Page 6 of Brigand

As Callum MacAllister lifted the girl and carried her to thecarriage, Ewan’s mind spun with the possibilities.

Good God. Violet Wyeth.

Not what he had expected when he’d awoken to Callum’s urgentmissive this morning. But holy hell. What a windfall.

He had suffered for years because of her, lost so much.

He would enjoy making her pay for every heartache.

* * * * *

Violet glared at her captor through unruly hanks of her hairas the carriage jerked into motion. So this was the man Kaitlin had run from.And no wonder. He was truly horrifying.

For one thing, he was huge. His head nearly brushed theroof. And his brawny mass filled the seat across from her. For another, hisface was frightening. Hard and harsh. A thin scar traced his left cheek, onlyadding to his menace.

He could have been a handsome man but for the evil intentlatent in his expression. His eyes were gray and sharp, like a wolf’s, and hisnose was crooked, as though it had been broken time and time again.

His thick muscles bunched as he crossed his arms over hischest. He surveyed her with a wicked smile.

A shard of trepidation slashed her.

The boys could use some entertainment, he’d said.What on earth could that mean? Not for the first time since this debacle began,she sent up a frantic prayer that Aunt Hortense had been able to rally somehelp. That Ned and Malcolm were rushing to rescue her.

But they would go to MacAllister House to beard Callum inhis den. They couldn’t know she’d been taken to some ramshackle cottage. Theycertainly couldn’t know she’d been handed over to Kaitlin’s brigand betrothedand trundled off to God knows where as his prisoner.

Oh, what a state of affairs.

Her fingers throbbed and she wriggled them to get somefeeling back. Callum’s cravat was still tied tightly around them and they werebeginning to throb. He’d shoved a greasy rag in her mouth and secured it withanother when she’d started screaming, and now a revolting slime was tricklingdown her throat.

To make matters worse, her captor was staring at her with ahungry expression. He leaned forward, boxing her in, and tucked her hair behindher ear. The heat of his touch seared her. She winced.

Apparently he found this amusing. He grinned. When sheglared at him and muffled an imprecation through her gag, he laughed. “Ah,” hemurmured, more to himself than to her, “I’m going to enjoy this.”

And to her horror, he lifted her off her seat and set her onhis lap.

Oh lord. He was hard and hot. The feel of his bunchingmuscles beneath her weight shocked her. As a lady, she’d certainly danced witha man and been courted by a man, and even been kissed once. But she’d neverbeen plastered against one of them. Never felt his breath waft over her. Neverhad huge hands on her belly holding her still.

She refused to be still. She jerked and writhed and trieddesperately to wrench free.

His chuckle unnerved her. “You’re a feisty little thing,aren’t you?”

“Mret me mo!” she commanded.

He ignored her. With ease, he held her in place with onehand while the other roved.

The scalding heat of pure mortification washed through heras this big brute of a man fondled her. When he cupped her breast, she howledin outrage, but when his thumb drew over her nipple, that outrage melted intosomething else entirely.

Delight whipped through her.

Dear heavens. She’d never felt anything like that.

She shouldn’t like this. She couldn’t. What was wrong withher?

He nudged the hair off her neck with his chin; the sharpbristles of his beard scraped her nerves, sending more arousal cascading downher spine. It pooled in her belly.

And then his mouth found her.

She froze. An exquisite, illicit thrill consumed her as hislips danced over the sensitive skin at her nape. His grip on her breast firmed.He found the other. His thumbs began a torturous dance, nudging, prodding,plucking at ever swelling nipples.