Free Seduced by a Highlander by Paula Quinn Page B

difficult, Tristan knew, and he smiled up at the gallery. What quest for honor was ever easy?



Chapter Seven

    I nstead of going directly to her brother’s chamber, Isobel entered the Banqueting House. Let Alex tend to himself. This time, he had gone too far. Was he trying to get more of their small family killed? Oh, wait until she told Patrick what he had done. Should she even tell Patrick? He had enough to do at home without worrying over their rash, reckless brother. She was busy cursing Alex when she walked straight into a thick muscular arm.
    “Ye’re Patrick Fergusson’s sister, aye?”
    Isobel looked up into a pair of bloodshot eyes and a red bushy beard speckled with bits of food. His thick chest blocked her view of a third of the king’s guests.
    “I am John Douglas,” he said, looping his beefy forearm around her shoulder and herding her to a less crowded area. “I’ve seen ye with Patrick at the market in Dumfries. Is he here?”
    “I regret, he is not.” Isobel smiled politely and slipped away from his grasp. “But my other—”
    “Duncan!” the husky Lowlander called out, capturingher elbow in his palm to stop her. “Have a look at who just dropped into my arms.” As his friend approached, his grin as wide as the gaping holes in his mouth, John Douglas tossed his arm around her again and dipped his face to hers. “Best tell Duncan yer name, lass. He’ll be wantin’ to recall it tomorrow, I’m certain.”
    Isobel coughed at the stench of ale saturating Mister Douglas’s breath as it fell over her. The hair along her nape rose as his arm snaked tighter around her, keeping her close. A sense of danger swept over her. Instinctively, she looked around for help. None of the king’s other guests looked overly interested in her predicament, and even if they were, Isobel didn’t think any one of them would risk a fight with these two. Douglas and his companion might be too soused to wield a sword with any precision, but they were big, and a swinging fist could likely break a jaw.
    “Speak up now, little one.” Duncan inched toward her. “We won’t bite.”
    Isobel glared at his toothless leer. Truly, she didn’t want to start something her brothers might have to finish, but she wasn’t about to let these two ill-bred swine see her squirm. “I’ve nae doubt about that.” Plucking Douglas’s arm from her shoulder, she stepped away. “If ye will pardon me…”
    Fingers closed around her wrist, stopping her yet again. This time, though, she was yanked rather forcefully back into John Douglas’s chest. “Nae, I don’t think I will. How about ye, Duncan?” he asked, turning to his companion. “Will ye pardon the bonnie Miss Fergusson?”
    Duncan shook his head, his hungry gaze spilling over the swell of her breasts. “Mayhap we can persuade her to come back to our chambers.”
    “John Douglas!”
    Isobel’s captor swung around, bringing her with him to meet Tristan’s amiable smile.
    Isobel wasn’t sure if she was happy to see him. She didn’t want to be. She wanted to continue hating him, but it was proving more difficult each time he came to her rescue. She’d lost too much because of his family, and it angered her that he believed that if they became friends, all crimes could be forgiven. His kiss that night in the garden had nearly swayed her opinion of him. But she’d put away all memories of his mouth on hers. Or at least, she had tried to. Tristan MacGregor’s mouth was not an easy thing to forget. The supple fullness of his lips as they fell against hers, the hunger of his tongue, dashing her resolve to pieces with the barest lick.
    Never again. She would never again give in to his manly wiles. He was used to getting what he wanted from women, and as she’d suspected, he wanted more from her than a kiss. He wanted her “friendship,” even her trust. Mayhap he wanted her secrets, but he would never learn them.
    “Last I heard,” Tristan said jauntily, moving closer