the English.”
“Is that what
you think?” His voice remained bland. “Or could you have misconstrued my
vigilance in protecting a lass who tempts her own demise at every turn as
affection?”
She dodged
another root, growing more irritated by the moment. “So ending up in the
enemy’s camp against my will was tempting my own demise?” She inhaled deeply at
his gall. “Are you serious?”
“Ending up in
Cressingham’s arms was tempting something,” he returned. “And God only knows
what you were up to in the Earl’s tent.”
She narrowed her
eyes at the back of his head. They might have met a few days ago, but this was
the most he had ever spoken to her. Where she had hoped they might be able to
speak sooner, now she was of the mind he had spared her.
“Why don’t you
say what’s really on your mind, Conall,” she said. “Because I highly doubt it
has anything to do with me being in anyone’s arms but William’s—”
That’s all she
managed to get out before he whipped her around and backed her against a tree.
Half a breath later his lips were on hers.
