Read Sarah Gabriel for Free Online Page B

and he did not like the reminder of it.
    “Where are we going?” she asked.
    “Not far.”
    Behind him, she stumbled over a rock, nearly lost her balance. He reached back and caught her safe, then took her hand with its bracelet of rope and led her along beside him.
    She accepted his grasp. “Thank you.”
    He scowled. He deserved no thanks after what he had done, what he planned to do. “For a hellion, you’re a polite wee thing,” he said.
    “Hellion?” she asked. “Not me.”
    He huffed a doubtful laugh and kept her hand tightly in his, the rope swinging between them.
     
    His unflagging stamina was beginning to annoy her. “Slow down,” Sophie said. “My feet hurt.”
    “It’s not far now. You seem to be doing fine.”
    “You are not climbing mountains in corsets and skirts and dancing shoes. I wish I had a simple plaid and a pair of tough brogans.”
    He glanced back at her. “Aye, you’d look fine in those. But you can take off the corsets if you like. And the skirt, too, if you please. Best leave the dancing shoes on for now. Your feet are not toughened up to manage Highland hills.”
    “I have no intention of running about in my delicates. And none of me is tough enough for these hills. Slow down,” she said. “Stop. Let me go, and I will find my way home, and we shall forget this night ever happened.”
    He stopped, turned. “Miss MacCarran,” he said slowly. “I cannot let you go. And we have only a little farther to walk. I promise. And I always keep my promises,” he added.
    Instead of leading her onward by the rope, he set his arm about her shoulders to lend her his support. At first she resisted, but his strength felt like a shield, and a calmness exuded from him that strangely reassured her.
    In the moonlight, he reminded her of a dark angel, his face handsome and compelling, his size imposing, for he was tall and robust. Moving with the graceful power of a stag on a rill, he was clearly at ease with the natural world around him.
    Though he was a savage Highlander by appearance, and his behavior was ruthless, there were intriguing layers in her Highland captor’s character. He spoke like an educated man, and showed hersmall courtesies, taking her hand to help her over rocks or runnels of water, slipping an arm around her shoulders when she tottered on a slope. For that, she was grateful. For the rest, she was puzzled more than frightened.
    As they walked, she relished the cool, fresh wind that rippled through her hair, and savored the scents and the raw strength in the hills. All the years she had been on the Continent, she had desperately missed Scotland. Now she felt as if she had truly come home—even in the company of this Highland stranger.
    For a moment Sophie felt like his equal, not his captive. Power and passion flowed through her like water pouring down a mountainside. The Fairy’s Gift seemed to stir in her, the power that gave her the talent to bring flowers to life in gardens, the talent she had otherwise suppressed. She had been longing for adventure in her sheltered life, and this Highlander challenged her to find her courage, to fight for her freedom. Something stirred within her, awakened, in his presence.
    She touched the fairy crystal on its chain at her throat, a constant reminder of her secret obligation. To protect her gift, she had hidden in the convent, burying her innermost yearnings, learning to cultivate peace. But she had not found true peace or fulfillment. She had always yearned for something more in life.
    The Highlander held out his hand to assist her over a cluster of rocks. Sophie stumbled as she came down to the ground, and he caught her against him, preventing her from falling.
    Her arms looped naturally around his neck andher body slid against his. Feeling his hard torso pressed to hers, she looked up at him, stunned by the warm thrill of that sensation. His fingers, cupped at her back waist, slipped a little inside the gap in her stays.
    The shock