Read Highland Thirst for Free Online Page A

were ye speaking to?” asked Colin, his rough-hewn face revealing only a
hint of the curiosity she could hear in his voice.
    “Peter,”
she replied, pleased that she could tell them that their clansman was still
alive.
    “He
still lives?”
    “Aye,
but he is verra weak.”
    “Because
he has lost his soul,” said Fergus, fear clear to read in his handsome face.
    “Nay,”
said Brona, a little surprised by the sharp tone in her voice for she rarely
spoke sharply to anyone. “He is weak from being left naked in this cold, damp
place and from loss of blood, but ‘tis still Peter I just talked to. There is no change in the mon he was ere he was dragged down here and surely there would be
some change if he was now soulless, aye? I wouldst judge Hervey and Angus as
lacking souls faster than I would Peter.”
    Colin
frowned. “Ye are certain he is the same?”
    “Verra
certain and I shall need your help to get him out of here,” she said.
    “Then
let us out, mistress, and we will carry the mon to safety.”
    “I
will also need ye to help me get Sir Heming out of here.” She sighed when they
both stared at her in horror.
    “But
he is a demon,” whispered Fergus.
    “Nay
he isnae,” snapped Brona. “Do ye truly think my cousin has the strength to
capture and hold firm to a creature from hell?” She nodded when they both
frowned in doubt. “E’en Hervey and Angus dinnae think he is a demon.”
    “He
drank blood, mistress.”
    “Aye,
I begin to believe that he did and ‘tis a frightening thing, but he didnae
attack Peter to get it, did he. My cousin cut Peter’s throat and kept shoving
the mon at Sir Heming until he did take what was offered. I dinnae understand
why any mon would drink blood, but what happened to Peter was the laird’s
doing, nay Sir Heming’s. If Sir Heming has such a strange need, he fought it
hard, didnae he. But, weak and wounded as he was, he obviously couldnae fight
it for verra long. All I ken is that that mon has ne’er harmed a Kerr and yet
he is being tortured unmercifully.”
    Colin
slowly nodded. “Then we will help ye get the mon out of here.”
    “Thank
ye, Colin.” Brona quickly unlocked the door to his cell. “We had best hurry. I
dinnae think anyone will be coming down here but ‘tis wise to get out of here
as quickly as we can.”
    When
Brona reached Sir Heming’s cage and held her lantern closer, she had to smother
a cry of shock. Fergus and Colin both hissed out a series of profane curses,
but she did not reprimand them for speaking so in front of her. She wished she
knew some very profane curses herself, for spitting them out might ease some of
the horror and anguish twisting knots in her stomach.
    Sir
Heming hung limply in his chains, the length of them not allowing his
unconscious body to sprawl comfortably on the stone floor. It was just another
form of torture to chain him in such a way. He was covered in blood, his body a
mass of whip marks, cuts, and bruises. Some of those wounds still oozed blood.
Brona saw the slow rise and fall of his chest and the fear that she had come
too late to save him slowly left her.
    “I
dinnae ken what the mon is, but, if he isnae a demon, he doesnae deserve this,”
muttered Colin, and Fergus grunted in agreement. “As ye say, mistress, he has
ne’er harmed us. Wheesht, I have ne’er e’en heard of these MacNachtons.”
    “There
are a lot of dark whispers about the clan,” Brona confessed as she struggled to
find the right key to unlock Heming’s cage. “I have listened to some, e’en
gently sought out some information on the clan although few here had any, but I
simply cannae believe the tales. If the MacNachtons were as dangerous and
powerful as is hinted at then they wouldnae stay so quietly hidden away at some
place called Cambrun, would they. Nay, their men would be giving the great
Douglasses a fight o’er all that power they grab for themselves. Ah, there we
are,” she muttered as she finally got the door to