Seduced by the Laird (Conquered Brides Series Book 2) by Eliza Knight Page A

through her bleary eyes. He was large. Tall, broad. Steel glinted at his hip. A warrior. His hair was light against the night sky. Golden almost as the moon shone on it, and bound in a queue at the nape of his neck. His eyes, they studied her with curiosity and interest. Something within their depths told her she could trust him. Should trust him. And she did. For some reason, though she knew better than to trust a stranger, this man made her feel safe.
    She tried to speak, only a croak coming out, and then again, “I belong here,” she said, though it wasn’t entirely true.
    The castle had been her destination. She had to find her cousin, Finn, and rumors had spread across Loch Alsh that he’d been spotted at Eilean Donan. She intended to find out. After all, he’d been missing for the better part of six years, and he’d saved her life when the MacLeods had attacked her castle. She could have suffered the fate of her maid—death. Or the fate of her sister—abduction, possibly death. At the very least, she owed him her thanks.
    “I’ll take her,” the man said, reaching out his hand.
    Kirstin lifted a heavy arm, slipping her small hand against his larger, warm palm.
    The old man straightened, somehow managing to put his wooden oar between the two of them. “Now, see here, ye’ll not be ill using her.”
    “Never.” The warrior stuck out his hand. “I am Laird Buchanan. I will see to it that she is returned to wherever she belongs. Ye have my word.”
    The older man gripped Laird Buchanan’s forearm. “Aye, then.”
    Strong arms slipped beneath her weakened body. Why hadn’t she planned better? She should have packed a satchel full of food, a water skin. A blanket. But instead, she’d rushed away from the abbey with nothing but the gown on her back. If not for the old man finding her across the loch and offering her passage, she might have laid there until she was dead.
    She was lifted into the air, her chilled body sinking against the warmth of her savior’s muscled form. Kirstin wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder. He smelled good. Like leather and pine. Smelling him only reminded her how much she must reek, and if she wasn’t so exhausted and weak she might have been embarrassed.
    “Thank ye,” she whispered to the old man, and to this new strong laird.
    The old man muttered something, and then she felt herself floating, weightless in this warrior’s arms. “Where should I take ye?” he asked.
    “My cousin. Is he here? Finn MacNeacail.”
    “I’ve not heard of your cousin. But I will look. In the meantime, I will take ye back to the castle.”
    “Is it your castle?”
    “Nay, lass. A friend’s. But ye’ll be safe there.”
    When she woke some time later, she was tucked beneath a thick blanket in the middle of a massive bed. Light streamed through a window. And dying embers lined the hearth. She sat straight up, unsure of where she was. The room was empty, but looked to be a man’s room if the set of boots and various weapons were any indication.
    Oh, dear, heavens. What had she done?
    She yanked back the covers. She was only in her chemise.
    Kirstin’s hands flew to her face and she gasped.
    She’d never been with a man before. She wasn’t even married! Oh, now her reputation was sullied. She must have… the warrior from the night before…
    Had she been so exhausted that she’d slept through it?
    Tears sprung to her eyes and she tugged up her chemise expecting to see blood on her thighs. But there was nothing. She wasn’t sore either.
    From the stories she’d heard from the nuns at Nèamh, she would have suffered both, nay?
    The door handle jiggled, and she quickly shoved down her chemise and tugged the blankets up. Limbs trembled. Teeth chattered.
    A servant entered, a warm smile on her wrinkled face. Her arisaid was worn, her belly plump. She looked happy and well-cared for. “His lairdship said ye’d be sleeping. We brought ye a bath and some