Read Stormfire for Free Online

She withdrew her attention from her ankles and met his gaze. She had seen the same hawk-hard cast of features among Moors of southern Spain, and his closely cropped black hair suggested Jacobin sympathies. "You've gone to a great deal of trouble to bring me here. May I ask why?" Her voice was soft, almost husky, but as clipped as a Prussian officer's. Sean might have smiled at her coolness if the situation had left any room for amusement.
    "Your father owes me a debt."
    She glanced at the handsomely appointed study, the huge painting of leopards couchants over the desk, the gleaming Celtic artifacts mounted on one wall. "Wouldn't it have been more civilized to send a solicitor?"
    "Possibly. If the debt were merely monetary."
    His indulgent tone annoyed her. "You must hate him very much to risk other men's lives to steal his only child."
    "Few men have cause to hate him more, but I'm only one among his critics," he replied dryly. "And little risk was involved. Stealing you was simple enough."
    "And not having been present, you're very sure of that?"
    "If you managed, in some small way, to inconvenience my men and escaped with a few bruises, don't press your luck. You've arrived intact by my order. Personally, I'd like nothing better than an excuse to throttle you."
    Her jaw lifted. "Do you intend to murder me?"
    Culhane's eyebrows quirked. "Not at the moment." He rose and crossed to her. Her slim white throat was arched, her head with its thick, tangled hair thrown back as she looked up at him, her eyes unflinching. Still, he heard a slight gasp as he pulled her up on deadened legs. She made no effort to pull away, probably realizing she would fall if she tried to resist him. Backing, he forced her to take a few steps. Along with the waver of cramped limbs, he felt her tension, although her eyes showed nothing but defiant contempt. "If you're looking into my soul, I can tell you now it's black as the Pit," he drawled.
    "If bullying defenseless women is the least of your sins, I must agree with you."
    "It's amazed I am at how quickly you've blossomed from child to woman." His lilt had become mocking. "Moments ago, I could swear you were barely out of leaders."
    "A short time in your company has sufficed to age me."
    "Well . . ." He looked down at her faltering steps. "If you hope to totter home one day, you'd better mind your manners."
    Her eyes blazed. "What will you do if I don't? Threaten me to death?" She tried to twist out of his grasp but he jerked her up so that her toes barely reached to the floor.
    "It's time you understand your status here. So long as I intend to keep you, you're mine to do with as I like. You're in Ireland, girl, to see how the Irish live, and how they die, if I'm inclined to stretch your education that far. Here, my word is law, whereas you rate less than the least Irish Pig"
    Blinded with fury, she spat. The spittle struck him on the cheek and his green eyes went mtpderous. One hand left its bruising grip on her arm, ana he backhanded her across the face. Catherine thought her neck would snap. Light exploded in her head as warmth flowed into her nose and mouth. The fire in the hearth dimmed.
    He roughly picked her up and strode through the door into a dark foyer. Only the pounding pain in her head and neck told her she had not fainted. He carried her up a long flight of stairs, then along a hallway. Pausing almost in midstride, he shouldered open a door, went into a room, and unceremoniously dropped her in a straight-backed chair. When she immediately tried to get up, he firmly shoved her back, dunked a towel in a basin of water on the adjacent commode, and, tugging her head back by the hair, plopped the cold towel sopping wet across her face. She let out a squeal of shock and outrage as icy water ran down her chin and throat and worked its chilly way between her breasts. When she grabbed at the towel, he jerked her hands away. "Hold still! Your nose is bleeding a river. And keep your head