Bride of the Black Scot Read Online Free PDF Page A

go on a
mission such as this.
    Her betrothed.
    That reminder sent her thoughts drifting into another
direction entirely. She wondered what kind of man the Black Scot was. How old
was he? Was he fat? Did he have all his teeth? Was he a learned man? Would he
be kind to her? Would he be gentle? She sighed. Answers to these questions
would come, in time. In the meantime, she would simply have to be patient.
    But one question still loomed in the back of her mind.
    What did the Black Scot look like naked?
    After riding in silence for some time, Juliette could stand
neither the silence or the suspense any longer. “Tell me about the Black Scot,”
she said.
    “What do you wish to know? The typical things? Is he
handsome? Does he beat his women?”
    “His handsomeness matters not, but I would like to know
something of his appearance. Is he tall and dark like you? Or is he short and
squat like Angus?”
    “He favors me a great deal.”
    His words warmed her. “Tell me something about him.”
    “He is the Black Scot, the leader of our clan. What else is
there to tell?”
    “What is his proper name?”
    “His proper name is Alexander Gordon, Seventh Earl of
Gordon. Does that satisfy your curiosity?”
    “Partly. Tell me what kind of person he is. What he likes.”
    “He likes silent women,” he said, pushing her head against
his chest. “Why don’t you go back to sleep?”
    Her head popped up. “I would rather talk.”
    “That doesna surprise me. You do little else.”
    “Then we are well matched, for you hardly speak at all. Why
is that?”
    “Perhaps I have nothing to say.”
    “No, I think it is because you distrust me. Am I right?”
    “Aye. I have no reason to trust you, or any Englishman.”
    “You have no reason to distrust me, either. True, I am
English, but I will soon be a Scot. Does that make no difference?”
    He scoffed at that. “Marriage to the Black Scot doesna make
you a Scot.”
    “Being born in England doesn’t make me untrustworthy.”
    “Perhaps,” he said, adding no more.
    Juliette could not help thinking about this solemn-faced
Scot, wondering at the strange relationship they seemed to be forming. She
would have to admit that she was more than taken with him and she was convinced
he was not indifferent to her, yet his dark glowers and sharp replies said
otherwise.
    She stole a glance at his grimly set features. In spite of
his stoic presence, she felt completely at ease with him. Yet never in her life
had she met anyone who went to such extremes to discourage her. With a sigh,
she leaned back against him, deciding she needed to think about this man in
depth. His breath was warm and moist, brushing across her like an ocean
breeze—a touch of human contact as reassuring as the first signs of spring, as
comforting as her favorite blanket. It stirred the fine hairs that curled
around her face. She sighed and closed her eyes, absorbing the warmth of his
great body curled around hers. It both satisfied her and left her with a
strange longing. She kept thinking thoughts she had no business thinking.
    She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted to be with him as they
were at the pool—naked and unashamed. She wanted to feel his unclothed body
curl around hers as it did now.
    But that would never happen. They would never be permitted
such liberties. They would go on as they had been doing, each hiding his
thoughts and feelings. Despair filled her at the prospect. She decided then
that she would not hide her feelings. In truth, she did not think she could.
    They continued in silence, until her curiosity got the
better of her and she could contain herself no longer. “Why are you so sad?”
    His laugh was low and bitter. “Those are your words,
mistress.”
    “But you are sad. I can feel it. I see it in your
eyes. Oh, I know you try to hide it, and you probably fool a lot of people, but
you do not fool me. You are not as happy as you would have people think. You
carry a burden m’lord, and it grows