spoke. “Come out of there, you.”
Seonaid cursed under her breath. She had feared the hiding place might not bear up well
under close inspection, but there had been little time to find a new one after closing the
chapel door. Glancing toward Aeldra, they shared a grim glance, then stepped to the side,
half-revealing herself to the enemy and getting her first really good look at them. Well,
one of them. Unfortunately, her attention was focused on the man who stood in front, so
she did not notice the others accompanying him. The one in front was enough to keep
anyone's attention.
Seonaid had never met the Cameron, but if the man before her was Rollo, God had been truly
kind when fashioning him. His hairas she had noticed earlierwas blond, but 'twas truly a
poor description. A touch shorter than her brother's darker tresses, it hung to his
shoulders in golden waves that caught and reflected the candlelight in the room. It was
glorious, a shade of spun gold she was sure only an angel could possess. His face was
equally impressive, with wide, deep blue eyes, and long gold lashes brushing his cheeks as
he blinked. A straight strong nose, firm full lips, and a short golden beard and mustache
made him as attractive a man as Seonaid had ever seen. She almost expected to see wings
sprouting from his back and a halo above his head, but she supposed angels did not have
quite so wondrous a body. At least not any of the images of angels she had seen. In the
paintings and tapestries sporting visions of angels, they were a thin, small-boned crew.
The man before her could never have been so described. He was taller than her own six
feet, his shoulders twice the width of her own, his upper arms probably as big around as
her thigh. Nay, bigger. And his legs were strong and well formed where they were revealed
by the short plaid he wore.
Damn. She released a small sigh. 'Twas almost worth it to die for one night in his bed,
she thought, recalling what Helen had said about his plan to kill her.
Blake stared at the creature peeking around the edge of the tapestry and frowned. The
lighting in the chapel was poor and the Scot had only leaned his upper body partly out
from behind the tapestry, revealing one arm and one eye, but it was enough to tell him
this was no soldier. He was lean and sleekly muscled, but was lacking in the bulk that
identified a warrior. The fellow did not make his way by the sword. Blake supposed he
should have guessed as much when the man had chosen to hide rather than confront him in
battle. He shifted impatiently when the silence continued and the man stayed
half-concealed behind the cloth.
“I said come out,” he snapped, shifting his position threateningly. The Scot seemed to
give a start at his words, then glanced back behind the tapestry.
Seonaid was confused. While she had been hidden behind the tapestry, the man's words had
been muffled and she had not noticed his accent. It was English, not Scot. She glanced
back to Aeldra in confusion.
Aeldra too looked slightly surprised at his accent, then shrugged.
Seonaid peered back to the man, opening her mouth to speak, then paused. Mayhap he had
been raised in England. It wasn't at all uncommon for such a thing to happen. Many
Scottish heirs were raised there, either by rich relatives or at court itself. Shrugging
such considerations aside, she glanced toward Aeldra again, her hand rising behind the
tapestry to grab it higher up. She gave her an expressive look, then stepped farther out
from behind the tapestry even as Aeldra caught what she meant to do, raised her own hand,
and slid out from the other side.
Blake was about to repeat his order for the Scot to show himself when he suddenly did just
that. Or,she did, he realized with dismay, taking in the ice blue eyes and obviously
womanly features. Movement from the other side of the tapestry drew
Seonaid cursed under her breath. She had feared the hiding place might not bear up well
under close inspection, but there had been little time to find a new one after closing the
chapel door. Glancing toward Aeldra, they shared a grim glance, then stepped to the side,
half-revealing herself to the enemy and getting her first really good look at them. Well,
one of them. Unfortunately, her attention was focused on the man who stood in front, so
she did not notice the others accompanying him. The one in front was enough to keep
anyone's attention.
Seonaid had never met the Cameron, but if the man before her was Rollo, God had been truly
kind when fashioning him. His hairas she had noticed earlierwas blond, but 'twas truly a
poor description. A touch shorter than her brother's darker tresses, it hung to his
shoulders in golden waves that caught and reflected the candlelight in the room. It was
glorious, a shade of spun gold she was sure only an angel could possess. His face was
equally impressive, with wide, deep blue eyes, and long gold lashes brushing his cheeks as
he blinked. A straight strong nose, firm full lips, and a short golden beard and mustache
made him as attractive a man as Seonaid had ever seen. She almost expected to see wings
sprouting from his back and a halo above his head, but she supposed angels did not have
quite so wondrous a body. At least not any of the images of angels she had seen. In the
paintings and tapestries sporting visions of angels, they were a thin, small-boned crew.
The man before her could never have been so described. He was taller than her own six
feet, his shoulders twice the width of her own, his upper arms probably as big around as
her thigh. Nay, bigger. And his legs were strong and well formed where they were revealed
by the short plaid he wore.
Damn. She released a small sigh. 'Twas almost worth it to die for one night in his bed,
she thought, recalling what Helen had said about his plan to kill her.
Blake stared at the creature peeking around the edge of the tapestry and frowned. The
lighting in the chapel was poor and the Scot had only leaned his upper body partly out
from behind the tapestry, revealing one arm and one eye, but it was enough to tell him
this was no soldier. He was lean and sleekly muscled, but was lacking in the bulk that
identified a warrior. The fellow did not make his way by the sword. Blake supposed he
should have guessed as much when the man had chosen to hide rather than confront him in
battle. He shifted impatiently when the silence continued and the man stayed
half-concealed behind the cloth.
“I said come out,” he snapped, shifting his position threateningly. The Scot seemed to
give a start at his words, then glanced back behind the tapestry.
Seonaid was confused. While she had been hidden behind the tapestry, the man's words had
been muffled and she had not noticed his accent. It was English, not Scot. She glanced
back to Aeldra in confusion.
Aeldra too looked slightly surprised at his accent, then shrugged.
Seonaid peered back to the man, opening her mouth to speak, then paused. Mayhap he had
been raised in England. It wasn't at all uncommon for such a thing to happen. Many
Scottish heirs were raised there, either by rich relatives or at court itself. Shrugging
such considerations aside, she glanced toward Aeldra again, her hand rising behind the
tapestry to grab it higher up. She gave her an expressive look, then stepped farther out
from behind the tapestry even as Aeldra caught what she meant to do, raised her own hand,
and slid out from the other side.
Blake was about to repeat his order for the Scot to show himself when he suddenly did just
that. Or,she did, he realized with dismay, taking in the ice blue eyes and obviously
womanly features. Movement from the other side of the tapestry drew