The Prince Kidnaps a Bride Read Online Free PDF

quaking dread proved her cowardice, and by the time Arnou had shambled around the greenhouse, opened the door, and made his way toward her, she had convinced herself she was unfit to rule.
    “ Bonjour, mademoiselle , it’s warm in here.” Arnou looked around at the glass and wood enclosure. “I like the smell. But it’s damp.”
    He had a way of pointing out the obvious that was so annoying. “It is a greenhouse.”
    “Are you busy?” Arnou sidled closer.
    “As you see, I am.” She smiled tightly and flung the hapless greenery into a box. “I gather the valerian. Sister Rebecca dries the roots for a sleeping draught.”
    “Oh.” He stared at the plant. “That little thing will do that?”
    “In the right hands, it’s very potent.”
    “Oh,” he repeated. Lowering his voice, he said, “I have a question. Is it always so terrifying here?”
    “Here?” She blinked at him in astonishment. “At the convent?”
    “ Oui . Because I don’t like it when a man sets fires and digs a hole and puts gunpowder in the bottom and tries to light it.” Arnou’s one eye got big and round. “You’re only an unworldly woman, but I can tell you a man who does things like that is the kind of man who could try to hurt somebody!”
    “I suspected that,” she said dryly.
    “The thing is, I don’t like staying here.” He moved his shoulders uncomfortably. “It makes me wonder when a knife will slip into my back. So I was wondering—can I leave?”
    He was such a coward! She despised cowards... as she despised herself. “You should ask Mother Brigette, not me.”
    “She’s strict. She scares me.”
    “Would you like me to ask for you?” The darkness was falling fast, but being with Arnou made her feel brave by comparison.
    “I was hoping you would offer. You talk to her so freely!”
    “Actually, she’s very kind,” Sorcha assured him.
    Arnou looked unconvinced. “How soon can I go?”
    “Mother Brigette will raise the flag to signal Mr. MacLaren. You’ll have to wait until he arrives tomorrow or the next day—”
    “I can’t wait that long. That man, the one who set your room on fire—he’s going to do something else. Something worse. I’m scared. I don’t want to be here.” Arnou’s voice trembled and he talked faster and faster. “I have my boat—”
    “ Your boat?” Her suspicion of Arnou leaped to life.
    “Yes, the one you got for me.” He knit his brows as if surprised she didn’t comprehend.
    She relaxed. How foolish, to be dubious of this simple soul!
    “I can row to the mainland tomorrow morning. If I put my back into it, it’ll only take an hour or two,” he said. “Then I’ll be away from here. I want to go back to
Burgundy
, where everyone knows everyone else and no one does crazy things like set fires and use gunpowder to kill people.”
    “To
Burgundy
... ” In France. She needed to go to France . “It’s a very long way.”
    “I’ll get across Scotland and take a ship.”
    “You’re going to get across Scotland?” She marveled at him—he spoke so casually, as if it were a ride in the woods. “How?”
    “Walk. Catch a ride when I can. Farmers go to market and they don’t care if I ride along.”
    She pressed him for information. “Aren’t you afraid of robbers?”
    “No one tries to rob me.” He spread his broad hands wide. “I don’t have anything.”
    Yes, and his clothes and demeanor made his poverty obvious. Sister Margaret had dug deep in the convent’s stash of clothes and located a pair of brown breeches, patched at the knee, but she’d been unable to find anything that fit his big chest and shoulders. So she’d stitched together a tunic of sturdy wool cut from an old brown blanket. All the nuns took turns knitting a pair of black hose tall enough to fit his long shanks. Sister Margaret had insisted he tie a clean rag around his face. With his clogs to complete the outfit, he looked the picture of a sturdy peasant.
    Sturdy... Arnou was big,