Wolf, Joan Read Online Free PDF Page A

to London but I know Paris well and I cannot imagine the social life differs greatly from one place to the other. Through Lady Linton you will have the opportunity to meet many of the people I am interested in knowing about."
    There was a deep frown now between Alasdair's brows. "Take their temper, Van. You have a good brain—a better brain than Niall's, I think. I need to know the disposition of the English Tories. If the prince lands, will they join us? It is vitally important that we know where we stand in this matter."
    A lovely warm color had flushed into Van's cheeks. "I understand, Father. I shall do my best."
    Alasdair looked thoughtfully at his desk, picked up a paper knife, and began to turn it over in his hands. "You have a good brain, but you have very little experience of the world, Van, and your mother will not be there to guide you." Van's eyes were watching her father's slender fingers as they turned the knife over and over while he talked. "You have had very little experience of men." He looked up, his gray eyes suddenly narrow. "Be careful," he said. "Don't be taken in by fine clothes and soft words."
    He was deadly serious. "Of course not, Father," Van said hastily.
    "Do you like Alan MacDonald?"
    Van moved infinitesimally back in her chair. "Yes," she said with reserve.
    Alasdair sensed rather than saw her withdrawal. He stopped turning the knife and stared at his daughter in silence. She was a mystery to him, this girl-child of his. Niall he understood perfectly, but Van.... What would they make of her in England, with her beautiful face and her quiet intensity and her lack of sophistication? She lived such a secret life, Van did. Would anyone ever touch the deepest part of her?
    Not Alan MacDonald. The thought came unbidden and it was not welcome to him. He put the paper knife down firmly. "Remember always who you are," he told her, and he spoke now in Gaelic. "The Sassenach will respect you because you are the daughter of an earl. But you are more than that. You are a chiefs daughter, and you are Highland."
    Her chin rose to the challenge and she answered in the same language, "That thought is always in my heart, Mac mhic Iain."
    His hard gray eyes never wavered. "Go along to your mother now. She wants to see you."
    "Yes, Father," she replied, and obediently left the room.

    Van left the following morning as soon as the sky began to lighten. Niall was to accompany her as far as Edinburgh, and from there she would be escorted by Alan Ruadh MacIan, Alan the Red, her father's foster brother, and two of his sons. Frances had made arrangements with a cousin of Alasdair's in Edinburgh to find a respectable woman to accompany Van as well. Frances could just imagine the stir Van would create when she arrived at the Lintons' country house accompanied solely by three wild clansmen, two of whom did not speak any English. But Alasdair was adamant that his daughter be well-protected. Frances devoutly prayed nothing would happen to provoke the bodyguards' quick tempers, and gave in.
    Before she left, Van went to her mother's room to say good-bye. Frances was sitting up in bed propped against a pile of lace-edged pillows, her long brown hair streaming over the fine woolen shawl around her shoulders. She held out her arms and Van went to kiss her.
    How lovely mother always smelled. Van hugged Frances with unaccustomed fierceness. She would miss her so! Frances' arms loosened and Van stood up.
    "I want you to remember one thing, darling," Frances said gravely. "I want you to remember that you are one-half English and that Katherine is as much your blood as any MacIan."
    Van's lashes lifted in surprise.
    "Will you promise me to remember that?" Frances asked.
    "Yes, Mother."
    "And try to judge people by their hearts, not by their politics!"
    Van frowned. Whatever was her mother trying to say? But Frances smiled gaily and squeezed her hand. "Good-bye, darling. Enjoy yourself. And listen to the opera for me."
    Saying