Scottish Brides Read Online Free PDF

floorboards, although old and splintered, had been scrubbed. The glass windows sparkled, and two of them were barely open to let in fresh air. Spiderwebs no longer festooned the corners. Unneeded or worn furniture stood about the chamber: a chair stripped of its cushions; a bench; a tall, aged lamp table.
    Trunks had been gathered from all over the castle and transported up the stairs, and Andra grimaced as she imagined how the men must have complained. But she, more than anyone, knew the futility of arguing with the house-keeper when she was set upon a scheme, and this chamber was, after all, truly spacious and bright. Perhaps Sima was right. Perhaps it would be good to store the family valuables up here.
    Although Andra wasn’t looking at him, she was aware when Hadden sat up. Even though he was across the open trapdoor from her, he seemed too tall, too muscled and too intent on her for comfort.
    Not that she knew anything too much about men and their desires, but she suspected that primal glare meant she’d best hurry with the kilt, or she’d be fighting him off.
    That hadn’t been what happened before. No, last time he’d been here, she had done the seducing, and a good job she’d done of it, too, for he’d proposed marriage before morning.
    She woke to find him looking at her with a wondrous glow in his eyes, as if she didn’t have the mark of the pillow on her cheek and her mouth didn’t taste like the bottom of the well and her hair wasn’t a witch’s black tangle.
    â€œAndra.” He smoothed the hair away from her face with a tender brush of his fingers. “You’re the woman I love. Please marry me.”
    Damn him for dragging reality into her fantasy. And damn her for wanting to squall like a frightened infant when he’d asked.
    She swallowed several times, fighting much the same reaction now. “The kilt. Sima said it was in the trunk. So go look before it gets dark.”
    â€œIn the trunk?” He looked over at the line of five chests, some so ancient the seams were splitting; others, although old, still in good repair. “Which trunk?”
    Did he have to be difficult? And couldn’t Sima have been a little more specific? “You can explore.”
    â€œWill I know the MacNachtan marriage kilt when I see it?”
    He had a point, much though she disliked admitting it. And she knew she had to help him find the MacNachtan wedding kilt so she could send him away with a clear conscience. “I’ll assist you in completing your purpose.”
    He made a noise deep in his chest, not a laugh, not a rumble; more of a growl. “No one else can.”
    Standing, she discovered that her knees wobbled, but the goal of showing him the wretched kilt and getting away from this unwanted intimacy steadied her. “In fact, you don’t have to do anything, you big, lazy lummox. I’ll search for you.” She started toward the trunk farthest to the left, and he began to follow. “No.” She held out her hand to halt him, then lowered it hastily before he noticed the trembling. “I’ll do better if you’re not looking over my shoulder.”
    Stopping, he said, “Gracious as always, Lady Andra.”
    Gracious? She didn’t care about gracious. She cared only about speed. As she stood in front of the first trunk, she glanced out the window. It was July, high summer in Scotland. They had two hours of sunlight left until nine o’ the clock.
    But the trunks were deep and wide, five trunks filled with the history of the MacNachtans, and she knew as she knelt before the first one that the hope she cherished, of finding the kilt in there, was a crazy hope.
    Nevertheless, she held her breath as she lifted the lid and cleared away the first layer—plain paper laid over the contents to protect them from dust. Beneath were tartans, lots and lots of tartans, and for one moment Andra allowed herself to revel in the