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Authors: Paula Quinn
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who also dead?” She turned to Graham, a bit exasperated by his interruptions.
“This James, who is verra dear to ye.”
Claire narrowed her eyes at him, trying to read his expression. He appeared calm enough, but his voice was tense, his question brusque. “Nae, he is not dead.”
“Thank the saints, aye?” he asked, watching her reaction.
“Aye,” she said sincerely. “I do, each day.”
“Good.” Graham smiled and flung his bread into the flames. “I’m pleased to hear it.”
After a moment of listening to the crickets around them, Robert directed his next question to his best friend. “Are you done?”
Graham’s lethal glare was all the answer Robert was going to get.
“Very well, then,” the young earl continued. “Let me ask you this, my lady. Why did Monck send me to find your brother if he knew Connor was dead?”
“Mayhap that is a question you should put to the general when you see him.”
“I intend to,” Robert assured her, then glanced at the sword in her lap. “We should get some sleep. I will take first watch.” He caught the faint grin on Graham’s face as his friend settled into his plaid. Let Graham think him a fool for not trusting that she wouldn’t slice off their heads in their sleep. She had every reason to want them dead, and she had it in her to do it. He eyed her as she set her head to the ground. He could see clearly why Graham was so attracted to her. She was fair, and self-sufficient. Too self-sufficient for his liking, though. He thought of her sister and how they could be so different. Why was the governor forcing Anne to wed?
“Lady Stuart?” He listened for her drowsy response. “When did the general send Connor to England?”
“Monck did not send him. Connor was already there fighting Lambert’s men in Cheshire when Monck sent him word of the meeting. He was killed on his way to London.” She shifted uncomfortably, then grew quiet again.
Robert thought the matter over in his mind. Something did not sit right with him. So many things made no logical sense. And then something occurred to him. Something that apparently struck Graham as well, for he sat up, and together they looked at Claire.
Connor had fought with Lambert’s men in August. If he had been killed two months ago, then who had attacked General Monck’s men outside Stirling a few weeks ago?
Chapter Eight
H ow shall I escape that which keeps me from my utmost duty?
In the lavender stillness moments before dawn, Graham watched the low firelight flicker over Claire’s sleeping face. He took his leisure studying the impudent curve of her nose, the fine lines of her cheekbones, and the alluring slopes of her lips licked by shadows and light. The taste of that plump, parted mouth and the fervor in her resistance clung to his memory and made his blood burn. He’d kissed many lasses, but he never felt as if he’d go mad if he didn’t kiss them again. Was it the curve of that arrogant mouth that made him want to conquer her? The spark of resistance when she looked at him that made him hunger for her surrender? He was enjoying the fight, as any experienced warrior would. There was naught more invigorating than a worthy adversary, something he had found little of in his journeys. Aye, Claire Stuart was bonny indeed. The sight of her drove him to distraction, but it was her courage and conviction that sparked a desire for more than a victory with her.
A bit beyond the dying flames, the even rhythm of Robert’s breath ruptured into a snore, shifting Graham’s languid thoughts back to those more pressing. Connor Stuart was dead. Or was he? According to those he and Robert had questioned during their search for him, Stuart was not only alive and well but had taken up a vicious campaign against General Monck’s men, as well as Lambert’s. Who was this James Claire had spoken of? The way her tone turned soft when she admitted her relief that he was not dead had pricked Graham’s temper. What
“This James, who is verra dear to ye.”
Claire narrowed her eyes at him, trying to read his expression. He appeared calm enough, but his voice was tense, his question brusque. “Nae, he is not dead.”
“Thank the saints, aye?” he asked, watching her reaction.
“Aye,” she said sincerely. “I do, each day.”
“Good.” Graham smiled and flung his bread into the flames. “I’m pleased to hear it.”
After a moment of listening to the crickets around them, Robert directed his next question to his best friend. “Are you done?”
Graham’s lethal glare was all the answer Robert was going to get.
“Very well, then,” the young earl continued. “Let me ask you this, my lady. Why did Monck send me to find your brother if he knew Connor was dead?”
“Mayhap that is a question you should put to the general when you see him.”
“I intend to,” Robert assured her, then glanced at the sword in her lap. “We should get some sleep. I will take first watch.” He caught the faint grin on Graham’s face as his friend settled into his plaid. Let Graham think him a fool for not trusting that she wouldn’t slice off their heads in their sleep. She had every reason to want them dead, and she had it in her to do it. He eyed her as she set her head to the ground. He could see clearly why Graham was so attracted to her. She was fair, and self-sufficient. Too self-sufficient for his liking, though. He thought of her sister and how they could be so different. Why was the governor forcing Anne to wed?
“Lady Stuart?” He listened for her drowsy response. “When did the general send Connor to England?”
“Monck did not send him. Connor was already there fighting Lambert’s men in Cheshire when Monck sent him word of the meeting. He was killed on his way to London.” She shifted uncomfortably, then grew quiet again.
Robert thought the matter over in his mind. Something did not sit right with him. So many things made no logical sense. And then something occurred to him. Something that apparently struck Graham as well, for he sat up, and together they looked at Claire.
Connor had fought with Lambert’s men in August. If he had been killed two months ago, then who had attacked General Monck’s men outside Stirling a few weeks ago?
Chapter Eight
H ow shall I escape that which keeps me from my utmost duty?
In the lavender stillness moments before dawn, Graham watched the low firelight flicker over Claire’s sleeping face. He took his leisure studying the impudent curve of her nose, the fine lines of her cheekbones, and the alluring slopes of her lips licked by shadows and light. The taste of that plump, parted mouth and the fervor in her resistance clung to his memory and made his blood burn. He’d kissed many lasses, but he never felt as if he’d go mad if he didn’t kiss them again. Was it the curve of that arrogant mouth that made him want to conquer her? The spark of resistance when she looked at him that made him hunger for her surrender? He was enjoying the fight, as any experienced warrior would. There was naught more invigorating than a worthy adversary, something he had found little of in his journeys. Aye, Claire Stuart was bonny indeed. The sight of her drove him to distraction, but it was her courage and conviction that sparked a desire for more than a victory with her.
A bit beyond the dying flames, the even rhythm of Robert’s breath ruptured into a snore, shifting Graham’s languid thoughts back to those more pressing. Connor Stuart was dead. Or was he? According to those he and Robert had questioned during their search for him, Stuart was not only alive and well but had taken up a vicious campaign against General Monck’s men, as well as Lambert’s. Who was this James Claire had spoken of? The way her tone turned soft when she admitted her relief that he was not dead had pricked Graham’s temper. What
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