The Witch and The Warrior by Karyn Monk

trapped, she opened her mouth to scream.
    His hand clamped down hard over her lips.
    â€œListen to me!” he commanded, somehow managing to keep his voice low. “I have no intention of bedding you, do you understand?”
    Gwendolyn glared at him, her breasts rising and falling so rapidly they grazed his bandaged chest.
    â€œI may be considered mad, but to my knowledge I have not yet earned a reputation as a ravager of unwilling women—do you understand?”
    His blue eyes held hers. She tried to detect deceit in them, but could not. All she saw was anger, mingled with weariness.
    â€œI have already risked far more than I have a right to, to save your life and take you home with me, Gwendolyn MacSween,” he continued. “I will
not
have it end by watching you fall deathly ill from the chill of the night.”
    He waited a moment, allowing his comments to penetrate her fear. Then, cautiously, he lifted his palm from her lips. “I will keep you warm, nothing more. You have my word.”
    She regarded him warily. “You swear you will not abuse me, MacDunn? On your honor?”
    â€œI swear.”
    Reluctantly, she eased herself onto her side. MacDunn adjusted part of his plaid over her, then once again fitted himself around her. His arm circled her waist, drawing her into the warm, hard cradle of his body. Gwendolyn lay there rigidly for a long while, scarcely breathing, waiting for him to break his word.
    Instead, he began to snore.
    Heat seemed to radiate from him, slowly permeating her chilled flesh. It warmed even the soft wool of his plaid, she realized, snuggling farther into it. A deliciously masculine scent wafted around her, the scent of horse and leather and woods. Little by little, the feel of MacDunn’s powerful body against hers became more comforting than threatening, especially as his snores grew louder.
    Until that moment, she had had virtually no knowledge of physical contact. Her mother had died when she was very young, and her father, though loving, had never been at ease with open demonstrations of affection. The unfamiliar sensation of MacDunn’s heat and strength wrapped protectively around her was unlike anything she had ever imagined. She was his prisoner, and he had saved her life only because he intended to greedily abuse the powers he erroneously believed she possessed. And yet, she felt impossibly safe.
    You belong to me now,
he had told her.
I protect what is mine.
She belonged to no one, she reflected drowsily, and no one could protect her from men like Robert, or from the ignorance and fear that was sure to fester in MacDunn’s own clan the moment they saw her. She would escape him long before they reached his lands. Tomorrow she would break free from these warriors so she could retrieve the stone, return to her clan, and kill Robert. Above all else, Robert must die. She would make him pay for murdering her father and destroying her life.
    But all this seemed distant and shadowy as she drifted into slumber, sheltered by this brave, mad warrior, feeling the steady beat of his heart pulsing against her back.

C HAPTER 3
    Her father sat before the fire, smiling with pleasure as she read to him.
    John MacSween was proud that he had taught his daughter to read, though he had to keep her ability a well-guarded secret. None of the other MacSween women were permitted to learn this skill. This was not done out of some nefarious desire to purposely deprive or control them. The MacSweens simply saw no need for women to read, since it was only men who drafted and received important messages, treaties, and agreements. Why would a young girl waste precious hours deciphering scratches on a page when she could be doing something useful, like gutting fish, combing wool, or plucking feathers? But Gwendolyn’s father had originally come from a clan farther south, and their ways had not been as traditional as those of the MacSweens. He had taught his wife to read