Highland Thirst. Lynsay Sands
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HIGHLAND DESIRE
“Brona,” Heming groaned as he kissed her throat, “do ye ken what I want?”
“Aye, I ken it,” she whispered. “I want it, too, although I will confess that I am nay all that sure of what it might be.”
Even as Heming began to unlace her gown, he said, “It is me deep inside ye, love.”
“Will that include a lot of kissing and touching?”
“Och, aye, loving, as much as I can bear ere I go mad with the wanting of ye.”
“That sounds lovely.”
“Are ye sure ye are awake, love, and aware of what ye are agreeing to?”
“Verra awake and verra aware.”
Slowly tugging her gown down, Heming followed the line of her collarbone with soft kisses and light sweeps of his tongue. “I just dinnae want ye to have any regrets.”
“Do ye ken? I ne’er thought a mon would work so hard to talk a lass out of what he wants.”
Heming grinned against her skin and then finished tugging off her gown. As he began to unlace her shift, keeping them both dazed with kisses, he decided she did know what he wanted and what she wanted. In the way she gasped and trembled, even in the heady scent of arousal on her soft skin, he could tell that she wanted him as much as he wanted her…
Books by Hannah Howell
Only for You
My Valiant Knight
Unconquered
Wild Roses
A Taste of Fire
Highland Destiny
Highland Honor
Highland Promise
A Stockingful of Joy
Highland Vow
Highland Knight
Highland Hearts
Highland Bride
Highland Angel
Highland Groom
Highland Warrior
Reckless
Highland Conqueror
Highland Champion
Highland Lover
Highland Vampire
Conqueror’s Kiss
Highland Barbarian
Beauty and the Beast
Highland Savage
Highland Thirst
Highland Wedding
Highland Wolf
Silver Flame
Highland Fire
Nature of the Beast
Highland Sinner
Published by Zebra Books
HIGHLAND THIRST
HANNAH HOWELL
LYNSAY SANDS
ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
CONTENTS
BLOOD FEUD
by Hannah Howell
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
THE CAPTURE
by Lynsay Sands
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Epilogue
BLOOD FEUD
Hannah Howell
Prologue
Northern England—Spring 1511
The chill of foreboding swept through Heming MacNachton’s blood as he dismounted before the inn. He frowned at the sign hanging crookedly above the door. The fact that the inn was called The Hanging Tree only added to his growing sense of unease. Heming no longer thought the huge old tree a few yards away was an intriguing sight, despite how the moon turned the emerging leaves a soft silver color. At least no one was still dangling from its thick, sturdy limbs, he thought, and reluctantly handed his reins to the stable boy.
“I dinnae like this,” he said to his cousin Tearlach MacAdie as they approached the door to the inn.
“We willnae stay long.”
Heming nodded, recognizing that statement as Tearlach’s agreement that something felt wrong. They could not falter in their search for information just because they felt a little uneasy about a place, however. Their people were being hunted and the hunters were getting more organized. The very survival of their people depended upon gathering as much information about their enemies as possible.
Once he was inside the inn, however, Heming’s wariness grew even sharper. He and Tearlach found a table set away from the others, their backs to the wall, but that did little to calm him. A burly cold-eyed man served them ale and as Tearlach paid for it, Heming looked around. The first thing he noticed was that there were no serving wenches to be seen. That was odd but he knew there could be many reasons for that. What could not be so easily explained was the fact that no one paid them much attention. Two kilted Scotsmen in an English border inn should draw attention but aside from a few hasty, sidelong glances, everyone continued talking and laughing. And there was a false note to all of that talk and good cheer, Heming thought as he drank his ale with more haste than enjoyment.
It was not until the three well-dressed people, two of whom had actually shown a natural curiosity about two Scotsmen in an English inn, got up and left that Heming knew he and Tearlach had made a serious error in judgment. “The ale—” he began as an odd feeling started to creep over him.
“Was poisoned,” growled Tearlach as he slammed his empty tankard down on the scarred wood table.
“Nay, not poisoned. Something to weaken us or make us sleep.” Heming saw that all those fleeting sidelong glances were becoming far more intent; the men obviously were watching and waiting for whatever potion he and Tearlach had just drunk to take effect. “Didnae taste it at first, but the taint of it is now verra clear. I just thought the ale wasnae a verra good brew.”
Tearlach stood