Promise of the Rose Read Online Free PDF Page B

persistent ache in his loins. There were no virgin whores, no virgin spies. Was it possible that she had been telling him the truth? Was her father some northern laird, her mother a dairymaid? It was plausible, yet he doubted it. Her hands had never seen rough labor, but she was dressed as one who labored. If she was a bastard, she had been raised as a lady. This costume was a disguise. Why?
    Suddenly she moved. She slid from the pallet, as quick as a wild vixen. Stephen was even quicker, reaching out andgrabbing her before she took a second step, without moving from the furs. His leg hurt too much now for such antics. The force of his grip caused her to fall in a heap at his side.
    Restraining a groan, he sat up and extended his hand to her. “Mademoiselle?”
    She was panting. Although he saw that she was furious, he allowed her to take his hand and he lifted her to her feet. It was a mistake. Immediately she drew back her fist and hit him with all of her strength in his jaw.
    He didn’t move, stunned speechless.
    “Norman bastard! You are a pig and a brute! And a liar!” she shrieked. She raised her fist to hit him again.
    This time Stephen reacted. He caught her wrist, pulling her forward. She wound up in his lap.
    “No!” she screamed, twisting to leap free of him.
    He held her in place. “You have deceived me, struck me, and maligned me,” he said harshly, shaking her once. She went still. “I thought you brave, but now I am beginning to think you very foolish—or mad.”
    She lifted her chin, a defiant gesture, despite the fact that her eyes were glazed with unshed tears. “I am not mad.”
    His jaw tightened. “You have lost your burr, demoiselle.”
    She paled. “When can I leave?”
    “You were not so eager to leave me—and my bed—a few moments ago.”
    She flushed. “No, I am eager to leave your bed—to leave you. This minute is not soon enough.”
    “Who’s the liar now?”
    “I speak the truth!”
    “I think not. Indeed, thus far you have not spoken a single word that is true. I ask you again, who are you and why are you here?”
    She swallowed, meeting him stare for stare. He felt her mind working. “Please unhand me,” she said huskily. “And I will tell you all.”
    Giving her a skeptical look, he did as she asked. She scooted to her feet and put the length of the tent between them, standing with her back to the exit, hugging herself defensively. Her posture made him see her as a child, nota woman, and he was suddenly ashamed of his behavior. By all the saints, he had treated her as he would a whore, and she was a young virgin, certainly not more than sixteen. Perhaps the real question wasn’t who was she, but
what
was she? Virgin or whore, villein or lady, child or woman? Spy or innocent? “You may begin with your name.”
    She wet her lips. “Mairi. Mairi Sinclair. My father is Rob Sinclair. My mother is dead, and she was a maid at Liddel.” She flinched from his gaze. “And you were right—these clothes are a disguise.”
    Tersely he said, “Were you sent to me to spy?”
    “No!” She was pale. “I was in disguise because I was meeting someone. A—A man.”
    And Stephen understood. “Ahh, I see now. A man.”
    Again her small chin lifted. “ ’Tis not what you think. The man was, I mean, he is my betrothed.”
    His stare was ice. “You have yet to explain your disguise.”
    “ ’Tis unseemly for a lady to tryst with a man, even when that man is to be her husband, and you know it well.”
    “And who is this paragon of manhood who lures you to an undoubted fall from grace?”
    She bit her lip. “What does it matter?”
    It shouldn’t matter, except for the fact that he intended to verify every word she said. “It matters.” He was not pleased to realize that he was peeved—perhaps even jealous—that this woman obviously coveted another man. “Do you love him?”
    She was furious. “That, Sir Norman, is none of your affair!”
    It wasn’t. He stood stiffly,