The Earl's Enticement (Castle Bride Series) Read Online Free PDF Page B

cones, and rotting thatching littered the ground around the dwellings. Anxious to find some relief from the sun glaring down on her bare head, she strode to what had once been the Brodie’s cottage. Sweat trickled between her breasts and dampened the fabric beneath her arms.
    She’d foregone her cap and jacket. Not merely because the temperature had mounted to an uncomfortable high, but because she needed to be able to move agilely.
    Especially, if Marquardt proved to be uncooperative.
    She grinned. Not likely with Brayan about. Marquardt wasn’t a small man, but she’d no doubt which of them would be the victor if the men grappled. Brayan was an accomplished wrestler. She’d seen him lift more than one opponent, and in a few, quick moves, pin the man.
    She glanced behind her. Still no Brayan.
    A wave of nerves coursed through her, settling in her stomach. Ducking beneath the cottage’s drooping doorframe, she sighed as the coolness engulfed her. She wiped the perspiration from her upper lip with her forearm.
    Marquardt must be nearing the cottages. Unless he’d truly become lost. Or mayhap, out of consideration for the old mare, he was taking his time. The thought didn’t sit well with Adaira. She preferred to believe he was vile to his foul core.
    Stepping over piles of rotten straw and broken rocks from the collapsed roof and fireplace, Adaira made her way to the sagging window facing the path from Craigcutty. She’d rather not confront him alone. But she couldn’t risk him reaching Craiglocky.
    Patience gave way to irritation.
    Where was Brayan?
    He hadn’t gone to the village and told her father what she was about, had he? She leaned out the window. A piece of the wood frame crumbled beneath her. She grabbed the sash to keep from falling, and a sliver impaled her finger.
    Swallowing an oath, she lifted the splinter free, then wiped the droplets of blood on her vest.
    Brayan wouldn’t do that to her. He still harbored hope she’d return his misplaced affection. The warmest sentiment she could muster for him was that of a bothersome older brother. One who teased and played pranks on her, but was there if she needed him. The notion of a tendre for him was disquieting.
    No, she could never set her cap for him.
    For anyone, for that matter.
    With her gaze fixed on the clearing, Adaira rested against the dilapidated wall. As she often did, she ran the tips of her fingers the length of the crop’s handle. The braided leather was worn smooth from thousands of strokes. She scanned the path and the trees before returning her attention to the trail once more.
    She’d spent many hours traipsing in these woods and exploring the abandoned cottages and burnt ruins of the original castle. As many hours had been enjoyed riding Fionn across the heather-covered hills and meadows when she should have been studying Latin or learning new embroidery stitches.
    She’d nearly died from the tedium of boring lessons and ladylike endeavors. Truth to tell, she’d rather enjoyed music, animal husbandry, archery, and fencing lessons. She’d begged for six months straight before Father agreed to the latter two, on the condition she commit herself to her other studies.
    Heavy footfalls crunched outside the cottage reining in her musings.
    Finally. Brayan had arrived.
    Her gaze still on the path—Marquardt should be here any moment—she smiled, and said, “I’d begun to give up on you.”
    “Indeed?”
    Mocking. Cryptic. Scornful.
    Adaira whirled away from the window. Marquardt stood illumed in the door’s opening. “You!”
    She grasped the pistol. Panic tripped an uneven staccato across her nerves. The sweat dripping between her breasts was caused by more than heat.
    “Come now, don’t feign surprise, Miss Ferguson.” He bent his neck slightly to enter the cottage.
    “How do you know my name?” Adaira searched behind him, vainly hoping Brayan would appear.
    “Did you think I’d obediently toddle down the path you