Excerpt from

My Immortal Protector

As she drew closer the sky seemed to grow thicker and darker above the castle. It was no more than her imagination, but the place exuded dread, as if cursed and forgotten. Deidra pulled her wool araisad closer to her neck. She didn't understand why anyone would choose to make such an unpleasant and isolated place their home, unless they had something to hide. A baobhan sith. He had to be one. It was late afternoon by the time she rode beneath the portcullis and into the courtyard, tired and hungry. She'd been forced to dismount and walk the horse the last few miles. She couldn't guess what kind of hospitality to expect from Stephen Ross. It was expected in the highlands, to extend hospitality to those of rank, regardless of a laird's circumstances. But Stephen Ross was not normal. It didn't take long for Deidra to find out. Servants rushed her within seconds of her entering the courtyard. Men crowded around her, grabbing her legs and hauling her down from the horse. Her nervous excitement transformed into panicked confusion. She pushed at them, her skin crawling from their hands all over her body, patting her down as they searched for weapons. They confiscated the knife she'd strapped to her thigh. "I'm here to see Stephen Ross," she said over and over, but her words elicited neither a response nor even eye contact. It was as if the men were mutes. Her horse was led away and one of the men gripped her upper arm in a firm hold, leading her forcefully across the courtyard and into the castle. Hear heart hammered in her throat, her breath came in small gasps as terror tightened her chest. Baobhan siths murdered people--ripped their throats out and drank their blood. She had not told anyone where she was going. No one knew where she was. She could disappear and no one would ever suspect she'd come here. Foolish. Foolish. Foolish. And impulsive.  The men led her to an enormous room, its high ceilings carved with dragons and griffins.  Situated before a blazing fire, its back to Deidra, crouched a huge chair. A bear skin draped the back of it, and more skins covered the arms. The men shoved Deidra along until she stood before the chair, her back to the fire. Sprawled in the throne-like monstrosity was Stephen Ross, but not the Stephen Ross Deidra remembered from her youth. Even as a cripple Stephen Ross had not been a small man. Not over-tall, but broad and thick with muscle. The man that sat before her was enormous. He wore a white shirt that hung open exposing a muscled chest furred with light blond hair. It traveled down a hard abdomen, disappearing beneath a thick leather belt. Pale blue eyes regarded her without emotion. His blond hair had grown long and hung loose over his shoulders and down his back. He was still an exceedingly handsome man but pain had deepened the lines beside his mouth and eyes, showing the years. Pale whiskers stubbled his chin and upper lip. He looked disreputable and dangerous. Not at all like a harmless cripple. His arms rested on the chair arms, a tankard gripped in one of his hands. He stared at her beneath dark blond brows. The men exited the room, leaving them alone. Deidra stood mutely before Stephen Ross, trembling uncontrollably. The blasting heat from the fire at her back did nothing to dispel the chill fear that still gripped her. He took a long thoughtful drink from his tankard, his gaze remaining fixed on her, and said, "I know you." His presence overwhelmed her. She couldn't form a coherent thought. She trembled from the inside out. Her mouth opened and closed but nothing came out. He lowered the tankard to rest on the chair arm. His gaze scanned her from head to toe. "Are you from the village?" Deidra managed a small shake of her head.  "What do you do?" She blinked. "I--I don't understand." He sighed with studied patience. "What do you do?" Each word was enunciated as if she were an addlepate. "Do you work magic with your hands? Your body? Your mouth? What will it be tonight?" Though innocent in experience, Deidra was not innocent in knowledge of what went on between men and women. Nevertheless the unexpectedness of his comment struck her as so inconceivable that her mind scrambled for some other meaning for his words. He didn't just assume she was a common village trull. He couldn't have. His brow lowered into a frown. "You'd think you would have cleaned up a bit first." He waved a hand at her, encompassing her travel-stained attire and ending with a baffled wave at her head. "Or combed your hair and removed some of the foliage." He slurred his words slightly, indicating that he'd drank more than one tankard. He took another deep drink, watching her all the while. Heat rushed to her cheeks. She patted at her hair self-consciously, felt the leaves stuck in it and pulled them out, dropping them surreptitiously to the floor. He wiped a hand across his mouth. "You'd better be impressive, sweet, or I'm not paying full price, not for a wench that wilna even pick the leaves from her last tumble out of her hair." Copyright 2007 by Jen Holling