Free The Rebel by Julianne MacLean Page B

while she was ready to drop to the floor in a dead faint, on account of the pain in her head and the sheer fright induced by his intimidating presence.
    “What is it that you plan to do with me?” she boldly asked. “Do you mean to keep me as your prisoner?”
    He chuckled at that. She glared at him with bitter rancour, but the passion of her grimace caused her great pain. She groaned and covered the side of her face with a hand. “God in heaven, what did you do me? My face feels like it’s been smashed up against a rock.”
    The Highlander glanced over his shoulder, as if to check the door for prying eyes and ears, then ducked under the top of the curtain to enter the small room. Elizabeth had no choice but to back out of his way.
    She suddenly found herself trapped up against the wall, while he blocked the only exit. The curtain fell closed behind him.
    “I apologize for that,” he said. “I didn’t know you were a woman.”
    She raised her chin. “What difference should that make? I was trying to kill you.”
    His arresting green eyes narrowed slightly, as if he was intrigued by her reply, and it was not until that moment that she realized he was impossibly handsome. He had a face that could only be shaped by an artist, with finely carved cheekbones and a rugged, square jaw. The lips were moist and full – she would almost call them beautiful – and those long lashed green eyes… They possessed a mysterious gleaming power that rendered her speechless. She couldn’t think. All she could do was stand before him like a bumbling fool and attempt to contemplate the origins of such divine physical perfection. Bestowed upon a Highlander, no less. Was there no justice in the world?
    “Aye, and you fought bravely,” he said. “But what were you doing on the battlefield, lass? It’s no place for a woman. And I don’t know why you’re in such a hurry to return. I know of no British officer who would take kindly to the fact that you’re wearing a stolen uniform.”
    Elizabeth frowned. “First you bash me in the side of the head, and now you call me a thief?”
    He inclined his head at her. “Aye, and a damned foolhardy one at that.”
    Moving further away from him along the wall, she crossed to the bed and sat down. “All right, so I stole it, but I was fighting for my country.”
    He palmed the hilt of his sword. “I think you were fighting for more than that, unless you know King George personally.”
    “Of course I do not.”
    “Then I reckon it’s something else that got prickly under your corset, because I don’t believe it’s as simple as that. Your regiment was ordered to retreat, but there you were, leaping out from behind a rock, coming at me with vengeance in your eyes.”
    Her gaze lifted. “Is that how it looked to you?”
    “Aye.”
    Nodding her head, feeling almost sick from the violent impulses that had plagued her on that battlefield, she curled her hands around the edge of the mattress. “I don’t suppose you have anything to numb this pain?”
    He was quiet for a moment, then disappeared through the curtain and returned with a bottle of something, which he uncorked with his teeth. “Moncrieffe Whisky, the best in the Highlands.”
    He held it out to her.
    “Do you not have a glass to offer a lady?”
    He chuckled softly. “Is that what you are now?”
    Their gazes locked, and all the blood in her body seemed to rush to her head.
    She swiped the bottle from his grasp, tipped it up and guzzled a few deep swigs. The spirit sizzled and burned down her throat, left her gasping for air.
    “That ought to numb at least something ,” the Highlander said under his breath, as he took the bottle away from her.
    Elizabeth waited a moment for the spirit to flow through her body, then worked hard to relax her mind. “Thank you.”
    The Highlander gave no reply. For the longest time, he simply stood patiently before her.
    “Feelin’ any better?” he asked.
    “Yes.” Cautiously, Elizabeth