Free Scottish Brides by Christina Dodd

back of a man she loved as he rode down the road away from her?
    But one thing was certain: if she rejected his suit, she would see the back of him anyway.
    With a sigh, she eased herself out of his embrace and slid over the top of him.
    He came awake immediately and grabbed at her. “What are you doing?”
    It might not be that easy to reject him, she realized. In fact—she bit her lip against a laugh—he’d even taken the extreme measure of spreading those fertility goddesses throughout the tower. If they worked . . .
    â€œAndra,” he snapped, “where are you going?”
    â€œI’m cold. I’m going to get another cover.”
    He still held her as he debated, but he must have decided she couldn’t escape, for his fingers slid away and he grudgingly gave permission. “Don’t be long.”
    â€œGracious,” she muttered as she made her way across the room, and when she came back, tartan in hand, she wasn’t surprised when his hands came up to meet her.
    *      *      *
    Morning sunshine and the babble of voices assaulted Hadden, and he lay with his eyes and ears closed tightly against them. He didn’t care to be assaulted after a night spent on the floor on a makeshift bed trying to sleep with one eye open in case Andra made a dash for it.
    She hadn’t. After that one trip after an extra blanket, she had curled up at his side and slept the sleep of the innocent.
    Blasted woman. After waking up a few dozen times, he would have welcomed a wrestling match.
    Now he was hungry and grumpy. Andra still warmed his side, so who the hell was running up and down the stairs and talking in those loud tones?
    He opened his eyes—and made a grab for the tartans. “Mary, what are you doing here?”
    â€œI could ask you the same thing,” his loving sister answered.
    Her critical blue gaze made him aware of his expanse of bare chest, and he glared at her as he pulled up the blankets. Then his gaze shifted to encompass Sebastian and Ian, and he prudently arranged the tartans over the already-covered Andra, adjusting them to her chin. “Where did everyone come from?” His mind leaped from suspicion to suspicion. “Is this Lady Valéry’s doing?”
    â€œA woman of her age can’t climb the stairs.” Alanna held Ian’s arm and stroked the mound of her belly. “But she sent you her regards, and she invites you to bring your complaints to her.”
    â€œIf I were the lady Andra’s brother, I’d be forced to beat you for debauching so gentle a maid.” Sebastian rubbed his chin as if remembering a former trouncing.
    â€œI’d help.” Ian rubbed his fist into his palm as if the thought pleased him.
    Both the men owed him a drubbing, but Andra was tapping his shoulder, and Hadden didn’t have time for silly, manly challenges.
    â€œHadden,” Andra whispered, “what are all these people doing here?”
    He almost groaned. How was he going to explain this to her when he couldn’t explain it to himself? The tower could scarcely contain the crowd; his relatives, some Scottish dignitaries he barely recognized, and Sima, Douglas, and the house servants.
    â€œI couldn’t venture to say,” he mumured.
    Taking in the scene, she decreed, “We need some privacy.” With, careful deliberation, she reached out, grasped the edge of one of the tartans, and pulled it over their heads.
    The plaid was so thin that the light leaked through, and he could see Andra on the bolster beside him—Andra with her wild-woman hair and sleepy eyes and puckish smile.
    â€œThere it is,” he said inconsequentially.
    She looked puzzled. “What?”
    â€œYour smile. I was afraid you’d lost it.”
    Her smile trembled and grew, and her eyes began to shine with the kind of light that gave him a smidgen of hope. “Are they here for the