By God's Grace by Felicia Rogers Page A

white cheeks. Freckles lay scattered across a delicately designed nose. Long, dark brown hair cascaded over his arm.
    Her pale countenance sent his legs into double time. When his quarters were reached, he laid her upon the large feather bed. The lass sprawled — legs askew, arms flung wide. Straightening her into a more suitable position, Duncan left in search of nourishment. Tamara helped Arbella out of the tight-fitting gown and found a shift for her to wear, then once again settled her in the bed.
    When Duncan arrived, he said, “Tamara, ye can leave, and I will watch the lass.”
    Tamara hesitated before responding, “But my laird, it wouldn’t be proper.”
    Rubbing his stubbled jaw, he replied, “Ye are correct. Ye may stay for now.”
    On the Sinclair plaid, she stretched out beside the big four-poster bed. The floor wasn’t overly comfortable, but exhaustion caused her to fall asleep.
    Duncan settled into a leather chair and stretched out his legs. It was going to be a long night. A glance at the pale figure lying in the bed made him wonder what he was thinking. The lass participated all day at the competition, then he had thrown her in the dungeon. Consumed by worry and fear, she may have neglected to eat or drink. Why had these thoughts not entered his mind earlier? Had he turned heartless?
    Bent over holding his head, the sound of movement caught his ears. Arbella was stirring. Rising, he rushed to her side.
    â€œThirsty,” she croaked.
    Duncan grabbed a cup of watered-down ale, dribbling a couple of drops on her parched lips.
    â€œThank you,” Arbella whispered.
    â€œYe are welcome.”
    â€œI’m hungry.”
    â€œWait a moment, and I can get ye some broth.”
    â€œNay, I want biscuits and eggs.”
    â€œBiscuits and eggs?”
    â€œAye, biscuits and eggs.”
    Leaning in and crossing his arms, his lips twisted upward. The renewed spirit of the lass made his heart feel lighter. “And who do ye think is going to prepare this feast of biscuits and eggs?”
    â€œI will.” Arbella went to stand, but as her feet hit the floor, her knees buckled. Duncan grabbed her upper arms. Her brown eyes met his. “Or not,” she said, crawling back into bed.
    The lass shifted and wiggled. He grabbed the coverlet and pulled it up to her neck, tucking it around her. Stepping toward the door, he was halted when she asked, “Where are you going?”
    â€œTo get ye biscuits and eggs.”
    â€œAre you going to cook it?”
    Guffawing, he shook his head. “Nay, of course not.”
    â€œSo you will wake the cook then?”
    â€œAye.”
    â€œI’ll drink the broth.”
    â€œNay, the cook will be glad to feed ye.”
    â€œNay, please let the cook sleep. I can eat the broth. You shouldn’t bite the hand that feeds you.”
    Duncan shrugged and headed to the fireplace. He filled a bowl full of broth, retrieved a spoon, and sat beside the bed. The hot broth in the spoon, he started toward Arbella’s mouth.
    â€œWhat are you doing?”
    â€œFeeding ye.”
    Sitting straight, the coverlet fell to her waist. The large, thin shift hung from her frame, exposing a creamy white shoulder.
    â€œI don’t think that’s necessary.”
    â€œWell, I do. Now lay back, cover up, and let me feed ye.”
    Settling back against the pillows, she pulled the covers up to her neck. “Are we alone?”
    â€œNay.”
    â€œWho is with us?”
    â€œTamara is asleep beside ye.”
    â€œOh, because being alone with you would be, hmm…”
    â€œScandalous?”
    â€œAye, scandalous. But I have this feeling you enjoy being scandalous.”
    He emitted a low chuckle. She closed her eyes, mouth opening to accept the broth when the spoon was near.
    In between bites, Arbella talked. “Do you remember the last time you saw me?”
    Duncan squirmed. In all honesty, the last time