Read If You Dare for Free Online

been the first time Annalía had faced the Scot with the definite knowledge that he was a mercenary.
    Before Vitale had confirmed her fears, she’d hoped MacCarrick wasn’t a killer for hire because she’d felt some small, minute—piddling, really—spark of curiosity about the intractable man. But no longer.
    During their meeting this afternoon, she had focused on the injuries still marring his face, reminding herself that it didn’t matter if he and Pascal had had a falling-out—the evidence of their history was glaring. MacCarrick’s every day here was a risk and it was one she refused to take to help a boorish, pawing mercenary like him. As soon as he was able, she’d demand he leave her home. . . .
    â€œMademoiselle,” Vitale called from the doorway behind her, interrupting her thoughts.
    How long had she been ambling mindlessly through the house? She turned, dismayed to see the sun setting behind him.
    When Vitale met her, he was crushing his hat in his hands. “The boy from the village has brought a letter for you.”
    â€œIs it from Aleix?” she asked, heart in her throat. “It is not. But it might contain information about Master Llorente.”
    As he pulled it from his vest pocket, she murmured absently, “Please get the boy a nice dinner and a soft bed.” No reason under heaven excused bad manners.
    â€œI’ve already seen to it.” He handed over the letter, his face drawn.
    She nodded and turned for the study, walking with a stiff spine and unhurried steps, but once Vitale was out of sight, she sprinted down the hallway, sliding on the rugs. Tripping inside the room, heart thudding, she nearly ripped open the paper before she got there.
    Impertinent Vitale followed her in, which meant he’d heard her running, but she couldn’t be bothered with that now. Her brother hadn’t written in weeks, and waiting for word had been unbearable. He was the only family left to her since her father’s death, and Aleix had been more of a father than Llorente had ever been prepared to be.
    She didn’t care what men said—waiting for someone toreturn from battle had to be much, much worse than the battle itself.
    Her nerves were taut.
    At the old oak desk, she shoved back the leather chair and lit a candle, chasing away the growing darkness. Then, letter opener in hand, she flipped over the missive.
    The room spun. She stared blankly at the sender’s name—General Reynaldo Pascal.
    Instead of tearing it open, she now cut it slowly. She had to scan parts of it several times because her hands shook so wildly—and because she could scarcely believe the content.
    â€œWhat does it say?” Vitale asked anxiously.
    By the time she reached Pascal’s arrogant signature, bile had risen in her throat. Her hands went limp, and the letter fluttered to the top of the desk, nearly catching the candle flame. In a daze, she sank into the chair.
    Vitale snatched up the letter as if to read, even though he’d refused to learn how to. “Tell me what it says!”
    She hardly recognized her own deadened voice when she related, “Pascal defeated Aleix’s men more than a week ago, capturing them all. Aleix is imprisoned, his life in the general’s hands. There is only one thing that can convince Pascal to spare him.”
    Vitale sat back into the oversized chair opposite her, looking very small and weary. “He wanted to wed you before. Is he demanding to now?”
    She nodded. “I just don’t understand how he found out who I am.” When Pascal had asked for her hand, she’d feared he’d discovered she was the last female descendant of the House of Castile, but Aleix had assured her the general had probably become infatuated after he’d seen her at a village festival. Now, looking back, she realized Aleix had always known and had tried to spare her worry. In the back of her