Free His Stolen Bride BN by Shayla Black Page B

important. “Drake cannot have taken Averyl
     too far, certainly not to that grandfather of his in England. Not yet, anyway. We
     must find them, and soon.”
    Wallace shuffled his feet. “With all due respect, my lord, what if Drake has killed
     her?”
    “He would not,” Murdoch growled. “Such an event would release me from my father’s
     cursed machinations.”
    “Drake has always dared much,” Wallace pointed out.
    “On that we agree, but to kill her would gain him naught and gain me everything.”
    “Could you not declare the girl dead? Such would give you leave to marry another with
     more wealth and connections—”
    “It must be her, unless I can produce her corpse. My father’s will states that I will
     inherit only after I wed Averyl and end this bloody feud with the Campbells.”
    “Ah, so you must find her and marry her?”
    He clenched his jaw, cursing his father’s manipulations from beyond the grave. “Precisely.”
    Moments later, a castle guard appeared with an elderly stoop-backed peasant, a fisherman.
     He shuffled in, his slow movements relating pain. His stark silver hair accented black
     eyes that glittered with anticipation.
    Murdoch chafed with impatience. “Well, what news do you bring?”
    The old man’s gnarled fingers gripped his weathered cane for support as he lowered
     himself into the nearest chair. “’Tis an honor to meet ye, me lord.”
    “Indeed.” Murdoch ended the chatter with a glare. “Tell me where to find my half brother
     so I may say the same.”
    “Aye, me lord. I saw him two days past.”
    “Alone?” Murdoch hovered over the peasant.
    “Nay. ’Twas with a woman he traveled.”
    “Describe her,” he demanded.
    “I dinna see her weel. She was a wee thing, mind ye. Her hair was fair, as was her
     skin.”
    Murdoch nodded. The description seemed accurate enough. “Which way did they travel?
     Could you tell?”
    “Aye, me lord, I could.”
     
    * * * * *
     
    After her bath, Averyl returned to the cottage as twilight painted the Scottish sky
     a misty blue-gray. Relief seeped through her when she lit two tapers in the dark dwelling
     and discovered herself alone.
    Quickly, she ran a brush through her hair, braided it, and tucked it beneath her cap.
     Frowning into the glass, she wondered why she bothered. Perhaps her mass of curls
     would revolt her captor, ensure he kept his distance. Still, she hated to see them
     loose, to be reminded of all her faults…
    With a sigh, she sat on the bed. Why had she not been born with silky hair and rosy
     cheeks like Becca? The mass of her pale curls next to an equally pale face made her
     look sickly. Her wisp of a figure did naught to dispel the image.
    Bother! Her appearance mattered not. She would wed Murdoch, who had seemed pleased enough
     with her, when she emerged from this hell. And while here, she had no wish for Locke
     to think her attractive. He was Murdoch’s enemy, a murderer who would use her for
     his revenge, at the expense of her future. He was no more than a hate-crazed beast.
    Aye, but that odd moment of heat she had once seen in his eyes while she ate his orange
     made her…restless. No denying, he was sinfully handsome. Under other circumstances,
     he would never cast a second glance in her direction. Such a realization annoyed her.
    Nay, she hoped Locke thought her ugly. Returning to Dunollie and the MacDougall, to
     the match she might still make, and the certainty that she could see Abbotsford’s
     great keep prosper for her mother’s memory—nothing more mattered.
    Locke entered the dwelling as the sun began to fall. Averyl turned to face him—only
     to find him bare-chested.
    She felt her eyes go wide as her gaze covered him. The dark, golden skin of his impossibly
     broad shoulders glistened with water droplets. So did the powerful torso that tapered
     into a lean, muscled waist. Struggling for her next breath, she watched a droplet
     descend from his navel, down over his rigid