tilted her head. The sun sparkled in her eyes, which were soft with concern. "How can you laugh?"
How could he reply without tripping himself up? He'd let down his guard and stepped onto dangerous ground.
"You must have been embarrassed to your toes," she said, her expression solemn.
"Oh, I was," he admitted. "But only Angus saw it and he'd never betray me."
Her keen gaze locked with his. "The burly fellow? I thought you didn't know any of your soldiers' names."
Duncan instantly regretted his confidence. She was too quick to catch a slip of the tongue.
"People always betray themselves," she said. "'Tis the way of things."
Was the cryptic statement a warning? How odd, he thought, that she could snatch up a single word in a sentence and create a beatitude, albeit a dangerous one.
Duncan didn't comment, for out of the corner of his vision he saw the sleuthhound nosing around the wall. "You should call the dog back," he said. "Badgers and snakes nest around here."
She tunneled her hand under her thick hair and lifted it off her neck. Taking a handkerchief from her pocket, she dabbed at her nape. "Don't worry. Verbatim avoids snakes, and a badger's no match for a sleuthhound. Besides, she won't kill game. She only tracks and finds it."
Fear jolted through Duncan, for the dog could accidentally unearth the lair of the Border Lord. He rose. "All the same, she could be hurt or scarred in the scuffle. Not to mention the badger."
As he approached the dog, Duncan watched her put to use the fine qualities of her breed. She darted in and out of the bracken, and once, jumped on the wall. Long ears flapping in the wind, she sniffed and investigated. Then she bounded to the ground and into the bushes very near the door that led to an underground chamber. Dirt began to fly.
Heart thumping, Duncan yelled, "Stop that digging."
Verbatim's head popped into view. Dust coated her black muzzle and burrs clung to her long ears. A moment later, the dog went back to her excavation.
Frantic, Duncan went in pursuit.
Lady Miriam whistled. One hundred pounds of eager dog dashed from the bushes. She ran so fast in her haste to reach her mistress that she almost plowed into him. But not so fast that he missed the swatch of black silk hanging from the dog's mouth.
Duncan's heart skipped a beat, for the dog had found the black scarf of the Border Lord.
How had he been so careless as to lose it? Bloody hell, the answer wasn't important. Like a dervish, his tortured mind whirled in search of an explanation.
The scarf belongs to a traveler. It's the property of a grieving widow
. Yes, of course. Duncan would offer to locate the poor creature.
Wait a minute. Miriam couldn't know who the scarf belonged to. Duncan's anxiety eased. He sucked in a deep breath and felt his heart slow to normal.
The dog had found a plain black scarf. So bloody what?
If he acted guilty, Miriam would fix those gray eyes on him and persist until he came up with a satisfactory excuse or tripped over his own foolish tongue. Act natural, he counseled himself. Then he laughed and banished the word natural from his mind. Duncan Kerr had a bumbling earl to portray.
Mincing over brambles and rocks, he returned to the old well. He retrieved his own handkerchief and began brushing debris from his long trousers. To his surprise, he saw Lady Miriam tying the scarf around the dog's neck and praising the animal.
Delight sparkled in her eyes. "Doesn't she look dashing, my lord?"
He'd only met her last night, but instinctively Duncan knew that Miriam MacDonald didn't often express herself so freely. An honest, open conversation with her sounded very appealing, and impossible. Sadly Duncan did what he must, what he hated.
He let his mouth drop open and propped his hands at his waist. "You should have the maids clean that filthy rag first. Goodness knows what creatures infest it."
An imploring expression gave her a girlish appeal. "Verbatim's only playing, which she seldom gets to
How could he reply without tripping himself up? He'd let down his guard and stepped onto dangerous ground.
"You must have been embarrassed to your toes," she said, her expression solemn.
"Oh, I was," he admitted. "But only Angus saw it and he'd never betray me."
Her keen gaze locked with his. "The burly fellow? I thought you didn't know any of your soldiers' names."
Duncan instantly regretted his confidence. She was too quick to catch a slip of the tongue.
"People always betray themselves," she said. "'Tis the way of things."
Was the cryptic statement a warning? How odd, he thought, that she could snatch up a single word in a sentence and create a beatitude, albeit a dangerous one.
Duncan didn't comment, for out of the corner of his vision he saw the sleuthhound nosing around the wall. "You should call the dog back," he said. "Badgers and snakes nest around here."
She tunneled her hand under her thick hair and lifted it off her neck. Taking a handkerchief from her pocket, she dabbed at her nape. "Don't worry. Verbatim avoids snakes, and a badger's no match for a sleuthhound. Besides, she won't kill game. She only tracks and finds it."
Fear jolted through Duncan, for the dog could accidentally unearth the lair of the Border Lord. He rose. "All the same, she could be hurt or scarred in the scuffle. Not to mention the badger."
As he approached the dog, Duncan watched her put to use the fine qualities of her breed. She darted in and out of the bracken, and once, jumped on the wall. Long ears flapping in the wind, she sniffed and investigated. Then she bounded to the ground and into the bushes very near the door that led to an underground chamber. Dirt began to fly.
Heart thumping, Duncan yelled, "Stop that digging."
Verbatim's head popped into view. Dust coated her black muzzle and burrs clung to her long ears. A moment later, the dog went back to her excavation.
Frantic, Duncan went in pursuit.
Lady Miriam whistled. One hundred pounds of eager dog dashed from the bushes. She ran so fast in her haste to reach her mistress that she almost plowed into him. But not so fast that he missed the swatch of black silk hanging from the dog's mouth.
Duncan's heart skipped a beat, for the dog had found the black scarf of the Border Lord.
How had he been so careless as to lose it? Bloody hell, the answer wasn't important. Like a dervish, his tortured mind whirled in search of an explanation.
The scarf belongs to a traveler. It's the property of a grieving widow
. Yes, of course. Duncan would offer to locate the poor creature.
Wait a minute. Miriam couldn't know who the scarf belonged to. Duncan's anxiety eased. He sucked in a deep breath and felt his heart slow to normal.
The dog had found a plain black scarf. So bloody what?
If he acted guilty, Miriam would fix those gray eyes on him and persist until he came up with a satisfactory excuse or tripped over his own foolish tongue. Act natural, he counseled himself. Then he laughed and banished the word natural from his mind. Duncan Kerr had a bumbling earl to portray.
Mincing over brambles and rocks, he returned to the old well. He retrieved his own handkerchief and began brushing debris from his long trousers. To his surprise, he saw Lady Miriam tying the scarf around the dog's neck and praising the animal.
Delight sparkled in her eyes. "Doesn't she look dashing, my lord?"
He'd only met her last night, but instinctively Duncan knew that Miriam MacDonald didn't often express herself so freely. An honest, open conversation with her sounded very appealing, and impossible. Sadly Duncan did what he must, what he hated.
He let his mouth drop open and propped his hands at his waist. "You should have the maids clean that filthy rag first. Goodness knows what creatures infest it."
An imploring expression gave her a girlish appeal. "Verbatim's only playing, which she seldom gets to
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