Read Kate Wingo - Highland Mist 01 for Free Online

garbed to her knees in only the shimmering strands of sable hair was a sight that he would have paid dearly to behold.
    Although the vision he currently beheld caused his loins to throb with an aching need, the wool plaid tenting between his hips. While the chemise might be dry, he could nonetheless see the intriguing thatch of dark hair that covered Yvette’s woman’s mound through the nearly transparent garment. The sight of which aggravated the urge to touch her. Smell her. Taste her . To hear her softly whimper as he teased her with his tongue. Teased until the lady begged him to give her succor. Until he thrust into her and they both found release.
    His noble intentions of waiting until they arrived at Castle Maoil quickly falling to the wayside, Iain placed a hand on Yvette’s shoulder, urging her to step toward him. “I dinna think that I can wait to—” At seeing the unadulterated fear that flashed across Yvette’s face, the words caught in his throat.
    F or no reason that he could fathom, he suddenly felt like a hulking, lecherous beast.
    Clearing his throat, Iain stepped away from her. “I dinna think that I can wait to fill my belly. I’ll eat with Diarmid and the others,” he muttered, not about to let the wench know the effect that she had on him.
    Clenching his teeth, as much from the driving rain as from unfulfilled lust, Iain strode outside.
    Relieved that the foul weather had driven his kinsmen indoors, he headed toward the thatched hut where the horses were stabled. He wasn’t in the mood to hear the chorus of ribald taunts that would ensue if anyone were to catch sight of his blatant arousal, his randy cock still puckering the front of his kilt. He’d sup later. Once the chill rain had cooled his lust and his need for the Sassenach had ebbed.
    Then, again, the ground might fissure open and swallow me whole.
    ’Twas as likely a scenario.

CHAPTER FOUR
     
     
     
    As she watched Iain charge through the rain toward the makeshift stable, Yvette jammed a balled fist into her mouth, muffling a sob.
    I will not cry!
    Nor would she show any weakness that the laird of Clan MacKinnon could exploit. No matter what transpired, she must stay strong. For she would only survive the horrendous ordeal if she remained stout-hearted. And while Iain MacKinnon had demanded her compliance, that was all he would get from her.
    Wiping the sleeve of her chemise under her eyes, Yvette dried her tears. She then wearily walked over to the leather pouch that contained their foodstuffs. Uncertain what she’d find, she was surprised to discover a number of neatly tied linen packets. One by one, she opened each of them, discovering smoked herring, oats, and dried beans; all of the ingredients one would need to create a hearty pottage. Although, now relieved of the burden of having to prepare a meal for her captor, Yvette could summon no enthusiasm for the task.
    Instead, she grabbed a handful of dried apples, several soggy oatcakes, and a leather flask of water. Even though she had no appetite, she stuffed a dried apple slice into her mouth and listlessly chewed it. Her strength nearly depleted, she feared that she would lose her vitality all together if she didn’t partake of some sustenance.
    Uncorking the flask, she washed the apple down w ith a mouthful of tepid water. Next, she sampled the oat cake, none too impressed with Scottish cuisine. Not only should the apple have been candied with cinnamon syrup, the oatcake would have been vastly improved with the addition of saffron and ground almonds.
    With h er pitiful meal concluded, Yvette walked over to the scattered pile of dried peat that she spied on the far side of the hut. Gathering as much of it as she could carry in her arms, she took her spoils over to the crudely constructed pit in the middle of the floor. A fire would generate much-needed heat to dry her clothing and provide a modicum of light, twilight’s shadow having just fallen.
    As she hunkered in front