Read The Laird's Captive Wife for Free Online Page B

good price were ye minded to get one. Or ye could ransom her, did she have kin.’
    He frowned. ‘I’ll decide later. In the meantime, where are the things I asked for? Where the devil is Archie?’
    As if on cue another man hastened forward and handed over a bundle of cloth. ‘Beg pardon, my lord. I’d a problem with the size.’
    The laird looked down at Ashlynn again and then at the bundle he was holding.
    ‘You’ll be needing this.’
    For a moment she stared at it and then back at him. Then, slowly, her dulled wits began to understand the significance of the great cloak around her and the immediacy of the soft fur against her skin. Her cheeks, so pale before, turned scarlet.
    If she could have hit him she would have but both hands were imprisoned beneath the folds of the heavy cloak. ‘How dare you treat me like this!’
    ‘Dare had nothing to do with it, you wee fool,’ he replied. ‘Your clothes were soaking and little better than rags anyway. If you’d kept them on you’d have gone down with a fatal ague for certain.’
    ‘Is that your excuse?’
    ‘It needed no excuse. ’Twas a matter of common sense.’
    Bereft of speech she looked away. The man neither appeared nor sounded even remotely apologetic. Instead he drew her to her feet and taking a firm hold on her arm led her aside to a clump of bushes. Then he thrust the bundle of clothing at her.
    ‘Put these on. They’re not the most feminine of garments, but they’re all that’s available and they do at least have the advantage of being intact.’
    Ashlynn glared at him. The dark eyes grew flinty.
    ‘Perhaps you’d like my help, lass?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Then dress and make haste or by heaven I’ll finish the task myself.’
    Her jaw clenched but she took the offering without further comment and retreated a few yards behind a small clump of bushes. Bare of leaves, they were not ideal to the task but provided a degree of privacy from prying eyes. A glance over her shoulder revealed that her large companion hadn’t moved. Indignation surged: the brute had no shame at all! Then she reflected that it scarcely mattered; there was nothing for him to see now that he had not already seen before.
    Giving her attention to the bundle she found it comprised a cloak in which were wrapped shirt, tunic, belt, trews and hose all clean and of strong and serviceable material. With them was a pair of leather boots. With no little relief she hurriedly pulled on the hose and trews and dragged the shirt over her head before divesting herself of the big cloak. Finally she pulled the tunic on. Like the shirt it was decidedly roomy but, she reasoned, it would allow for greater freedom of movement. It would be a lot warmer too. She fastened the belt but even on the last hole it still hung loose on her waist. The boots completed the outfit. Like everything else they were too big but better than going barefoot. Finally she threw the cloak round her shoulders and fastened it. Then, having retrieved the borrowed fur she rejoined her companion.
    He watched her come, observing the transformation wrought in one comprehensive look. His expression gave nothing away but under that penetrating gaze she felt her anger mount again. With an effort she controlled it. The knowledge that she was beholden to the rogue didn’t make things any better. Trying to gather a few protective shreds of dignity she drew in a deep breath.
    ‘I suppose I should thank you for pulling me out of the water.’
    ‘Aye, you should. If it hadn’t been for you, Fitzurse would never have escaped.’
    ‘I’m sorry he did.’
    ‘So am I.’
    ‘Why did you want to kill him?’
    ‘That need not concern you.’
    His wrath was almost palpable. That she should have been in part responsible only made matters worse. In a more diffident tone she said, ‘I am grateful for what you did back there.’
    The reply was a snort that might have been compounded of anger or disgust, or both. It brought her chin up at