Page 12 of A Scot's Devotion
It should have occurred to him the magic of the Claddagh ring might help her. Moreover, she was a Broun. That meant she was a witch, whether she knew it or not. So it was only a matter of time before her powers revealed themselves.
Perhaps by unlocking his chamber door.
“The lass has my mind going in circles,” he muttered. “I’m not thinking clearly.”
He joined Grant at the window and cursed under his breath when he spied her. She strolled through the courtyard in attire that was correct for the era but certainly not these parts. More specifically, around so many fighting men.
“’Tis a lovely gown,” Grant remarked, far too amused. “On a verra fetching lass.”
She was indeed. With or without the stunning crème colored gown accentuating her curves. Designed to incite men's lust, it had a new, never before seen, scoop neck that showed more than dresses usually did. Her breasts were round and full, plumped up for all to see, and her skin luminescent.
Not surprisingly, she drew far too many eyes.
“Ah, and she isnae alone.” Grant pointed out who she strolled arm in arm with. Someone she appeared far too familiar with far too soon. “’Tis none other than King Robert the Bruce’s illegitimate firstborn son, Robert Bruce.”
