Read When a Laird Loves a Lady (Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Book 1) for Free Online Page B

liar, so I’ll cut out his tongue.”
    “No!” she shouted at the same time
the captain did, but Froste didn’t listen, and with a sharp nod, she found
herself being taken by two knights. Each gripped her by an arm.
    Froste grabbed the captain by the
throat and lifted his dagger to the whimpering man’s face. “Open your mouth.”
    “No!” Marion cried again,
struggling to be released to no avail. She could not let him cut out the man’s
tongue, even though the truth would seal her fate. “I lied. The captain is
telling the truth.”
    Froste turned toward her as he
flicked a hand at the captain. “Out of my sight.”
    Marion watched with a sinking
feeling as the captain, all too readily, abandoned her. Froste stepped toward
her, gesturing to the knights to release her. He moved closer, towering over
her, and tangled his hands in her hair.
    “I’m going to have to punish you,
Marion.”
     

     
    After locating King Edward’s man and delivering the
news of Marion de Lacy’s death, Iain and Rory Mac made their way out of the
friary and then mounted their horses to ride north to Pilgrim Street. Silence
lay thick as a highland fog over Newcastle at this late hour, and each time
their horses’ hooves struck the stone street, the sound seemed deafening.
Though inns crowded both sides of the streets, all had their doors shut and
most were dark, the tenants abed for the night. It made no difference, though.
They were headed to the northwest in the direction of yet another friary. There
was a priest there by name of Father Thomas, who was an old friend of the
MacLeod clan, and he had offered to bed them down for the night on their return
trip to Scotland. Iain only wanted a few hours of sleep before departing.
    The sound of neighing horses
reached his ears over the clopping of his horse Olaf’s hooves, followed
forthwith by the hum of voices. Low voices. Male voices. As they neared the end
of Pilgrim Street, torches lit the night near the gate. A group of four men
seemed to have formed a semicircle. As Iain and Rory Mac drew closer to the
group, he caught a glimpse of one of the men’s surcoats—burgundy and gold with
a gold snake on the front—Froste’s personal arms that he and his followers
wore. Iain had seen the man fight in tournaments, so he knew the coat of arms.
    Iain led his horse off the street
so they would not be seen. “Froste,” Iain said under his breath as he quickly
dismounted and tethered his horse.
    “Aye,” Rory Mac answered, doing the
same. “I saw the snake. What do ye want to do?”
    Iain scratched his stubble. Froste
needed to suffer for what he had done to Neil. The question was, how best to
get retribution. Before he could decide, a woman’s scream filled the night. He
scrambled toward the shadows of the side street and motioned for Rory Mac to
follow. He stopped near enough to see but not be seen or heard. A lass with
hair pale as the moon, a face sculpted in determination, and a beautiful body
wrapped in a gown that fit her form rather than hung loose like those the
highland lasses wore, gripped a dagger with her slender fingers. She held it
steady and pointed it at Froste. Behind her, a man lay with his back to the
sky. The man on the ground groaned.
    When Froste began to advance toward
the woman and man, the fair-haired Sassenach held her dagger higher. “Do not
come a step closer.”
    Iain started, then quickly shed his
shock like snake skin. He smiled in grim satisfaction as he readied his sword
to aid the woman and seek revenge on Froste. It was a stroke of good fortune
that he’d come upon the knight.
    “Should we help now?” Rory Mac
asked in a low tone.
    “Hold for one moment. We will use
the distraction the woman is sure to provide to our benefit.”
    Rory Mac frowned. “Why do ye
think—”
    “You wouldn’t dare stab me,” Froste
snarled at the woman, cutting off Rory Mac’s question.
    “I most certainly will stab
you in the heart if you come closer,” she