Page 14 of The Highlander's Temporary Bride
Aye, I cannae.
“I shall die, you know,” she said in a biting tone.
Grant jumped, staring at her. But she took no heed of him as she began to pace, the words tumbling out of her mouth so fast that he wondered if she knew that she was speaking.
“I shall die as the wife of a laird. That is why I ran—” She paused and stared off into the distance, her chest rising and falling.
Grant would’ve given anything to know what she was thinking of. For a moment, he thought she might cry, but instead, she straightened and took a deep breath.
Admiration filled him. For all that she was a proper and pampered English princess, she also had the heart and courage of a lion. She was wrong—she would not die in Scotland, no. She’d be free, as she was meant to be.
For a moment, he could see her laughing and striding along, the wind ruffling her long hair, her eyes bright. A dirk at her waist and a warhorse at her side. Like Diana of the Greeks, in The Hunt.
“Well, lead me to my terrible fate, Sir.” Emma put a hand on her heart and smiled at him—a fearsome and bright thing.
It shot a bolt of light and heat through him, as though the old Greek gods had speared him where he stood.
“Nothing to add?” she asked, every hue of blue in her eyes alight with curiosity. “Why don’t you ever speak, hm? Or am I going to have to imagine what you are saying?”
The wind rose then, and Grant glanced away, then back to her, his chest rising and falling.
What could it hurt?
Only, at that moment, someone urgently called out his name.
“Laird Ronson.”
Emma watched the Highlander heave a breath and glance over at the fair-haired maiden rushing toward them.
“Laird Ronson,” the barmaid chided in a breathless, squeaking voice, and Emma’s eyes flicked to her. “Are ye ignorin’ me?” She didn’t even acknowledge Emma as she batted her eyelashes at the man. “Ye almost ran off without yer change. We cannae have that again. Morgana wouldnae be pleased.”
With a small huff somewhere between a sigh and a laugh, the Highlander held out his hand, and the barmaid put a small satchel in it, coins jingling merrily.
Using the distraction, Emma tried to pull free again. But Laird Ronson merely smirked at her, his eyes seeming to say,Are ye even tryin’?
At that moment, the barmaid noticed Emma, and her lip curled. “I hope to see ye soon, Me Laird,” she said.
Laird Ronson offered her a polite nod but did not look away from Emma.
Not until she said, “Morgana wanted me to tell ye that more hunters were spotted on the roads. North and south.” Sheadded something in Gaelic, and he gave her a sharp nod, then looked back. The barmaid pouted, then said loudly, “I havenae forgotten that we were interrupted last week by that rotten thief. Have ye?”
Grant tucked the satchel in his jacket and then flicked a hand at the barmaid, who pouted her pretty lips in outrage before she marched off.
Emma watched her go, knowing that she should want to call her back. Instead, she felt a vicious satisfaction at seeing the woman’s retreating back and nearly stuck out her tongue.
What a brazen, rude creature to say such things. And it was clear that whatever the barmaid had meant, whatever past affair she had with the Laird, she was wildly overexaggerating to make herself feel better.
But none of that solved the tall problem standing in front of Emma and watching her. Heart pounding in her throat, she could barely meet his eyes, and she wondered again whether he meant to marry her to follow the Queen’s Edict.
“I do wonder,” Emma said in a fierce voice, worthy of any Wells. “Will you ever tell me what you want—or if you might help me?”
CHAPTER 6
Blood surged through Grant,along with dangerous ideas and wicked instincts. For he could think of too many things to ask of this too-lovelySassenach. Too many uses for that pretty mouth, for the curves under the tight material of the dress, and not nearly enough time for them all.
It would be too easy to pull her closer, to wrap his hands around her throat and squeeze it, hear her shocked exhale before he bent his head to capture her lips?—
Grant snapped himself back to the present and shook himself. No, he could not let his mind wander, not when the Queen’s Edict hung over them both. He wondered if her objection was because she knew that only the most troublesome and dangerous lairds had been promised to certain English brides—not that the noble families knew that.
