The Highlander's Vow (Loch Moigh #4) Read Online Free PDF Page A

surface for something deeper than words. Gene’s RV door opened, and the woman who’d taken him in, fed, housed and loved him like a son, stepped out. She wore her shoulder-length silver hair in a French braid today, and the laugh lines around her blue eyes creased in welcome.
    “Do you plan to stand out here in this heat all day? I’ve made lunch. Come in and bring your friend with you.”
    “I fear I am no’ fit to enter your . . .” Sky’s expression clouded with confusion as she viewed the fifth-wheel camper. “I’m covered in filth.”
    “Oh my. Hold on. We’ll clean you up a bit first.” Marjorie disappeared.
    “This”—Struan pointed to the trailer—“is technically a camper trailer, a fifth wheel. We live in them while we’re on the road. We call them campers or RVs for short, although—”
    “Like the Romany?” she asked, turning her big, gorgeous eyes up to him.
    What color were they? Kind of an earthy bluish-green with flecks of brown. Her lashes were dark and thick, and so was her lustrous chestnut hair. She was a pretty little thing, no doubt about it. And she certainly had made a luscious armful as he held her on his lap. He couldn’t help but notice her curves, the fullness of her breasts. Distracting.
    “You and your kin are wanderers?” she persisted, her brow raised in question.
    Or was it annoyance? Her persistence brought him out of the stupor ogling her had put him in. “Something like that.” He walked away from her to take care of Brutus. What was her story? Struan removed his gelding’s bridle, replacing it with a halter and lead, attaching the line to the front of the horse trailer. Brutus had enough slack to graze and to reach the buckets of water Struan had placed there earlier.
    Marjorie reappeared with a scrub brush and a bowl of water in her hands. She also had a towel draped over her arm. “Thank heavens for OxiClean,” she said. “This will take out the stain and eliminate the odor.” Marjorie set the bowl on the small picnic table where they sometimes took their breaks. “Is someone going to introduce us?” Marjorie looked at her husband, and then at him.
    “Sky, this is Marjorie. Marjorie, this is Lady Sky Elizabeth, the earl of Fife’s eldest daughter,” Struan said, repeating what she’d told them. “She . . . appeared the same way I did a decade ago. Only she did so in the middle of my jousting match with Michael—in front of an audience. Practically under Brutus’s hooves.”
    Marjorie’s expression turned to shock. The towel slid off her arm. “Oh my.”
    “’Tis a pleasure to meet you.” Sky’s posture straightened, and her chin lifted a regal notch. “I am most grateful to you for your hospitality.”
    “Oh my,” Marjorie repeated.
    Sky’s hands trembled. Though she presented herself as composed, regal, she had to be terrified. Out of her element, no way to prove who she was, no means of support and not knowing a soul, how could she not be? At least language wasn’t a barrier.
    He picked up the towel Marjorie had dropped and placed it on the table next to the bowl and scrub brush. His heart went out to Sky Elizabeth, along with a bit of admiration and respect as well. As frightened as she was, she still managed to comport herself like a proper lady at court.
    “Here comes Michael.” Struan gestured toward his foster brother cantering his horse toward their campsite.
    “Come here, you poor thing.” Marjorie clucked like a mother hen and set to work cleaning the stained gown. “See? Good as new, just a little damp.”
    “My thanks,” Sky murmured. “How shall I address you, missus?”
    “Call all of us by our given names. We’re informal in this time.” Marjorie gave Sky’s gown a final pat with the towel. “What would you like to be called?”
    “You may call me by my given name as well.” She smiled shyly.
    Struan’s pulse quickened at the sight of her sweet smile. Clenching his jaw, he turned to Michael, whose