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  “Tedah, is everyone-?” This was her fault, all of it, and the shame she felt wouldn’t let her finish.

  “We’re all right,” he soothed. “We haven’t been hurt and everyone else is here.”

  All right for now. But in a place like this they wouldn’t be all right for long.

  She let go of Tedah, motioning him to stay behind.

  She stood before Aidar.

  “My lord-” It took a moment before she could lift her eyes. “My lord, please, my people are not used to this treatment. They will sicken and die in this cold. Please, some blankets and heating unit-”

  His disbelief was evident. “They will not die. Even Tellarans cannot be so weak.”

  “They will. Look at them.”

  His dark eyes ran over them with a mixture of contempt and calculation.

  “Please, some comfort for them would-”

  His lip curled. “Think you I care for the comfort of slaves? Come, if looking on them upsets you so, we will leave.”

  She put her hand on his arm.

  “Please, Ad- my lord,” she said, her voice low and her eyes downcast. “I would-” She swallowed. “I would be grateful.”

  He looked at her face, glanced at her body. “And in your gratitude, Cy’atta, what do you offer?”

  She wet her lips. “You wanted to bed me. You wanted me willing. That is what I offer.”

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  Also by

  Ariel MacArran…

  Historical Romance

  Available Now

  Fleeing charges of witchcraft at the English court, Lady Isabella Beaufort agrees to a marriage arranged by her cousin, Queen Joan of Scotland. Deep in the Highlands, Isabella is captured by Colyne MacKimzie, an enemy to the king and a man set on claiming a rich ransom for her return.

  Even as she is drawn irresistibly to Colyne, Isabella’s visions show her terrifying images of him. Colyne knows giving into his desire for this beautiful, haunted woman invites his swift destruction just as he knows he will risk anything to have her . . .

  An excerpt follows

  Another Man’s Bride

  Another Man’s Bride

  ©2013 Ariel MacArran

  She might have been alone in the world, Isabella thought, as the silence deepened around her. She could neither see nor hear the others from her place by the well. There was no sound but the faint stirring of the cloths as they moved in the breeze and Isabella stood for a long time, watching them.

  Offer a prayer for herself? What could she pray for? A swift end to her imprisonment? That she find her betrothed pleasing, and he, her? She had all the wealth she could wish for. Provided her husband did not squander it or deny her pin money, she should never fear hunger or cold.

  Nothing she could think of seemed right somehow.

  An end to her visions?

  The visions retreated to haunt her nightmares but she knew they would return. She might have escaped her enemies at Bella Court by fleeing to this frozen country but they would follow her to the ends of the world.

  She dipped the cloth in the water, surprisingly warm despite the frigid weather.

  Isabella thought of the French girl she had seen in Rouen, the girl they called La Purcell, twisting and screaming in the flames.

  Her hands were shaking as she tied the cloth to the tree.

  “Please,” she whispered.

  Isabella looked at her tied cloth, hanging on the branch in this sacred place. She bent her head and heard a sound behind her. Seeing who it was, she quickly fanned her hair to hide her face.

  “What is it, lass?” Colyne asked softly.

  She kept her head turned away and her hand covered her mouth.

  “Are ye longin’ for home, then?”

  She did not reply and he continued, his voice rough, “Ye’re nae afeared of me, are ye? I’d never hurt ye.”

  Her eyes closed when she felt him touch her hair, sliding his fingers through the strands. Just that simple touch was enough to break through her fragile self control and very gently he gathered her in his embrace as she sobbed. His body was warm, a refuge in a world of loneliness, and she clung to him. He rocked her, murmuring soothing words softened with a Scottish burr.

  Isabella lifted her face as he pressed a kiss to her temple. His eyes searched her face for an instant, and then he caught her chin gently, tilting his head to bring his mouth to hers.

  She clung to him as he explored, reaching up to his powerful shoulders, catching the silky strands of his brilliant hair between her fingers. His hands were under her cape now. This kiss was gentler yet hungrier than the last.

  He broke away suddenly, breathing hard, his forehead against hers.

  Had she done something wrong? Timidly she tilted her head to bring her mouth to his again but he would not let her. He squeezed his eyes shut, and with his hands firmly at her waist, pushed her away.

  Shocked by the chill Isabella scrambled to pull her cloak closed against the cold. He was looking down at her, his mouth tight and drawn now.

  “Ye’re not for me.”

  Of course, Isabella thought. Alisoun.

  And Douglas.

  “No,” she agreed hoarsely.

  “Dinna fear.” He took a step back, his mouth tight. “I’ll nae lay a hand on ye again, lady.”

  With that he was gone, leaving her alone and bereft in the cold, a thousand heartfelt prayers fluttering in the tree beside her.

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  Acknowledgments

  I owe a great many thanks to my editor, Erin McCabe. Working with her is an amazing experience. I learn so much and my writing is so much richer for her insight, ideas and gentle guidance. I am humbled by her generosity and very grateful for her hard work.

  Thanks to my cover designer Steven James Catizone for making my vision for the book a reality.

  Thank you to my friends who supported and encouraged me and, most of all, to my family.

  About Ariel MacArran

  Ariel MacArran has had a lifelong love of books, stories and writing. Nothing makes her happier than the opportunity to give back some of the magic of being swept up into a story that other writers have given her. Ariel lives in Charleston, South Carolina.

  Ariel loves hearing from readers! Please visit her website:

  www.arielmacarran.com