Saving Grace by Julie Garwood Page A

swayed with each step she took. The woman didn’t seem to have any flaws. There was a light sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose. He liked that. Her eyes were a vivid shade of blue, her complexion was pure, and her mouth, dear God, her mouth could drive a saint to lustful thoughts. He liked that, too.
    Some of the Maclaurin soldiers weren’t as disciplined in their reactions as the MacBain was. The two men standing directly behind their laird let out long, low whistles of appreciation. MacBain took exception to their rude behavior, however. He half-turned, lifted each man by his neck, and sent them both flying like cabers over the side of the steps. The other soldiers had to duck to get out of the way.
    Johanna came to a quick stop, looked at the soldiers sprawled out on the ground, then looked back at their leader. The laird didn’t even seem winded.
    “A gentle man?” she whispered to Nicholas. “That was a lie, wasn’t it?”
    “Give him a chance, Johanna. You owe him and me that much. ”
    She gave her brother a disgruntled look before turning back to the laird.
    MacBain took a step forward. His wolfhound came with him and once again leaned against his master’s side.
    Johanna started praying for enough courage to keep walking. When she was just a foot or two away from the warrior, she stopped and then executed a perfect curtsy.
    Her knees were shaking so hard that she was pleased she didn’t fall over on her face.
    She heard a loud snort and several grunts while her head was bowed. She didn’t know if the noises were sounds of approval or censure.
    The laird was wearing his plaid. He had extremely muscular legs. She tried not to stare at them.
    “Good day, Laird MacBain.”
    Her voice trembled. She was afraid of him. MacBain wasn’t surprised. The sight of him had sent more than one young woman running back to the safety of her father. He’d never considered trying to change their reactions because he hadn’t particularly cared.
    He was caring now, however. He would never get the woman to marry him if he didn’t do something to ease her fear. She kept giving worried glances down at his dog. MacBain assumed the hound also frightened her.
    Nicholas wasn’t being much help. He just stood there grinning like a simpleton.
    MacBain demanded his assistance by glaring at him. He decided he shouldn’t have done that when Johanna took a quick step back.
    “Does she speak Gaelic?”
    MacBain addressed his question to Nicholas. Johanna answered. “I have been studying your language.”
    She didn’t speak in Gaelic when she answered. Her hands were folded together in front of her. The knuckles were white from her hard grip.
    Mundane conversation might put her at ease, MacBain decided. “And how long have you been studying our language?”
    Her mind went blank. It was his fault, of course. His stare was so intense, unsettling, too, and she couldn’t seem to form a thought. Dear God, she couldn’t even remember what they were talking about.
    He patiently asked her again. “Almost four weeks,” she blurted out.
    He didn’t laugh. One of the soldiers snorted with amusement, but MacBain’s glare stopped him.
    Nicholas was frowning down at his sister, wondering why she hadn’t told the laird the truth. It had been closer to four months since Father MacKechnie began instructing her. He caught the look of panic in his sister’s eyes when she glanced up at him and he understood then. Johanna was simply too nervous to think straight.
    MacBain decided he didn’t want an audience during this important meeting.
    “Nicholas, wait here. Your sister and I are going inside to talk.”
    After giving his command, MacBain moved forward to take hold of Johanna’s arm. The hound came with him. She instinctively backed up, realized what she was doing and how that cowardly retreat must have looked to the laird, and quickly moved forward again.
    The huge beast growled at her. MacBain snapped an order in Gaelic.