Read Online Bride of the Black Scot by Elaine Coffman - Free Book Online
Authors: Elaine Coffman
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her
trust. I wouldna want to be in your shoes, laddie. A precipice in the front;
wolves in the rear.”
“I will find a way,” Stephen said, “for I will not lose
her.”
Chapter Five
They rode hard for two days, taking few breaks to rest, and
only a few hours to sleep. The pace was difficult, and they were plagued with a
misting rain that seemed in no hurry to end.
For hours they had been riding without stopping. Cold, wet
and fighting a headache, Juliette sat wearily upon her horse, listening to
Edith complain, thinking Stephen had been right to covet silence.
Stephen .
Her heart warmed at the mere thought of him—even knowing
that he had been avoiding her all day. For the hundredth time, she allowed her
gaze to search him out, her mind doing what it enjoyed of late, wistfully
thinking how different things would be if it were Stephen she was to marry
instead of the Black Scot.
For a moment, she allowed her thoughts to stray off in that
direction, something she found both pleasurable and agonizing. There was no
point in denying the truth. She could not lie to herself. She was falling in
love with him. The question that bothered her was whether or not Stephen could
come to feel about her as she felt about him—in the little time they had
together before they reached Craigmoor.
And if he did come to care for her, would he turn
against the leader of his clan for the woman he loved?
One look at the broad back and proud carriage of the man in
question and she knew the answer. Dishonor was as foreign as French to him.
Since infancy, Stephen had been fed liberal doses of pride and honor right
along with his porridge. He might come to care for her. He might kiss her a
time or two. But he would never, ever betray his laird.
Oddly enough, she found she would not want him to.
At that moment, she realized he was riding toward her and
her heart hammered. Come to me, Stephen. Take me. Hold me. Tell me you care…
She smiled shyly, her heart pounding furiously in
anticipation. She looked longingly at his dark, impassive face as he rode past
her without so much as a brief glance in her direction.
Her heart shattered, trampled like her dreams in the mud
beneath the hooves of his horse. If there had been any lingering doubt as to
where things stood between them, he had clarified it now.
A deep, stabbing pain twisted her heart. She wanted to cry,
but in private…not bouncing along on the back of an obnoxious beast and in the
presence of eight stubborn, uncaring Scots.
She glared at Stephen’s back. She wanted to ride to where he
was and shove his arrogant face into the mud. If she were a man she could do
just that. “Take heart, lass. The lad fares no better than you.” Juliette
jerked her head around to see that Angus had ridden quietly next to her. If she
had not been so disheartened, she would have been in awe that he had spoken to
her at all. Instead, the words of consolation coming from such a stalwart man
made her ache with emotion. She felt sorry for herself. Wounded. Abandoned.
Tears burned her eyes and she prayed she would not cry. Not now. Not in front
of this silent old man who seemed to know her heart.
“Taking heart is easier said than done, I fear.”
“It is no as difficult as you make it, lass.”
She sniffed. “You don’t understand. I made a fool of myself.
I kissed him and now I think he hates me.”
The corners of his mouth twitched and Angus cleared his
throat. “I wouldna be too upset, lass. If Stephen hated every lass who kissed
him, there wouldna be any lassies left for him to like.”
She shot him a dark look. “If that was supposed to
make me feel better, it didn’t.”
“Weel, would it make you feel better if he did hate you?”
She lifted her chin, feeling a sudden surge of pride,
determined that he would not know how much it really did matter. But her
resolve seemed to crumple immediately. She felt a tear slip down her cheek and
she wiped it quickly with the back of her
trust. I wouldna want to be in your shoes, laddie. A precipice in the front;
wolves in the rear.”
“I will find a way,” Stephen said, “for I will not lose
her.”
Chapter Five
They rode hard for two days, taking few breaks to rest, and
only a few hours to sleep. The pace was difficult, and they were plagued with a
misting rain that seemed in no hurry to end.
For hours they had been riding without stopping. Cold, wet
and fighting a headache, Juliette sat wearily upon her horse, listening to
Edith complain, thinking Stephen had been right to covet silence.
Stephen .
Her heart warmed at the mere thought of him—even knowing
that he had been avoiding her all day. For the hundredth time, she allowed her
gaze to search him out, her mind doing what it enjoyed of late, wistfully
thinking how different things would be if it were Stephen she was to marry
instead of the Black Scot.
For a moment, she allowed her thoughts to stray off in that
direction, something she found both pleasurable and agonizing. There was no
point in denying the truth. She could not lie to herself. She was falling in
love with him. The question that bothered her was whether or not Stephen could
come to feel about her as she felt about him—in the little time they had
together before they reached Craigmoor.
And if he did come to care for her, would he turn
against the leader of his clan for the woman he loved?
One look at the broad back and proud carriage of the man in
question and she knew the answer. Dishonor was as foreign as French to him.
Since infancy, Stephen had been fed liberal doses of pride and honor right
along with his porridge. He might come to care for her. He might kiss her a
time or two. But he would never, ever betray his laird.
Oddly enough, she found she would not want him to.
At that moment, she realized he was riding toward her and
her heart hammered. Come to me, Stephen. Take me. Hold me. Tell me you care…
She smiled shyly, her heart pounding furiously in
anticipation. She looked longingly at his dark, impassive face as he rode past
her without so much as a brief glance in her direction.
Her heart shattered, trampled like her dreams in the mud
beneath the hooves of his horse. If there had been any lingering doubt as to
where things stood between them, he had clarified it now.
A deep, stabbing pain twisted her heart. She wanted to cry,
but in private…not bouncing along on the back of an obnoxious beast and in the
presence of eight stubborn, uncaring Scots.
She glared at Stephen’s back. She wanted to ride to where he
was and shove his arrogant face into the mud. If she were a man she could do
just that. “Take heart, lass. The lad fares no better than you.” Juliette
jerked her head around to see that Angus had ridden quietly next to her. If she
had not been so disheartened, she would have been in awe that he had spoken to
her at all. Instead, the words of consolation coming from such a stalwart man
made her ache with emotion. She felt sorry for herself. Wounded. Abandoned.
Tears burned her eyes and she prayed she would not cry. Not now. Not in front
of this silent old man who seemed to know her heart.
“Taking heart is easier said than done, I fear.”
“It is no as difficult as you make it, lass.”
She sniffed. “You don’t understand. I made a fool of myself.
I kissed him and now I think he hates me.”
The corners of his mouth twitched and Angus cleared his
throat. “I wouldna be too upset, lass. If Stephen hated every lass who kissed
him, there wouldna be any lassies left for him to like.”
She shot him a dark look. “If that was supposed to
make me feel better, it didn’t.”
“Weel, would it make you feel better if he did hate you?”
She lifted her chin, feeling a sudden surge of pride,
determined that he would not know how much it really did matter. But her
resolve seemed to crumple immediately. She felt a tear slip down her cheek and
she wiped it quickly with the back of her
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