A Scottish Love Read Online Free PDF Page B

shelter and a meal.
    She shook her head to dispel that dour image.
    From their earlier conversations, she knew Helen had never married. Nor, as she’d once said, had she any desire to care for a man.
    “Not to say they’re obtuse, Shona,” she’d said. “But they do not hear much of what is said to them, and what they do hear, they willfully misconstrue.”
    She’d wanted to ask, but never had, if a lost love had soured Helen to all men, or if it was a case of never having been courted.
    Her face was unlined and her brown hair lustrous and thick, without a betraying strand of gray. But her hair invariably escaped the bun she carefully arranged each morning and frizzed around her face as if attempting to give some softness to her angular features and long nose. Her teeth were regrettably crooked, the front two longer than the others. She seemed painfully conscious of them, so when she smiled it was with closed lips. Although her appearance seemed stern, her brown eyes always seemed to be smiling.
    Helen was possessed of a generous nature and a caring heart. How would she have managed without Helen’s companionship all these months? When she needed someone to listen, Helen did so without censure. On those rare occasions when Helen offered advice, her counsel was always practical and laced with compassion.
    The carriage bounced and rattled down the approach to Gairloch, a reminder that it had been a very long time since the drive had been raked or refreshed with gravel. The sudden lurch of the carriage made her grab for the strap above the window.
    Luminous sunlight filtered like rain through dark clouds, as if this brilliant September day fought a battle against the impending storm. For a while, she thought the storm might win, but a swift breeze pushed the clouds to the west as they approached Gairloch.
    She found herself breathing deeply of the Highland air, as if she’d been holding her breath for seven years. Although Fergus had visited her several times, she’d never returned to Gairloch after her marriage.
    But she was here now, for as long as Gairloch was home.
    “Shona,” Helen said, nearly pasting her face to the window. “Isn’t that Colonel Sir Gordon’s carriage ahead?”
    “What?”
    She peered out the window to find that the carriage in front of them was remarkably similar to Gordon’s.
    “It can’t be,” she said. “He’s supposed to be in Inverness.”
    Helen didn’t say a word.
    “He can’t be here,” she said in the face of Helen’s silence.
    Please God, don’t let him be here.
    She had a feeling God was a Scot, however, and an unforgiving one at that, because she was certain that Gordon MacDermond, Colonel Sir Gordon, was ahead of them now.
    The very worst thing that could happen.
    T hey’d taken two days to make a journey that would normally take only one, in deference to Fergus’s leg. Stopping the carriage periodically to allow him to exercise helped alleviate some of the stiffness. Otherwise, the pain increased until he was nearly gasping.
    “Is there nothing they can do?” Gordon asked as he’d helped Fergus back into the carriage on the first day.
    “I’m lucky to have the leg is all they’ll tell me. There’ve been times when I was ready to saw it off myself.”
    The journey had been a difficult one on Fergus, but not once had he complained. Instead, he remained stoic, a man who seemed several decades older than he’d been a mere six months ago.
    Gordon disliked feeling helpless. MacDermonds always succeeded—one of the general’s sayings.
    Three years had passed since Gordon had last been home. Rathmhor would be there, as it always was. Not as large as Gairloch, or as imposing a presence. History was lacking in the house his ancestor had built a hundred years ago. No ghosts roamed the corridors. Unless, of course, it was the shade of his boyhood self, thin to the point of emaciation and terrified of his father.
    He’d been an only child, although his mother had