Highland Hawk: Highland Brides #7 Read Online Free PDF

at him.
    His expression changed only slightly—though Catriona couldn't have said how. A crinkling at the corners of his eyes, perhaps.
    "Gentlemen," he said, addressing the throng that pressed in on them, "I believe Widow Baird needs some room."
    Not a soul moved.
    Haydan's left brow shifted up the slightest fraction of an inch.
    "Monsieur de la Faire," he said, glancing at the brightly colored lord. "Did you not promise the lady a tour this morn?"
    ' Nay, Cat thought.
    "Indeed, I did," said the Frenchman, and taking her hand, placed it firmly on the crook of his elbow. " 'Twould be my greatest pleasure."
    He turned, and there was little Cat could do but turn with him. Thus, they left the mob to disperse with grumbling irritation behind them. Catriona allowed herself only one evil glance over her shoulder at Hawk, but there was little satisfaction in the glare, for he had already turned his attention back to Marta.
    "So, tell me, Princess Cat, what are you princess of, besides my heart?" asked the Frenchman, leaning close.
    Catriona glanced surreptitiously to her right. Two men watched her from near the hall's great double doors. She saw them lean their heads together and listened intently as they spoke. Not to what they said, but to their tone, their inflection. But there was nothing familiar there. No purred silkiness. No plural references to any one man.
    "Lady?"
    "Your pardon?"
    "What are you the princess of... besides my heart?"
    It didn't sound quite so romantic the second time, apparently not even to the Frenchman, for he winced slightly when he said it.
    "Oh. Nothing." In the hallway outside the great chamber, a trio of men and a fashionable lady spoke together. Cat watched them until they passed.
    "You're the princess of nothing?"
    " 'Tis simply a title I use to draw the crowds."
    He stared at her from too close, "I find that difficult to believe."
    "And why is that, good sir?" The hallway opened in both directions. She memorized how the ceiling arched above them, where the next door was located.
    "With your bearing and your... well..." He leaned closer still, perhaps thinking she hadn't noticed how perfectly straight his teeth were. "I thought the first sight of your face might well be the death of the poor Duke of Ramhurst."
    "Are you saying I am comely?" she asked.
    Throwing his head back, he laughed, then squeezed close again. His arm crushed against her breast. "It shall take me some time to get accustomed to your candor," he said. "But, aye, I am saying you are stunning beyond description. Magical. Eyes like a sleepy wildcat. Hair like..." He searched for words with a flip of his pale hand. "Like starlight and moonbeams and gilded midnight all swirled into one." He touched a wayward lock of the curly, recalcitrant hair that fell past her shoulder. "Never have I seen the like. 'Tis bewitching against your velvet skin." He grinned at his own poetry. "You could be naught but royalty."
    An arched, iron-bound door was planted in the stone wall on her left. "So you think my features a direct result of my royal heritage? And if I were born to a wandering bard and a basket weaver, I would be homely as a flea-bitten hound?"
    He laughed. "I admit I have trouble imagining the daughter of a bard and a weaver being as entrancing as you."
    "Then your imagination is a bit shortsighted, sir," she said. "For that is just what my parents were."
    "You jest."
    "I do not."
    "Then your mother must have been a dazzling weaver, if she gave birth to a daughter as extraordinary as—"
    "What is behind that door?" she asked.
    He glanced up, distracted. "The Widow Charmain is staying there. Since her husband's death she is so much more..." He paused with a suggestive grin. "Entertaining."
    "Oh. And that one?"
    "Sir Guy. From where do your people originate?"
    " 'Tis said my family came from a place called Khandia many years ago during a time of turmoil."
    "Turmoil?"
    "It seems the peasants grew weary of starving and overthrew the royal