Read Online Virtue and Valor: Highland Heather Romancing a Scot Series by Collette Cameron - Free Book Online Page A

However, since they’d married, his chums had become downright stodgy.
    See what matrimony did to a fellow?
    “Gentlemen before giant-arsed gollumpuses, I always say.” Gregor released a rumbling chuckle at his brother’s scowl.
    “Gregor. You forget yourself. There are ladies present,” his mother scolded.
    Isobel giggled, but Seonaid’s soft voice cut short her sister’s musical tinkle.
    “The outcome will be most interesting, I’ve no doubt.” Seonaid glanced between Yancy and her sister. “No, no doubt at all.”
    Her family’s startled gazes flew to her.
    Lady Ferguson met her husband’s eyes, concern flitting across her lovely face, and several of the assembled threw speculative glances Yancy’s way.
    Her keen gaze alert, Seonaid simply inclined her head at him and forked a bit of stovie into her mouth.
    What the devil?
    He swore the younger sister knew something she kept to herself. Something she found entertaining from the glint in her eye and the impish tilt of her lips.
    Isobel’s expression transformed from amused to perplexed and, lastly, wary.
    “You see, they are quite anticipating the entertainment as much as I am.” Yancy rubbed his throbbing hand.
    Harcourt flashed his white teeth. “You cannot disappoint us, Miss Ferguson.”
    With a barely audible sigh, Isobel bowed her head in acquiescence. “As you wish, Your Grace.”
    Yancy eyed her.
    Her response lacked enthusiasm. Why the reluctance to have an audience? Mayhap she’d overstated her skill and regretted challenging him, fearing he would shame her in front of her family. She did have a rather low opinion of him, didn’t she?
    Matters had gotten devilishly complex, but he could not let her win. Given the sightings of the Claustons, trotting around unguarded outside the keep was unthinkable. He held every confidence the Blackhalls and MacGraths skulked about as well.
    The three clans were reminiscent of the uncivilized and barbaric Celtic tribes once populating Scotland. However, if he wasn’t gallant and allowed Isobel to save her pride, he would further damage his chances to win her.
    Yancy fingered his wineglass, suddenly coming upon a magnanimous solution. He’d let Isobel triumph in the first game, and then he’d be the victor in the second. He would proclaim a truce, and she’d be keen to agree, not recognizing his chivalry as a ruse. A touch of masculine valor might prove most advantageous in warming her regard for him.
    “I give you my word I shan’t make a May game of you, Miss Ferguson.” Yancy kept his voice quiet.
    “Indeed?” Her fine eyebrows soared skyward, her gaze lingering on his lips for a moment before focusing on his cravat. “I make no such promise, my lord. I intend to have great sport with you.”
    She directed her attention back to Harcourt’s nattering.
    Spirited, wasn’t she? Visions of exactly what kind of sport he would like to engage her in sprang to mind. Something else leaped as well. He adjusted his position on his chair, grateful for the tablecloth.
    Yancy cast Isobel a sidelong glance. The sun, pouring in from the mullioned windows, ringed her head, creating a golden aura. She radiated innocence, but was she truly virtuous?
    Matilda’s young features crept into the recesses of his mind—proof that an angelic façade could conceal a siren’s wanton soul.
    Isobel had her head turned away from Yancy, her entire focus upon Harcourt.
    The slim arch of her neck begged for Yancy’s kiss. He itched to run his fingers over the silky flesh, right below the pink bow secured at her nape. Did she ignore him intentionally? Or was she succumbing to Harcourt’s attempts to charm her with his rakish appeal?
    “So, Miss Ferguson, I understand there is quite an interesting conglomeration of kin residing within the keep.” Harcourt munched a pickle, his mirth-filled eyes meeting Yancy’s over the crown of her head.
    Shifting to face the table once more, she nodded and patted her mouth with her linen