Read Online Bride by Stella Cameron - Free Book Online Page A

mean?” Calum snapped.
    “Responsibility.”
    Calum's eyes glittered and he stood very close to Justine. “I repeat, Arran. Make yourself plain. And if you are calling my sister … If you are questioning my sister's character, I advise you to think hard before saying anything at all.”
    “Arran would never question Justine's character.” A heavy ache pressed about Struan's eyes. This development must not divert his attention, his vigilance. “He sometimes forgets that I am past needing his guiding hand. I am not a child, y'know, brother. I'll attend to my own business.”
    These decisions are frequently removed from our hands,” Arran said. “I am merely insisting that for the sake of family reputation—our own and the Franchots—we must do what is right.”
    “We are doing what is right,” Calum said, his color unusually high. “We are leaving at once.”
    “I think not,” Arran remarked, almost offhandedly.
    Calum placed an arm around Justine's shoulders and glared. “The devil you say. This is not your decision to—”
    “It is not Arran's decision and neither is it yours,” Struan interrupted. “I assure you that the two mature people involved in this are very capable of making their own decisions.”
    “Exactly,” Justine announced emphatically. “And this mature person has decided to remain here to pursue her work and to help a friend.”
    Arguing openly with Justine would do nothing to further his cause. Struan addressed Calum, “We will deal with this, man to man.”
    “Indeed,” Arran agreed. “We—”
    “Calum and I are the men involved,” Struan told his brother, tight-lipped.
    “And I am the woman involved.” Justine's serenity was amazing. “Struan and I understand each other perfectly, don't we, Struan?”
    How could he do other than nod agreement?
    Her smile was jubilant. “Quite. Now I find I am hungry. Very hungry. If we keep those in the kitchens waiting longer, we shall truly run the risk of arousing gossip.”
    The world had gone mad. Even more mad than Struan had unwillingly accepted it to be in recent weeks.
    Last night he had ridden to the castle alone, and expected to return to the lodge—alone. Instead he'd been confronted by Justine, who, at this moment, stood in the middle of this outrageously neglected kitchen like a slightly bedraggled princess misplaced in an abandoned dungeon.
    And in their company were two men Struan had not thought to see for weeks, or perhaps months—and certainly not together, or here.
    Gael Mercer, wife of Robert Mercer, lifelong tenants of Kirkcaldy and indispensable allies in Struan's recent trials, busily tended the fire in the great black stove. The occasional maid, Buttercup, stirred a large pot of porridge bubbling atop the stove. She stirred but kept her pink and white face firmly averted from the steam. Buttercup herself rather bubbled inside the uniform that didn't subdue her curves.
    Ella, Struan's dark-haired, exotic “daughter,” hovered near Justine, who regarded the girl with smiling joy.
    “You are so beautiful,” Justine said, not for the first time since she'd entered the kitchens. “Even more beautiful than when I last saw you in Cornwall—if that were possible.”
    “She's a wild one,” Max announced, breaking into a boisterous jig that involved swinging his arms and hopping from heel to toe. “Ye should hear Grumpy talk about how wild our Ella is. Another one spawned o’ the devil, she says.”
    Struan gave up trying to restrain the boy. “Gael,” he said. “You really don't have to do this, you know.” He found himself repeatedly looking to the windows for signs of watching enemy eyes.
    Slender, red-haired Gael kept her gaze lowered and took over stirring the pot. “Robert said I was t'feed ye,” she said, her voice barely audible over Max's hummed accompaniment to his dance and the hollow banging made by a plump toddler thumping a large spoon on an upturned basin.
    To Struan's amazement, Arran