They were ill-matched...
He's charming and deadly.
She's intoxicating and skeptical.
What happens when an English lady with a secret meets a Scottish Highlander with a history?
Lady Elizabeth Kendall is on the run...
There is no one she can trust.
...
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Elizabeth wondered at first when her bed had become so uncomfortable. In London, she had shared a bed with little Benji, and the two of them nestled deep into the goose-down mattress, cuddling up tight so that neither of them would get cold at night.
Even her bed in her uncle's castle was luxurious, if always a little cold and oddly clammy in the perpetual Scottish drizzle.
The bed she slept in now felt like little more than a blanket thrown over a pile of straw. She could feel the ends of the stalks poking her through her shift, and when she turned, she could feel how hard the wood beneath the padding was, bruising her shoulder and her hip.
Well, this won't do. Benji will wake up bruised all over if he has to sleep in this.
She sat up, aware of a chill in the air and the low glow of the embers on the hearth. Something tugged at her, told her sleepy brain that all was not well, but her mouth ran ahead of her.
"This bed is absolutely unacceptable. I would like it changed, please."
Two things happened at once. The first thing was that the sound of her own voice awakened her the rest of the way. She wasn't in London; she wasn't at Blaken Keep. In fact, she had no idea where she was.
The second was that there was a movement from the chair by the fire, and as she watched with fear growing larger in her mind, a tall form rose up from the chair, reaching for the bottle of spills that were kept by the fire. The dark figure reached for one of the stalks in the bottle, lighting one end in the fire and then using it to light a candle. As the candle flame flared up, he came close to the bed.
"Well, now, you're up and already complaining about the bed? That's a Lowlander for you."
The voice sent a strange thrill up her spine and made her skin break out in goose flesh. It was a male voice, and she should have been terrified. Instead, though a certain amount of fear still leaked into her, more of her was somehow curious about the speaker.
"I... that is... I'm sorry. I am not complaining, I just don't know... where... I..."
Elizabeth's voice trailed off as her memories returned, the ones that had occurred right before she had passed out.
"You're the one who saved me!"
"One and the same, I suppose. Now, perhaps you could stop looking as if I were some ogre who had come in the night for your pretty little eyes?"
"I might if you gave me enough light to see you with!"
Elizabeth's hands flew to cover her mouth in shock. She was a gently-raised girl whose mother had taught her that a quiet answer would always be preferable to shouting in the streets like a fishwife, but here she was.
Instead of scolding her or shouting back in turn, the man only chuckled.
"Quite a little tyrant, you are. Let's see if we can please you, then."
