![]() She'd do anything to keep those men from seeing how she felt inside. She clutched the edge of it, letting the wood cut into her palms. She walked to a small table in the center of the oak-paneled room. ![]() She was a prisoner, held captive on England's northernmost border by men she'd always hated, men who now smiled and winked at her as if they were intimate with her most private thoughts. Heavy footsteps sounded outside her door, and she caught her breath, then released it when they went past. Her voice was soft, full of the heather and mist of the Highlands. "The English pigs!" Bronwyn cursed under her breath. She stepped back quickly, grabbed the window, and slammed it shut. As she did so, one of the soldiers below grinned up at her suggestively. She leaned forward slightly to catch a whiff of fresh air. The mullioned window was open against the warm summer sun. Bronwyn MacArran stood at the window of the English manor house, looking down at the courtyard below. ![]()
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