LITMIR.BIZ

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      He’d shifted, hands on hips, his feet now braced in an aggressive stance.

      “I have come to set you free.” Thunder rumbled, this time closer, an ominous backdrop to her quiet offer.

      The earl remained silent, his expression raw with distrust.

      The rebel doubted her. She’d expected as much. God forbid if he discovered that Lord Tearlach, his sworn enemy, was her brother.

      At the jangle of keys, his eyes narrowed.

      Linet lifted the heavy iron ring into the windswept torchlight. “I will set you free. In return, you must agree to escort me to my mother’s clan in the Highlands.”

      In silence, Lord Grey scanned the corridor to where the guards lay slumped against the wall.

      “I have drugged them.”

      Eyes as black as the devil’s own sliced to her. “You do not fear me, lass?” His voice, dark and deep with threat, curled around her like a fist.

      “No,” she lied.

      “Then you are a fool.”

      “Nay, determined.” She drew in a slow breath, refusing to betray how his presence unnerved her. She’d dealt with his type of arrogance before, warriors who appraised their enemy, then used their opponent’s weakness to attack.

      In this confrontation, she would decide her own fate.

      And in this instance, his.

      Linet lifted the key that would unlock his cell. Torchlight caressed the hammered length of iron. “Have I your agreement?”

      “How do I know this is not a trick?”

      “You do not,” she replied. “You know nothing about me except that I hold the key to your freedom.”

      In silence, shrewd eyes assessed her as he debated her offer.

      The Scot’s arrogance amazed her. He was imprisoned inside her brother’s dungeon without hope of escape, his hanging set for dawn, yet he hesitated.

      Again the image of a wolf flashed through her mind. A predator. A man who protected his own, whatever the cost. What he didn’t understand, and never could, was that she had as much to lose as he, including her life.

      “Your vow,” she demanded, wincing inwardly at the desperation that slipped into her voice. “I hardly think you have an option.”

      He drew himself to his full height. “You have my vow, the vow of a Scotsman.”

      Unease rippled through her. His declaration echoed as more of a threat than a promise. As if she had time to debate the wisdom of freeing the rebel. They must leave before another guard appeared.

      Before she could convince herself her ill-conceived plan was indeed foolish, she motioned the dangerous Scot back. “Move away from the door.”

      Seathan MacGruder held still, intrigued by this mere slip of a woman who dared issue him orders. A muscle worked in his jaw as he studied his unlikely rescuer. She was beautiful. Like a fairy forbidden to leave the Otherworld, she stood before him with proud defiance.

      Her amber-gold hair secured behind her head in a harsh knot served to frame the fine curve of her face, a mouth that promised passion and confident eyes shadowed by secrets.

      Why would this lass dare free him to escort her to the Highlands? Did she not realize he was Lord Tearlach’s prize prisoner? Was she unaware that if the viscount learned of her scheme, she would be hanged?

      God’s teeth. Something was amiss. But whoever she was, he would sell his soul for a chance at freedom.

      And revenge.

      Dauid’s image burned his soul. His most trusted friend, a man whom he’d grown up with, a man who’d been knighted at his side—and his betrayer.

      Had he not witnessed Dauid standing alongside Lord Tearlach as the viscount’s men had hauled Seathan away, he would have defended Dauid’s honor against any accuser.

      As well, Seathan had witnessed the viscount’s knights mercilessly slaughtering the Scots who hadn’t a chance to escape. Then the English had left them to rot.

      Fury rippled through Seathan. He could forgive Dauid of many things, but not this. Once free of Breac Castle, he would warn William Wallace and his clan of Dauid’s treachery.

      Then, he would find Dauid.

      And kill him.

      Shaking off the dizziness from the torture served to him by Tearlach’s men to discover where William Wallace hid, Seathan pressed his face against the bars and scanned the corridor for any sign of a trap.

      The guards, as this mysterious woman claimed, remained slumped against the wall.

      Seathan withdrew into the shadows and gave the cloaked woman a distance he believed she would consider safe.

      For a split second, the woman hesitated, as if debating the wisdom of her decision. Only the slight tremble of her breath belied her outward calm.

      Unlock the door, he willed.

      Hesitant eyes flicked to him. On an exhale, she focused on the door.

      As the forged key scraped in the lock, the room began to blur. He fought to clear his vision.

      She pushed open the door.

      Seathan lunged forward.

      On a cry, the woman shoved the door back.

      He ripped the iron bars from her hands, hauled her inside, and pinned her body with his own against the stone wall. Before she realized his intent, he jerked her dagger from its sheath.

      Outrage cloaked her face. “You gave me your word!”

      “Quiet!” he growled, working to catch his breath and ward off the throbbing wound in his right side. A sticky warmth oozed down his flesh. Bedamned. The gash he had staunched with cloth had broken open. Seathan scanned their surroundings.

      The corridor remained empty.

      “Release me!”

      Though she was clad in a thick cloak, it couldn’t hide her slender frame or her tempting curves beneath. His fevered body stirred with interest.

      “I said quiet,” Seathan warned, owing his body’s response to exhaustion. Well he understood the turmoil incited by desires of the flesh. Needs clouded one’s keen judgment and left rational men with the common sense of an ass. Once lust cleared, a man’s emotions lay ravaged and the woman was gone.

      Many years had passed since a lass had stirred this depth of awareness within him. And with each, a cold reminder of the penance for poor decisions made.

      As if she sensed his wayward thoughts, fear flickered in her eyes. “I said release me!”

      “Lass—”

      She dug her nails into his arms as she fought to break free.

      Seathan caught her hands and pressed them above her head against the wall, his body trembling from the effort. “I will not harm you,” he ground out, silently damning her actions, which left their bodies splayed in an intimate press.

      “If you do not let me go, I will scream!”

      He clasped her wrists with one hand, moved his other to muffle her, but at her partial freedom, she jammed her elbow into his bruised rib. On a curse, he recaptured her wrist and held it back, his face inches from her own.

      She opened her mouth to scream.

      Bedamned. In a purely tactical decision, he covered her mouth with his own.

      The shot of lust inside him was immediate.

      Hot.

      Destroying.

      The lass froze as if stunned

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