Bride of the Black Scot by Elaine Coffman Page A

accept.”
    “How?”
    “Because I wished for excitement.”
    “Then you are a fool.”
    “Perhaps I am, but it hasn’t been too bad so far.”
    He turned his head to look at her. “Has it not?”
    She smiled at him. “No. I find I have a taste for
adventure.”
    “Our journey is young, lass. You are speaking prematurely.”
    “I don’t think so. In fact, I have a feeling that I will
come to enjoy the next few days more than I have enjoyed the past ones.”
    “Ours is a dangerous journey. There are many clans like the
MacBeans. Do not take it too lightly, or you will be caught off guard,” he
said, watching her with his disturbing blue eyes.
    She looked at his face. “I fear that has already happened,”
she said softly.
    He gave her a questioning look. “What are you thinking,
lass?”
    “If you knew that, you would think me past foolish,” she
said, wishing she could call back her words. She had always been too free with
her tongue, speaking her mind when she should have remained silent. Perhaps
being around these closed-mouthed Scots would be good for her.
    “Perhaps I think you past foolish already. You did say you
were agreeable to this betrothal to the Black Scot, did you not?”
    She looked off. “Yes, although I must confess I have come to
regret that already…at least in part.”
    “Changed your mind, have you?”
    She turned to look him full in the face. “I find myself
wishing…” She caught herself.
    His eyes seemed to gleam in the moonlight. She felt a shiver
of apprehension. The warm touch of his hand against her cool cheek made her
jump. His gaze seemed to penetrate hers, and she could feel the sudden pounding
of her heart.
    “I find myself curious about what you were going to say,” he
said in a musing, almost careless voice as his hand dropped lower, his fingers
spreading between her breasts where her heart lay, beating in triple time. “You
are strangely quiet now,” he whispered in her ear, his lips brushing the
sensitive skin there. “I wonder why?”
    She swallowed, trying to force away the lump in her throat.
“I…I find I have nothing to say at the moment.”
    He nuzzled the skin below her ear. “Are you afraid of me,
lass?”
    “No,” she croaked.
    “You should be,” he whispered, his words coming from the
velvety darkness to brush softly against her skin.
    “I am only afraid of the unknown,” she said, wishing for the
first time in her life that she knew more about what passed between a man and a
woman.
    “Your heart beats fast,” he said, lowering his head, his
mouth touching the sensitive skin of her neck as if he were tasting the pulse
that hammered so wildly. She shivered again, feeling both hot and cold. She
dared not move.
    “Tell me,” he whispered, his mouth dangerously close to
hers. “Tell me what you were about to say. You found yourself wishing…what?”
    She closed her eyes, swallowing hard as he nuzzled her neck.
“Wishing you were the Black Scot.” She expected him to kiss her, or at least
for her words to shock him.
    She felt disappointed and strangely bereft when he drew
back. “I ken you feel that way because I am the one you met first.”
    “No, I say it because I like you.”
    “Liking isna the same as loving, lass.”
    “No, but it is a beginning,” she replied, feeling suddenly
shy. Her voice dropped so low, her words were barely audible. “I know I could
come to love a man such as you.”
    “Aye, you probably could,” he whispered, turning her toward
him, his mouth brushing hers. He rose to his feet, reaching out and taking her
hand and hauling her upward. “Save that kind of talk for your betrothed,” he
said harshly, “or dinna you have any scruples? Is one man as good as another to
you?”
    In her benumbed state, she could only answer what was in her
heart. “If that were true, I would not be so troubled. I fear it is my scruples
that cause me such distress. I have never felt this way around a man before.
You do strange