Read Online Beloved Imposter by PATRICIA POTTER - Free Book Online

the moon and stars and even the cold Highlands rain. And when she was carrying his child, she would sing to it and tempt him into playing the lute.
    The world had been enchanted then.
    Loneliness pierced him. He thought he had conquered it. Now he realized he had not.
    The woman revived memories he did not want, that he had held at bay for years. Why had they flooded back now?
    By all that was holy, the sooner the Cameron woman left this hall, the better.
    Douglas met him at the entrance of the hall and walked in with him. “Should I put a guard on her door?” asked his steward.
    “No,” Rory said as he stretched his long legs out at the table. “She is not to think she is a prisoner. She will be gone tomorrow. Why should she try to escape?”
    “She may not believe you.”
    “I think she did. She appeared to accept my explanation.”
    “Will you not reconsider, my lord? I saw her expression. She was not displeased with you.”
    Rory stared at his steward. “Do you not remember how my mother died, and Lachlan’s? My Maggie and, God help me, Anne.”
    “Maggie died in childbirth,” Douglas said, “and Anne of a fever. Half of Leith died.”
    “Anne was there because of me. Waiting for me to come home.”
    “It was her choice, my lord,” Douglas said. “Not yours.”
    “It does not matter. The Cameron lass goes back,” Rory said firmly, weary of the subject.
    “Aye, my lord.”
    “In the morning.”
    “Aye.”
    “No more tricks.”
    “Nay, my lord.”
    Rory did not like Douglas’s agreeability. He never gave up that easily. Still, what could he do? Rory planned to escort the lady himself. He drained the tankard in front of him. He would take his rest and prepare to leave early.
    Felicia waited until all sounds ceased.
    Judging the hour to be well past midnight, she took the candle and tried the door. Unlocked. She said a brief prayer of thanks.
    The candle flickered from the air in the hallway. She shivered in the cold air, but then stiffened her resolve. She needed to know more about this place.
    The adjacent chamber to hers was much like her own, more dusty, but truly grand. When she stepped on the elaborate carpet, a cloud of dust rose.
    Rory Maclean was laird. All those she’d encountered acknowledged him as such. Why did he not use the chamber obviously intended for the chief?
    She studied the interior, wondering if it, like some in the Campbell home, had secret chambers and passages.
    But she found nothing that would indicate such. It was richly furnished with tapestries and exotic floor covering, unlike the rushes used throughout her home.
    She wondered again why the laird did not use the chamber, though she was grateful he did not. The thought of his proximity sent a new shiver down her back. The fact that it was not one of fear frightened her in an entirely different way.
    She found nothing and left the room, following the stairs up to the next floor. She continued up as she heard voices. On the fourth level there were more chambers, all of them had obviously been unoccupied for a long time. They had minimal furnishings: bed, table.
    Then she found a chamber that appeared to have been sealed off. Shrouds covered the furnishings. She lifted one and saw an intricately carved cradle. A nursery. Another shroud covered a large box half filled with both new and worn toys. She regarded the box thoughtfully. It was large enough to secret a body her size, if need be.
    Her gaze went back to the cradle, and she felt a sudden pang. She adored children. Now it was unlikely she would ever have any of her own. She banished the thought as she inspected a connecting chamber, plainer than any of the others. It would have been for a child’s nurse.
    Melancholy seemed to linger here. It shouldn’t. This should be a happy place. She shivered and went to the window. It faced the sea, much like her own room at home, and she glimpsed a rock far from shore. Was this where the Maclean had attempted to murder his