The Fraser Bride Read Online Free Page B

“That you should bear the very name me brother gave you. Where might you hail from, Mary?”
    Her mind spun. She dared not reveal that she was from Evermyst. But where? Someplace far away. Far—she was running out of time. Too slow. Too—
    “Lady—”
    “Levenlair,” she said.
    He canted his head at her. “Levenlair?”
    She should have chosen another castle. One not so well renowned. A fictional one, mayhap, or—
    “I’ve heard of such a place,” he continued, “though I know little of it. Far to the north, is it not?”
    “Aye, ‘tis.” She fidgeted with the blanket for an instant, then forced her fingers to lie still. Only a foolish child would squirm under a man’s gaze and as a lass she’d learned the penalty for foolishness. Better to use her greatest defense against him. After all, arrogance was free. “Me father was laird of that fair castle.”
    “Indeed?”
    “Aye,” she said, and pursing her lips, gave a slight nod. “And what of you?” His hair was shoulder length and thick as a stallion’s mane. The color of a bay steed, it hung in glistening waves just past the shoulders of his simple saffron tunic. But ‘twere his eyes that held her attention. They were a piercing indefinable hue and as brooding as a king’s. “You must be a servant here. How fortunate, for I am quite parched. Fetch me a horn of something. Wine, preferably. Mulled, but not too hot.”
    For a moment the room was silent, and then Gilmour laughed, but she dared not take her gaze from the other.
    “Ahh, Mary,” Gilmour said, and nudging a stool forward with his foot, seated himself close by her side. “Awake for only a moment and already you can see a man’s true place in the world.”
    She pulled her attention away with an effort and pinned it on the fair haired brother. “Your servant is woefully obstinate, I fear, for he is still here.”
    “He is like that at times.”
    “In truth, lass,” said the one called Lachlan, “Ramsay is not a servant, but the eldest of us five brothers and heir to Dun Ard.”
    “Oh.” She fluttered her lashes downward lest they see the lie in her eyes. “My apologies, of course.”
    “Nay,” said Lachlan. “Indeed, lass, ‘tis we who must apologize.”
    “You?” she asked and raised her gaze to his. She did not like to be surprised, and yet she was.
    “Aye,” he said, his expression as solemn as a stone. “For we failed to keep you safe.”
    “But you did not even know I was here.”
    “We should have.”
    Now, here was an overdeveloped sense of duty. She liked that in a fellow, so long as he kept his distance. “Nay, good sir,” she said demurely. “You are very kind and very gallant, but ‘tis surely not your fault that I was attacked.”
    “Attacked?” Lachlan’s tone was angry but his eldest brother’s was smooth, urging caution when he spoke.
    “We saw no sign of an attack.”
    She swept her gaze to his face, knowing her eyes would look as blue and innocent as a babe’s. “Surely you did not think I was traveling alone from my home in the north. I was with my entourage when we were set upon.”
    “Entourage! Where—” Lachlan began, but Ramsay interrupted again.
    “When was this?”
    His demeanor was unruffled, his tone level, but his eyes … He knew something and was fishing to learn more, to catch her in a lie.
    ” ‘Twas some days ago,” she said. “North of—”
    “The Munros.” Lachlan’s voice was low, and suddenly his dirk appeared in his hand. “Twas the Munros who set upon you, wasn’t it?”
    Her heart jumped against her ribs. She should have seen this eventuality, should have known they would have heard of the Munros’ passage through their land. Should have guessed the conclusions they would draw.
    “I …” She stared at him. “I do not know. I … am not from these parts.”
    Lachlan shook his head and took a step nearer. “The Munros do not live hereabouts either. Surely—”
    “You have not heard of them?”