The Outlaw's Bride (The Brides 0f Skye Book 2) by Jayne Castel

Author:Jayne Castel [Castel, Jayne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Epic Fantasy Romance, Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance, Brawny Highland Warriors, Majestic & Mysterious Scottish Highlands, Ancient Civilizations, Women's Fiction, Regency & Victorian Era, 15th Century, Forever Love, Bachelor, Single Woman, Medieval & Ancient World, Thrillers & Suspense, Mystery & Intrigue, Protection & Safety, Action & Adventure, Dangerous & Deadly, Romantic Suspense, Life-Changes, Second Chance Reunion, Highlander, Rough & Tumble, Fantasy, Lifetime Love, Romantic Schemes, Mysterious Scottish Highlands, Dark Ages, Beautiful & Feisty, The Brides 0f Skye Series
Publisher: Winter Mist Press
Published: 2019-05-16T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Ill-Tidings

ADAIRA CHOKED DOWN a mouthful of swan.

The meat was rich and smothered in butter. She’d had it once before, at her father and Una’s handfasting feast. She’d enjoyed it then, but the taste sickened her now.

Morgan Fraser was not a garrulous man. He said very little as the meal stretched out, yet his silence made the tension within her grow. He watched her with a vulturine look that made her heart race, her palms grow clammy. Last time she’d seen him, he’d been on his sickbed, recovering from a terrible wound. He’d been frightening then, yet the full force of his personality had been checked.

This evening he appeared completely healed. Clad in plaid and leather, his grey streaked red hair pulled back at the nape, he watched her with hard eyes.

“Malcolm MacLeod took a jewel from me,” he said after a long while.

The comment was unexpected, and Adaira tensed. She glanced at him, and he snared her gaze, holding it fast. Adaira swallowed. She wanted to look away but found she couldn’t.

“My first wife was sweet tempered but plain-faced,” the Fraser chieftain said, his voice barely above a whisper so that none but Adaira could hear him. “She bore me four sons, but I found her company irksome. I was relieved when she died.”

Adaira drew in a sharp breath. She didn’t want to know all this. She wished he’d cease this tale, but he did not.

“But then Una came into my life. She was Una Campbell then: small, dark-haired, and wild.” He paused, his eyes turning a murderous shade of green. “We had barely a year together before yer father stole her from me.”

Adaira’s pulse fluttered in the base of her throat. He made Una sound like the passive recipient of her father’s affections, when in fact it had been her step-mother who’d taken the initiative and fled.

She wasn’t about to point this out to Morgan Fraser though. He’d likely draw that dirk at his side and stab her through the throat with it.

She saw the promise of vengeance, of violence, in his eyes, and a shudder went through her. She knew then with certainty that he’d never treat her gently.

He would make her suffer.

Adaira tore her gaze away, breathing quickly, and stared down at the platter of food before her.

“Ye are afraid,” Fraser noted. “Good. I want to see fear in yer eyes every time ye look at me.”

Heaven knows what would have happened then, what more he might have said. But at that moment, the sound of a commotion from the far end of the hall drew the chieftain’s eye.

A tall man clad in leather armor, a travel stained cloak billowing behind him, strode down the aisle between tables. He wore a weary, hard expression. His dark eyes were riveted upon Morgan Fraser.

“Marcas,” Morgan greeted him. Adaira forgotten, he rose to his feet. “What news from the mainland.”

The man, who had dark-auburn hair and a chiseled jaw that reminded Adaira of Lachlann’s, pursed his lips, his eyes glittering.

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