Free To Steal a Highlander's Heart by Samantha Holt Page A

Morgann stepped out of the arched
doorway and stood on the bridge that connected the courtyard to the castle. He
sucked in a long breath and studied the clear skies with a frown.
    An
odd storm indeed, the one that caught them both unawares. Almost as if the
fates intended for them to be stuck out in the hills. Shaking away the foolish
notion, he marched across the bridge and took the stairs up to the ramparts,
two at a time. A fresh breeze blew over the top of the wall bringing a sense of
promise.
    Something
was to change. He could feel it. Hopefully his missive would be in Laird
Dougall's hands before long and he now had no choice but to admit the truth to
his father. Finally Glencolum would be free of the witch’s conniving schemes
and his clan truly safe.
    ***
    Alana
moaned as Morgann wrapped his thick hands around her wrists, pinning them down as
he assaulted her mouth again. Mindlessly she rocked her body up into him, the
warmth of his mouth drowning out everything. Only heat and hardness and heavy
breathing existed.
    She
opened her eyes and a blanket of red greeted her. She scowled and tried to tug
her hands free from Morgann’s grip but he refused to release her. As her tired
eyes cleared, she realised Morgann had gone. And she wasn’t in her bed at home.
Alana struggled to rub the sleep from her eyes but something yanked on her
wrists.
    Glancing
down, she spied the sheets tied around her hands and groaned. A dream. It had all
been a dream. And the unfamiliar red fabric was the canopy of Morgann’s bed. At
least she assumed it was his bed. She’d never been in these chambers before but
a masculine scent lingered on the sheets.
    She
remained a prisoner of Morgann MacRae.
    Sweet
Mary, but that dream had been vivid. She blew her tangled hair from her face,
hoping to cool her skin a little. Ach, dreaming of her captor was no good
thing. She needed to remain detached if she was to find a way out. And she had
very little time. With only a day’s ride between the castles, her father could
well be on his way now. Though she imagined he would want to gather his men
first.
    Footsteps
sounded outside her door and came to a stop. She bolted upright and attempted
to comb back her hair from her face with bound hands. Her heart sank as Finn
stepped into the room, a huge smile on his face.
    “Good
morrow, my lady.”
    Alana
raised a brow and went to fold her arms over her chest, only for her bindings
to prevent her from doing so. “Ye need not play the chivalrous nobleman with
me, Finn. I know ye are as discourteous as they come.”
    “Ach,
Alana, ye wound me.” He gave her an injured look.
    She
studied the fair giant of a man, trying to resist the twitching of her lips.
He’d changed little over the years, still tall and broad with long hair and a slightly
bent nose. Not that it marred his strong features. Men like Finn took pride in
their battle wounds and women seemed to admire them just as much. He was indeed
handsome, so how was it Finn didn’t inspire imaginings like Morgann did?
    “Are
ye going to behave yerself now, lass?” He stepped forward and drew a hand from
behind his back, revealing a bundle of clothing. “I have a clean gown and plaid
for ye. Thought ye might need them after yer adventures yester eve seeing as ye
never had a chance to change.”
    Taken
aback by his thoughtfulness, Alana opened her mouth and clamped it shut. Finn
always had been tender hearted, even when she’d known him as a boy. Why couldn’t
she hunger after him instead of the inconsiderate, brutish laird?
    "Aye,
well, I thank ye," she muttered and, realising how petulant she sounded,
she offered a reluctant smile. "'Tis thoughtful of ye."
    Finn
placed the garments into her hands and sat on the end of the bed. "If I
release ye, ye'll no' try to escape will ye?"
    Alana
glanced at the slightly ajar door then at Finn and finally at her wrists. She couldn't
see herself getting very far past the large warrior. Mayhap she could appeal