Read Online Somewhere My Lass by Beth Trissel - Free Book Online

moved not at all, but looked wonderingly at him.
    Neil wondered at himself.
    Copper glints shone in the hair streaming over her. Lifting his hand to her red mane, he trailed his fingers through the silken sheen. Again, that quiver made itself known, and tiny goosebumps flushed down her neck.
    “You are a beauty,” his words a hoarse whisper.
    The rise and fall of her chest betrayed a deep inhalation of breath. A flicker of reproach lit her eyes. “I dinna think ye took heed of me at all.”
    He winced at the well-deserved jab. “About before, I’m sorry I left you so suddenly. But there’s no earthly way I could fail to notice you. I’d have to be deaf, dumb, and blind and even then…”
    The tension in her face eased, and then the hurt returned. “Oh, aye? How could ye forget all ye knew?”
    He remained ad he was, threading that wealth of hair through his fingers. Again, the rational part of him argued, “Is it possible you’re imagining you knew me before?”
    She balked, a mutinous glint in her eyes. “Nae.”
    He slid his hand to the finely crafted silver chain at her throat and coaxed the coverlets further down.
    A slight gasp escaped her lips. He muted any outward response to the thrill running through him.
    The scooped neckline of her nightgown revealed the tops of white breasts sprinkled with freckles. Above this heart hammering sight hung the crucifix. “I gave this to you?” he managed to ask without betraying the swell of emotion surging inside him.
    “At our betrothal.”
    She remained immobile as he reached out and closed his fingers around the sacred relic, warm from her sweet skin. Staying his hand from straying any lower, he held up the cross to better examine it. The inscription on the side appeared to be Latin.
    He stared at the etching. “I can’t make out the words.”
    “Trust in me,” she said softly.
    He lifted his eyes to hers. “You know Latin?”
    “And English, French…”
    That tutor was a marvel. Too bad he hadn’t taught Mora about everyday life. Shifting his focus away from her near mesmerizing gaze, Neil studied the cross. At  the base of the crucifix, he spotted a minute point, like a clasp.
    “Does it open?”
    “Why do ye ask?”
    Buried in Neil’s mind like a long forgotten treasure, was the idea that this relic held a key. The key .
    Angling one fingernail over the nub, he dug in and tugged, meeting with resistance.
    “What do ye ken that I do not?”
    “It’s stuck, but I think there’s something inside.”
    “Indeed? Let me have a try.”
    “All right. Maybe your smaller finger will fit better.” He shifted the shine of silver into her smooth white hand.
    Lips pressed together, Mora wiggled her half-moon shaped fingernail under the deceptively small clasp. She tugged and her finger slipped. Eyes rapt with concentration, she tried again. “’Tis stuck fast.”
    “Don’t force it. Mind if I summon Fergus?”
    “Nae. Call The Fergus, if ye wish.”
    “There’s no The in his name,” Neil corrected, amused at her expression despite the growing mystery. “Hey Fergus! Bring something in here, will you, to open the clasp on this old cross.”
    The footrest on the recliner lowered with a thump. “It opens?”
    “I’m almost certain.”
    “How in hell—heck,” Fergus caught himself, “do you know that?” He dashed through the partly open door on the tail of his query.
    Neil shrugged.
    “Of course,” Fergus said drily. “You’re well acquainted with seventeenth century crucifixes.”
    “I expect this one is sixteenth.”
    Fergus drew his reddish brows together. “Same difference.”
    “Of French origin,” Neil added.
    “Dude, you’re weirding me out.”
    Fergus wasn’t alone in his sentiments, and Mora looked like one lost in a dream. Neil would love to awaken her with a kiss—what was he thinking? He had to concentrate.
    “Art history,” he offered, knowing his insight stemmed from far, far more.
    “Yeah, right.” In his hand,