entirely honest. After all, her skin was like purest cream, and her hair like spun gold. Her eyes were as blue as the heavens and as wide as a child’s, but there was nothing childish about her form. No, there she was all but a dream, crafted like a small, luscious goddess, with breasts that …
He swore in silence and cleared his head. He wasn’t pacing the floor to think about her breasts. There was nothing special about breasts: half the population of Scotland had them, and hers were undoubtedly much like any others. He was pacing the floor because he had to decide why he would be accompanying her tomorrow.
Nay! That was not it at all. He was pacing while he tried to ascertain if he should accompany her. Not that he had any desire whatsoever to spend days and nights by the girl’s side; he did not. Even if her lips said she was all confidence while her hands pleaded for help, she didn’t need him. Even if her skin begged …
Damnation!
His brothers were in trouble. That was the only reason he was considering the journey. Daft as they were, they were still his brothers, and in their present addle-witted state, they could too easily be led astray by a bonny face or a comely figure.
And
her
face and
her
figure …
He stopped the thought. He had no interest in either of those mundane characteristics. He had learned that a lovely countenance oft hid an evil heart. It had left a scar and he would not forget. When it came time to take a wife, he would choose one with plain features and average form, one who did not turn men’s wits to jelly. One who did not destroy innocent lives while proclaiming everlasting devotion and …
Ramsay tightened his fists and closed his eyes to the acid memories. They ate at his innards, threatened his sanity, eroded his peace.
Just as she did. So, ‘twould do his brothers no good if he accompanied them. It would only be another lesson in futility, he decided, as he found his bed and forced himself upon its lonely surface.
He would stay at Dun Ard and forget how her chin jutted just so, as haughty as a queen’s, while in the depth of her azure eyes there seemed to be an everlasting flicker of fear that—
“Damn!” he muttered, and turning his face into his pillow, tried to forget all about how her hair gleamed in the firelight, how her delicate body felt against his arm, and how, when they kissed, he felt as if her very soul spoke to his. Not of certainty and pride, but of fears and doubts and a small slip of a lass who needed him like none other.
* * * * *
” ‘Twill be monotonous, riding in the midst of the company,” Gilmour said. “Please, Lachlan, feel free to lead us. I shall take the tedious task of accompanying the lass.” He turned his gaze to Mary, who rode just out of hearing with the maid servant.
“How generous of you.” Lachlan settled into his saddle. “But you needn’t put yourself out, brother. I’ll be riding with—” he began, but suddenly his eyes widened. “Ram,” he said, turning toward his elder brother. “Why are you here?”
Ramsay held Gryfon’s reins with studied indifference and refused to let his gaze fall to the girl astride the white mare. She wore a velvet cape of emerald green that draped over her steed’s ivory croup. Beneath the cape, a sapphire gown with slashed sleeves adorned her small frame. The bright colors made her face look as pale as ivory, framed by the long, loose flow of her golden hair. Like an angel’s. But she was no angel, Ramsay thought, and forced himself to see the reality. Near the girl’s scruffy shoes, her cloak was stained, and her gown, borrowed from Dun Ard’s coffers, was too large for her narrow form. Yet despite all the hardships she had endured, she looked as regal as a queen, as bonny as a—
Ramsay cut short his thoughts, jabbed Gryfon’s grinding weight off his toes, and swore in silence. ‘Twas hardly the girl’s soft gentility that had brought him here. Nay, ‘twas the damage she
He swore in silence and cleared his head. He wasn’t pacing the floor to think about her breasts. There was nothing special about breasts: half the population of Scotland had them, and hers were undoubtedly much like any others. He was pacing the floor because he had to decide why he would be accompanying her tomorrow.
Nay! That was not it at all. He was pacing while he tried to ascertain if he should accompany her. Not that he had any desire whatsoever to spend days and nights by the girl’s side; he did not. Even if her lips said she was all confidence while her hands pleaded for help, she didn’t need him. Even if her skin begged …
Damnation!
His brothers were in trouble. That was the only reason he was considering the journey. Daft as they were, they were still his brothers, and in their present addle-witted state, they could too easily be led astray by a bonny face or a comely figure.
And
her
face and
her
figure …
He stopped the thought. He had no interest in either of those mundane characteristics. He had learned that a lovely countenance oft hid an evil heart. It had left a scar and he would not forget. When it came time to take a wife, he would choose one with plain features and average form, one who did not turn men’s wits to jelly. One who did not destroy innocent lives while proclaiming everlasting devotion and …
Ramsay tightened his fists and closed his eyes to the acid memories. They ate at his innards, threatened his sanity, eroded his peace.
Just as she did. So, ‘twould do his brothers no good if he accompanied them. It would only be another lesson in futility, he decided, as he found his bed and forced himself upon its lonely surface.
He would stay at Dun Ard and forget how her chin jutted just so, as haughty as a queen’s, while in the depth of her azure eyes there seemed to be an everlasting flicker of fear that—
“Damn!” he muttered, and turning his face into his pillow, tried to forget all about how her hair gleamed in the firelight, how her delicate body felt against his arm, and how, when they kissed, he felt as if her very soul spoke to his. Not of certainty and pride, but of fears and doubts and a small slip of a lass who needed him like none other.
* * * * *
” ‘Twill be monotonous, riding in the midst of the company,” Gilmour said. “Please, Lachlan, feel free to lead us. I shall take the tedious task of accompanying the lass.” He turned his gaze to Mary, who rode just out of hearing with the maid servant.
“How generous of you.” Lachlan settled into his saddle. “But you needn’t put yourself out, brother. I’ll be riding with—” he began, but suddenly his eyes widened. “Ram,” he said, turning toward his elder brother. “Why are you here?”
Ramsay held Gryfon’s reins with studied indifference and refused to let his gaze fall to the girl astride the white mare. She wore a velvet cape of emerald green that draped over her steed’s ivory croup. Beneath the cape, a sapphire gown with slashed sleeves adorned her small frame. The bright colors made her face look as pale as ivory, framed by the long, loose flow of her golden hair. Like an angel’s. But she was no angel, Ramsay thought, and forced himself to see the reality. Near the girl’s scruffy shoes, her cloak was stained, and her gown, borrowed from Dun Ard’s coffers, was too large for her narrow form. Yet despite all the hardships she had endured, she looked as regal as a queen, as bonny as a—
Ramsay cut short his thoughts, jabbed Gryfon’s grinding weight off his toes, and swore in silence. ‘Twas hardly the girl’s soft gentility that had brought him here. Nay, ‘twas the damage she
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