The Fraser Bride Read Online Free

comments?” Roderic asked finally. “Very well, then. What have you learned here, lads?”
    “Not to trust Mother’s innocent expressions?” Gilmour murmured. Lachlan grinned, then cleared his throat as he glanced away.
    “What say you, Mour?” Roderic asked.
    ” ‘Tis naught.”
    “I was quite certain you spoke, so tell us what sage wisdom you have learned from this day.”
    Gilmour clasped his hands behind his back and spoke like a chastised lad. “Not to judge truth on mere appearances?”
    “Well said.” Roderic grinned as he kissed his wife’s hand, then placed it upon his arm. “Try to remember that as you go forth.”
    “Aye, Father,” Gilmour promised.
    “I shall,” Lachlan agreed.
    * * * * *
    They failed.
    Twenty-four hours later, Ramsay stood in the door-way of the infirmary and listened to his brothers with a mix of resignation and humor.
    “Her eyes are sapphire,” Gilmour said.
    “You do not know the color of her eyes,” Lachlan argued. “Just as you do not know her name.”
    “Unless I am wrong. And I never am …” Gilmour smiled wistfully as he gently squeezed the hand of the woman who slept on the mattress between them. “Her eyes are as blue as the heavens from which she was sent to me.”
    “To
you,”
Lachlan scoffed.
    “Certainly to me. Who else …”
    Ramsay let their words filter into nothingness as he watched the girl. By virtue of her silence alone, she seemed far more intelligent than his two rambling brothers.
    Her face was nearly round, saved from being babyish by her pointy little chin. Against her ivory cheeks, her downy lashes seemed almost dark, though they were truly no darker than her hair, which was the rich hue of summer barley. It was as long as his arm and as luminous as the morning sun. ‘Twas little wonder, really, that his brothers were daft over her. It was a hard won lesson, to learn to separate a woman’s looks from her soul, and if one was to judge her by her face … well … the word “saint” did come to mind.
    But strangely, it was her hands that fascinated him. They were so slim, so refined and pale and delicate. Placed together on the coverlet, they made it seem almost as if she were praying, and in a moment they twitched ever so slightly, as if moved by her own supplication.
    Aye, she seemed angelic, perfect, a tiny slip of bliss sent to earth in the form of a woman. But he had known perfection before, had spent sleepless nights waiting to know it again—to hold her, to beg her for one more kiss, knowing he shouldn’t, knowing she was too pure, too good. Only to find …
    “I’ll not have you saying that sort of thing about the lass,” Lachlan said. His voice was low, challenging. All humor had fled from his tone, but far be it from Gilmour to care about that note of warning.
    “Just because she’s an angel doesn’t mean she does not possess the same desires and needs of other women. It doesn’t mean she will not want me,” Mour said, and caressed her cheek with his knuckles. “But you are right: an innocent should not hear such words. I must keep me thoughts to meself.”
    “As well as your hands,” Lachlan said, and knocked the other’s arm aside. “Or I’ll see you tossed arse first from the infirmary.”
    Gilmour laughed as if genuinely surprised. “Please tell me you do not think to have her for yourself, brother.”
    Lachlan’s eyes narrowed. “And why not?”
    “Because you … well … you …” Gilmour flipped his hand up and down as if encompassing his brother’s entire being. “An angel does not belong with an ogre.”
    “And neither does she belong with the devil.”
    “Truly, Lachlan, she is much too refined to be had by the likes of you. Look at that angelic face,” Gilmour said, and once again stroked his fingers up her cheek. Look at that—”
    But in that instant the angel awoke. Her eyes flew open. “Unhand me,” she growled.
    “You’re awake!” Gilmour’s eyes widened.
    “Praise be!”
    She