Read Desire in Tartan: 2 (Highland Vampires) for Free Online Page B

gelding. “They’re to the southeast, nearish to the River Garnock.”
    “The Kilbirnies?”
    “Our distant clansmen. The Kilburns come from the Kilbirnies, ye ken? We’re an offshoot, but we’re friends. Allies.”
    They’d left Glasgow the next morning, with Dugald explaining that haste was necessary. They’d be racing the Highland storms to Kilburn Castle, which was far to the northwest.
    She squirmed on her seat atop Mary, occasionally flexing and relaxing her ankle. She hoped that she could manage a long day of riding, because Dugald didn’t seem inclined to stop. The countryside around Glasgow was heavily populated, and he appeared to want to avoid notice, taking narrower byways rather than wider roads, clearly unconcerned about the dangers that the quieter trails presented, footpads and the like. She had heard that many a traveler to the Highlands wrote their final will and testament before setting out, so dangerous was the savage country.
    On the other hand, Dugald and his mates were likely the wild Highlanders whom such travelers feared. The Kilburns were a fierce group. Each featured the same dark, almost threatening good looks. Each rode a massive steed and, once they were clear of town, each bore weapons that she knew had been forbidden.
    Moreover, some drew from their horses’ panniers lengths of tartan in two shades of blue crossed with thin yellow and red stripes. Her heart raced. These were not the common shepherds’ plaidies of black and white. This had to be the Kilburn tartan, which the men now wore without a shred of fear, despite its illegality.
    Yes, the Kilburns were a frightening lot, but not a threat to her—or so she hoped. She still stayed clear of the trio she thought of as the Tupping Threesome—Murdo, Malcolm and Blain—while trying to avoid the appearance of clinging to Dugald. Men such as he didn’t like clinging females.
    After they’d left Glasgow, the countryside had quickly turned from gray and gloomy to…gray and beautiful, in its own way. Though the fog persisted, the land itself was green and good, with tilled fields in the flatlands and forests shrouding the hills.
    When evening approached, a tired Alice hoped that their first day’s travel was close to its end. Mary, a smaller mount than the rest, lagged behind as Dugald led the group along a mist-laden trail that clung to the hill above a narrow glen. Below, a river—the Garnock, she assumed—rushed in a torrent toward the sea.
    Mist gathered on the brim of her new hat, falling in fat drips onto the thick felted wool of her habit. She was warm and dry but doubted that the charming feather in the hatband had survived with any degree of dash. A shame, that.
    She sniffled before pulling out a hanky from where she’d stuffed it under one ruffled cuff, and wiped her nose. She shoved it back with a proud glance at the finely stitched linen. She’d never had blouses so lovely. They stuck out just the right distance from the green wool sleeve, an elegant touch, and the white lacy ruffle contrasted beautifully with her dark leather gloves.
    Mary stumbled and went down on one knee. Alice barely managed to keep from pitching over the horse’s head by clutching the mane. She untangled her foot from the slipper stirrup and dismounted.
    Mary had righted herself but stood shivering. Droplets of condensation clung to her thick coat, and she looked as thoroughly miserable as Alice felt.
    She patted the mare’s coarse black mane. “There, there, darling. I know it’s a bit of a change from your nice cozy stable, but we’ll be all right soon.” Going to Mary’s left front leg—the one that had scraped the ground—Alice stooped and inspected it carefully. The lingering memories of her horsemanship lessons told her that Mary’s knee needed to be cleaned and poulticed at the earliest possible moment.
    She took her water bottle from where it hung from her saddle and poured clean liquid over the wound, flushing away bits of mud