Pride of the Clan Read Online Free PDF Page B

no matter how attractive he was.
    Her gaze settled on an unusual lacquered screen in one corner. It depicted foreign looking women with slanted eyes and hair piled high on their heads, fixed in place with sticks. They were elaborately dressed in Oriental garments, but they looked alarmingly seductive. If she made eyes at Rheade that way…
    She pulled her hand away. “Ye must excuse me, my lord, I am tired after the day’s alarming events. Perhaps I’ll recount the difficult tale another time.”
    She patted the bed, then feared her gesture might be mistaken. “I mean, what I meant was—”
    He arched his brows. She wished he wouldn’t smile the crooked smile that sent her heart fluttering. “I understood perfectly, Lady Margaret. Ye must nap. I will see to it ye’re called for the evening meal. And my name is Rheade. I am not yer lord.”
    It was a relief when he left, yet when she curled up on the sweet smelling bed she wished he had stayed. She’d liked being held in his arms after stumbling from the wagon. “I wish ye were my lord,” she whispered into the bolster, one eye on the exotic painted women.
    But there was still the matter of her disastrous betrothal.

SPIES

    As the days passed with no sign of Tannoch’s return from the mountains, Rheade was reminded more and more of the happy times at Dunalastair when his parents still lived. It was true his older brother had always been the black sheep, but his father’s jovial nature and his mother’s love of fun had permeated their lives.  
    On the fourth day after the arrival of the visitors from Oban, he and Logan were descending the stone steps from their chambers. “I look forward now to meals in the Great Hall,” he confided. “Something I havna enjoyed in a while.”
    “Me too,” his brother replied. “Margaret has reminded us of things we’ve let lapse in this castle since our mother passed.”
    Rheade chuckled, reminded of Margaret’s look of consternation when there’d been no bowl of scented water provided for washing hands before the meal. He’d quickly consented to her instructing the cooks in its preparation. Now the aroma of cloves clung to his hands when he ate. It somehow made the food taste better. Of course, he hadn’t known it was cloves until she’d told him.
    “Margaret could teach Glenna a thing or two about being a chatelaine,” Logan mused. “I hate to say it but mayhap the reason we’re more at ease is Tannoch’s absence. ’Tis embarrassing when he drinks himself into oblivion of an evening after berating every living soul in the Hall.”
    Rheade paused halfway down the steps. The notion of Margaret replacing Glenna as Mistress of Dunalastair might be appealing but—  
    “Keep yer voice down. Our suspicious brother has ears in the walls.”
    Logan leaned back against the stone of the stairwell. “When our parents were alive, we didna worry people were spying on us. I dinna look forward to our brother’s   return. ’Tis a terrible admission to make.”
    The knot in Rheade’s belly that had loosened over the past few days tightened anew. “He’ll nay be pleased about our visitors, that’s for certain.”
    Logan put a hand on his shoulder. “Especially if he suspects ye care for Lady Margaret.”
    Apprehension shivered up Rheade’s spine. “Why do ye say such a thing?”
    “Tannoch is jealous of ye.”
    Rheade shook his head. “What reason would he have to be jealous of me? He’s the chieftain, and he’s already married.” But as he said the words he acknowledged inwardly he’d often borne the brunt of his brother’s animosity.  
    Logan persisted. “Ye are more like our father than he’ll ever be. Folk like and respect ye. Tannoch can only rule by fear, even in his marriage. Ye’ve only to look at Glenna.”
    Rheade considered the consequences if Tannoch thought he coveted the chieftaincy of Clan Robertson, which he never had. “But it’s not my right to usurp him as chieftain.”
    Logan