flower’s” fist smashed into his jaw before he could draw his next breath.
“What the hell?” she demanded, her eyes sparklingwith her emotion even as her fists flailed at his head and shoulders. “Get your hands off me. Right now! Put me down!”
While he would not harm her, he harbored no illusions as to her intent. The woman packed the punch of a blacksmith.
“Calm yerself, my lady,” he cautioned as he allowed her feet to touch the ground without releasing his hold around her shoulders.
“Calm myself, my ass! Let. Me. Go.” She shoved her weight against him, swinging her fist again as she tried to turn.
Prepared this time, her blow was easily deflected.
“As you will it, my lady.” He lifted his hands into the air to signal his capitulation to her demands even as he stepped back.
Silence reigned in the circle as they waited, her gaze swinging wildly from him to Patrick and back again, her arms held in front of her as if in preparation for attack. Bright red splotches bloomed on her cheeks just before she blinked her eyes several times in an exaggerated manner, lifting her eyebrows as if it were the only way to force her eyelids to open.
“Whoa,” she muttered, bringing one hand to her forehead. “Where am I? Who are . . . ?”
Her words trailed off as her head lolled over and her knees buckled beneath her, her body crumpling down.
“Bollocks!” Malcolm dove forward to catch her before she hit the ground, lifting her once again into his arms.
Behind him, Patrick snorted. “I said it before, did I no? Plain and simple. This one’s trouble.”
Settling onto his mount, his new charge in his arms, Malcolm shook his head in denial.
Not about the trouble part. Though Patrick always claimed that of any woman in his path, he could very well be right about trouble this time. But there was nothing either plain or simple about this woman. And even if she weren’t the trouble his brother claimed, neither was she the delicate flower he’d earlier imagined. In fact, if he were to compare her to any flower at the moment, it would have to be one with thorns.
He rubbed a hand absently over the throb in his jaw.
Sharp, prickly thorns, with a temper to match.
N ine
D ANI AWOKE FROM the nightmare, acutely aware of the chill in her room.
Damn.
The mind was certainly a powerful thing. That bizarre dream had felt so real, her hand actually hurt as if she had really slammed her fist into someone’s face.
Not that she couldn’t figure out why her subconscious would conjure up a scenario like men on horseback taking her captive. After all, she’d spent her evening fending off that octopus-handed, wannabe cowboy, Clay Carter. So much for the horses and captive part.
She pulled the heavy coverlet up and snuggled down in the big bed, thankful her alarm hadn’t screamed at her yet. Just a few more minutes to savor bits and pieces of the dream. No matter how foolish it might be, a part of her wished some of that dream had been real.
Or maybe it was only the man she’d dreamed up whom she wished had been real.
It took no effort at all to re-create him in her mind’s eye. Ol’ Steely Jaw had been something to look at, all right,though if she was going to start regularly making up Scottish warriors to dream about, maybe it was time to give up reading so many of those Highland romances.
Or time to go buy some more.
She smiled to herself, thinking once more of the man. How her imagination had managed to create something as wonderful as him when she’d gone to bed thinking about that poop Clay was beyond her.
Wait.
The night before flickered through her mind like a grainy movie. She hadn’t been thinking of Clay when she’d gone to bed. In fact, she couldn’t actually remember going to bed. The last thing she remembered was standing in that Faerie Circle she’d built.
Dani tossed the covers off as she pushed up to sit. The light in the room came not from the streetlamps out in the parking lot but
“What the hell?” she demanded, her eyes sparklingwith her emotion even as her fists flailed at his head and shoulders. “Get your hands off me. Right now! Put me down!”
While he would not harm her, he harbored no illusions as to her intent. The woman packed the punch of a blacksmith.
“Calm yerself, my lady,” he cautioned as he allowed her feet to touch the ground without releasing his hold around her shoulders.
“Calm myself, my ass! Let. Me. Go.” She shoved her weight against him, swinging her fist again as she tried to turn.
Prepared this time, her blow was easily deflected.
“As you will it, my lady.” He lifted his hands into the air to signal his capitulation to her demands even as he stepped back.
Silence reigned in the circle as they waited, her gaze swinging wildly from him to Patrick and back again, her arms held in front of her as if in preparation for attack. Bright red splotches bloomed on her cheeks just before she blinked her eyes several times in an exaggerated manner, lifting her eyebrows as if it were the only way to force her eyelids to open.
“Whoa,” she muttered, bringing one hand to her forehead. “Where am I? Who are . . . ?”
Her words trailed off as her head lolled over and her knees buckled beneath her, her body crumpling down.
“Bollocks!” Malcolm dove forward to catch her before she hit the ground, lifting her once again into his arms.
Behind him, Patrick snorted. “I said it before, did I no? Plain and simple. This one’s trouble.”
Settling onto his mount, his new charge in his arms, Malcolm shook his head in denial.
Not about the trouble part. Though Patrick always claimed that of any woman in his path, he could very well be right about trouble this time. But there was nothing either plain or simple about this woman. And even if she weren’t the trouble his brother claimed, neither was she the delicate flower he’d earlier imagined. In fact, if he were to compare her to any flower at the moment, it would have to be one with thorns.
He rubbed a hand absently over the throb in his jaw.
Sharp, prickly thorns, with a temper to match.
N ine
D ANI AWOKE FROM the nightmare, acutely aware of the chill in her room.
Damn.
The mind was certainly a powerful thing. That bizarre dream had felt so real, her hand actually hurt as if she had really slammed her fist into someone’s face.
Not that she couldn’t figure out why her subconscious would conjure up a scenario like men on horseback taking her captive. After all, she’d spent her evening fending off that octopus-handed, wannabe cowboy, Clay Carter. So much for the horses and captive part.
She pulled the heavy coverlet up and snuggled down in the big bed, thankful her alarm hadn’t screamed at her yet. Just a few more minutes to savor bits and pieces of the dream. No matter how foolish it might be, a part of her wished some of that dream had been real.
Or maybe it was only the man she’d dreamed up whom she wished had been real.
It took no effort at all to re-create him in her mind’s eye. Ol’ Steely Jaw had been something to look at, all right,though if she was going to start regularly making up Scottish warriors to dream about, maybe it was time to give up reading so many of those Highland romances.
Or time to go buy some more.
She smiled to herself, thinking once more of the man. How her imagination had managed to create something as wonderful as him when she’d gone to bed thinking about that poop Clay was beyond her.
Wait.
The night before flickered through her mind like a grainy movie. She hadn’t been thinking of Clay when she’d gone to bed. In fact, she couldn’t actually remember going to bed. The last thing she remembered was standing in that Faerie Circle she’d built.
Dani tossed the covers off as she pushed up to sit. The light in the room came not from the streetlamps out in the parking lot but
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