An English Bride In Scotland Read Online Free PDF Page A

marry a nice Scottish lass of his choosing. Surely he had that right? He wasn’t legally bound to marry the second daughter, was he? Could Withram legally disown his eldest daughter? Had he been able to manage it in so short a time? Frankly, Ross didn’t care. He was done with struggling through life. He was going home.
    Gilly and Marach had been nattering on about the situation as he pondered, but both fell silent when Ross stood abruptly. He saw the question in their eyes and said, “We are leav—”
    “Here she is at last.”
    Ross snapped his mouth closed and turned slowly at that almost desperately gay announcement from Lord Withram. The man was rushing toward the table from the stairs, two women trailing at a more sedate pace.
    “You know how women can be,” Withram went on, sounding extremely anxious. “Our Annabel wanted to look perfect for her first meeting with you.”
    Ross didn’t respond. He didn’t even acknowledge the words with a look. His gaze was locked on the young woman approaching beside Lady Withram. Short, no more than five feet, with a pretty face, shiny, long, wavy midnight hair and more curves than his shield. He noted all that in an instant, his eyes traveling with appreciation over each asset before settling on her eyes. They were a color he’d never seen before in eyes, a combination of pale blue and green, almost teal with a darker rim circling the unusual irises. They were absolutely beautiful . . . and presently brimming with anxiety and fear.
    Before he’d even realized he was going to do it, Ross found himself moving around the table to approach the girl. Taking her hand in his, he placed it on his arm and peered solemnly down into her unusual eyes before announcing, “Well worth the wait.”
    He was pleased to see some of her fear dissipate. Just a little, but it was something. She blushed too, ducking her head as if unused to and embarrassed by such a compliment . . . and her fingers were trembling where they rested on his arm. She did not strike him as a light-skirt, nor was she sour faced or ugly, but she had the finest eyes he’d ever seen, and he wanted to see more of them, so Ross turned and escorted her to the table.
    He didn’t miss the audible sighs of relief from her parents at their backs. Nor did he miss Gilly’s muttered, “Bloody hell. He’s done fer now.”
    Judging by the slight jerk of Annabel’s head first one way and then the other, she didn’t miss any of it either, but neither of them commented.
    “ W ELL, NOW YOU’VE met there is no need for delay.” Annabel’s father paused at her side and urged her to her feet. “Father Athol and the villagers are waiting outside the church.”
    Annabel stared from her father to her mother with amazement. Ross had literally just settled her at the table. She was positive her behind hadn’t sat on the bench for more than the count of four before her father was ushering her up. She understood that her parents were afraid that something else would go awry and land them in ruin after all, so were eager to get this over with, but this rush just seemed a bit unseemly to her. So she was surprised when the Scot stood with a nod of acceptance and once again took her arm.
    “Come along, lass,” he said solemnly. “Once done, ’tis over.”
    True enough, Annabel thought dazedly, doing her best not to look at the man. She had been avoiding looking at him since getting her first glimpse. Annabel had spent her life from seven on in the company of women. The only male she had seen was Father Gerder, who had performed mass at the abbey. He was a tall, slender, elderly man with white hair and an emaciated body. On her arrival here, Annabel had thought how shrunken and small her father had grown and that despite his pronounced stomach, he reminded her of Father Gerder.
    Ross in no way reminded her of her father or Father Gerder. Nor did he remind her of the women who had raised her. There was nothing soft or serene