Page 64 of The Highlander's Temporary Bride
Her eyes narrowed on him, and Grant knew to hold his tongue, to wait her out.
Finally, Emma nodded, offered him another smile, and then walked off.
This time, he did not follow her. He simply watched her go.
And wished that he had asked for more time with her.
CHAPTER 26
The next afternoon,as the maids helped Emma into a crimson gown and affixed a matching Ronson tartan sash across her shoulders, a knock sounded at the door. Her heart leaped, and she smoothed down her skirt as she shooed the maids away.
She opened the door to find Brenda standing in the hallway.
Old Lady Ronson’s face broke into a wide smile. “Och, lass. Ye wear our colors well.” Her hand rose as though to cradle Emma’s cheek. “Ye are so bonny, and I dinnae just mean yer lovely face.”
Emma flushed. “Thank you, My Lady. Do you want to come in?”
“Nay, I merely stopped on me way to the hospital to hand ye this.” Brenda held out a piece of gold-hued parchment, and Emma’s heart lurched. “A rider delivered it a little while ago. He was about to charge into the halls on his steed, so I promised I’d bring it.”
Emma flipped the letter over and eyed the wax seal. She did not recognize the crest—a horse and a mountain, with stars overhead.
“Do you know who sent this?” she asked.
“Someone from Briorn is me guess,” Brenda said. “’Tis the MacLarsen seal, me dear.”
Emma’s hands shook as she stared at it, then she smiled at Brenda and nodded. “Thank you.”
Stepping back inside her rooms, she could barely focus as politely ordered the maids to leave.
She did not have much time, but she had to know.
Emma gasped as she read the first few lines.
Sister,
I do hope you don’t mind me calling you that. But it seems that I should, for so much has happened, twining us both, and yet we have not met.
So let me tell you a little about myself. Oh, and first, let me introduce myself.
I am Lady Agnes Aitken of Clan MacLarsen, and I send you my greetings!
“Agnes,” Emma whispered. “How did you find me first?”
Emma met Grant by the grand double doors of Banrose Castle, and a shiver ran up her spine. Just as it had the night before.
Last night, Grant had been dressed in dark clothes, his eyes cold with purpose, his hair falling around his face. Almost as though he were the night shaped into a man and could choose to turn to darkness and shadow and star if he so chose—at any time.
And perhaps take her with him.
Tonight, though, he was every inch the Laird of Clan Ronson. Standing on the front steps, gazing out into the evening, he had not heard her approach yet, and she took him in. His dark hair was tied back with a bit of tartan, which matched the sash he wore over his snowy white shirt, and, of course, his kilt. His kilt, which showed off his hard, muscular legs.
She thought of sitting in his lap, his chest pressed to her back, his hands on her breasts, and her legs straddling his thighs.
A pulse went through her, and she touched her lips.
What I would not give for another kiss.
At that moment, Grant turned around, and his green eyes lit up. A slow smile spread across his face as he looked her over.
