Highlander’s Wicked Temptation: A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel Maddie MacKenna (young adult books to read .TXT) 📖

out in the open. With the door an arm’s length away, she decided to make a run for it. Rising to her toes, she scampered to the door. It moaned under protest as she pushed it open. Stealing one last glimpse over her shoulder, she slipped through the narrow crack undetected.

Exhaling, Cleopatra raced across the open yard toward the distant trees. Her legs burned as her lungs begged for air, but she wasn’t about to stop, not until she reached the shadows of the trees where she would be safe.

The wind whipped her face as she ran through the misty yard. Her only hope was that the morning’s fog was still thick enough to shroud her. The instant her hand grazed over the rough bark, she stopped and circled around it. A shrill of delight escaped her lips as she gasped for air.

With the tree at her back, she twisted around. The oak door was sealed shut and with no signs of her father or his councilmen charging out for her, she knew she was safe. A smile spread across her face as she turned her attention to the bounty in her hand. The thick, leather-bound book with brown edges was hers.

She lifted her face to the canopy and took in the cool morning air. The scent of moss and musk filled her nose and senses. Drawing the book to her bosom, she pushed off the tree and began her journey through the thick woods.

“Fine day is it not, Mr. Rabbit?” she said as a furry white bunny scampered across her path. The sweet sound of birds chirping high in the boughs delighted her in ways she couldn’t express. Although she lived in Wintersmith, her heart belonged to the forest and all that dwelt within its sacred trees.

Cleopatra skipped along the unmarked trail until the forest opened up for her. In the clearing a small, withered cottage rested near the trees on the other side of the green meadow. To anyone passing by they would have thought it to be in ruins, but Cleopatra didn’t mind the holey thatched ceiling or the crumbling stone walls. It was her sanctuary, the only place in the whole world her father refused to go.

“Ah, home sweet home,” she said crossing the threshold. An old moldy door hanging by a single hinge laid against the inner wall of the cottage. Carefully, she stepped over the door and moved through the dank living space. Although nature had reclaimed the house, she didn’t mind. At least here she was free to say and do whatever she pleased.

Weaving through the tall grass sprouting up from the stone floors, she found her favorite spot near the broken window. Over the years she had built up the nook with her favorite things to make the home cozy. She plucked a pillow out of the grass and set it beside the window as the golden rays of light poured through the window. The warm sunlight caressed her face as she made herself comfortable and opened the book.

Just as she started to read, a murmur of voices caught her attention. Her head whipped up as she ducked down. Fear gripped her as she peered over the windowsill.

Who is that? No one knows of this place and Father does not come out this far from the manor.

The snapping of twigs caused her ears to perk as her breathing grew shallow. Shadows shifted between the trees as she tried to get a clear view of what was coming.

“That way.”

Cleopatra heard the low, deep voice. Ducking her head down, she clasped her hand over her mouth. With wide eyes, she tried to keep her curiosity in check. It took all she had not to look up again as heavy footsteps fell near the window.

In the manor, she was able to keep hidden and unseen. She had rooms and nooks that masked her from those around her, but here, in this small cottage beyond her father’s house, she only had the tall grass to hide in.

Cleopatra laid on her belly and crawled away from the window trying not to make a sound. Coming to the broken door, she slipped behind it and peaked through the narrow crack.

Four large men moved quietly through the shadows and stepped out into the sun’s rays. Without the trees and shadows to hide them, she noticed they were not from her father’s realm. They wore the darker green trews with the crowned lion pin.

Now what are they doing here? And why would a Scot come this far into England?

Cleopatra’s heart raced.

They should not be here.

“Well, well, look what we have here.”

Cleopatra glanced up to find sea-foam green eyes staring at her through the top of the crack in the door. For a single heartbeat, there was silence around her. Something within her stirred as if seeing this ruggish handsome stranger mesmerized her. Reality came crashing around her like a cannonball careening into the dirt. Peeling her eyes off the stranger she realized just what was happening.

She was no longer safe in the ruins of the cottage resting on the grassy floor, for these men had come for a reason and she saw the fires of vengeance roaring in the man’s eyes. She pushed back as she gasped and felt the hard cold slap of danger vibrating through her. Trying with all her might to get away, the brute rushed into the cottage and snatched her by the foot.

“Let me go,” she wailed as she kicked with all her might to get him off her.

The man laughed as he dragged her over the tall grass and leaned down. His strong fingers curled around her wrist and yanked her to her feet.

“Ye got some spirit in ye,” he said drawing her to his face. Cleopatra couldn’t help but notice his scruffy cheeks and strong jawline. His lips were full and when he spoke, they barely moved.

“Unhand me, brute!” Cleopatra demanded as she jerked her arm back only to have him hold onto