The Bewitching Twin Read online Donna Fletcher (Twin Series #2)

Categories Genre: Historical Fiction, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Twin Series Series by Donna Fletcher
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Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
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Wolf’s eyes?

She could not be sure and the thought that it could be someone else, not Rogan, stalking her, sent her into a fright. One abduction in two days was enough; she needed no more, and besides, she had struck a bargain with Rogan. She was not going anyplace but home.

The urge to run grabbed hold of her, but common sense warned that if she took flight she would alert the predator and he would give chase. She gathered her few items, added a stone to use as a defense weapon, and casually backed away.

Her eyes remained fixed on the woods, her hand gripped the stone; she was ready for combat if necessary.

A clap of unexpected thunder caused her to jump, her heart to leap, and her legs to take flight. She turned on a run, her foot catching on a large rock that caused her to lose her balance and topple like a felled tree.

The dark soil rushed up to meet her face and she braced for impact when suddenly she was scooped up and swiftly spun around to land in Rogan’s powerful arms.

He glared at her with knitted brow. “Why do you run?”

She cupped a hand over her fisted hand that clenched the stone. “I saw something in the woods.”

His head did not immediately turn in that direction; instead, his eyes slowly perused the area as he spoke. “What did you see?”

“Eyes like that of the beast you wear on your shoulder.” He wore no beast now, though.

His glance came back to rest on her. “Are you certain?”

“I know what I saw,” she said adamantly.

“It was probably the headdress of a clansman who dutifully protects our boundaries.”

“The eyes were too bright, too—” She hesitated, finding her own thought disturbing. “Too unearthly.”

“And the stone your hand grips? Did you think it a good defense against an unearthly creature?”

Aliss raised her fisted hand. “It is better than nothing.”

Another thunderclap had her realizing that the misty rain had turned heavy and that she was getting wet.

Rogan appeared to think the same for he hurried them into his cottage, placing her on her feet once they were through the front door.

“My healing basket,” she said, starting to go back out into the rain.

Rogan grabbed her arm and pulled her back inside. “I will get it.”

She looked at his hand that gripped her, felt the heat of his touch seeping into her; the potency of his grasp reminded her how defenseless she actually was against this powerful man.

He left her there to fetch her basket.

Aliss shivered, her skin chilled—or was it concern that made her shiver? Did she trust the Wolf to keep his word? Would he return her home? Was she truly here only to heal his people? She hurried down the corridor, suddenly feeling ice-cold, but soon she was warming herself in front of the fire in the hearth. She rubbed her arms to chase away the gooseflesh but it stubbornly returned. Her wet clothes needed drying if she expected the shivering to stop.

Rogan entered and placed her basket on the bench next to the doorway. She envied him his dry clothes, his fur cloak, now hanging on a peg to dry, having protected him from the weather.

She turned back to the fire and hugged herself in an attempt to get warm.

Rogan disappeared for a few moments then reappeared with an armful of garments.

“Take these and use them. I cannot chance you getting ill.” He dumped them on the table and walked out.

Aliss sifted through the garments; skirts, blouses, tunics in various colors and material from soft wool to worn linen, all clean and scented with heather.

With hasty movements, she shed her wet clothes and hurried into a forest-green skirt and sky-blue blouse. The garments were a size too large for her, but with a leather strap that served as a decent belt, she was able to tuck the extra fabric in at the waist and fashion the outfit to her size.

She removed her leather boots to dry by the fire and folded the other garments and placed them on the chest near the window. She then set to heating cider to further warm her bones.

“Are you finished?” called Rogan from the other room.

“Aye, come join me for hot cider.”

“Hot cider sounds welcoming,” he said, entering the room. He stopped abruptly.

Aliss wondered at his prolonged stare. As if regaining his senses, he hurried to take a seat at the table.

She filled two tankards and sliced bread and cheese for them to share.

“The clothes seem to fit.”

“With a tuck here and there. You must tell me who they belong to so that I may thank them for their generosity.”

“Not necessary,” he said, cupping the hot tankard Aliss handed him.

“It is only proper I express my appreciation.”

Rogan shook his head. “She is deceased.”

“Oh,” Aliss said, and plopped down on the bench opposite him at the table. “I am sorry. Who was she?”



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