Free The Chase by Lynsay Sands Page A

sickly sweet smile to her
     lips. “Am I supposed to ken the name, m'laird?” she asked at last. “Should it mean aught
     to me?”
    Blake blinked in surprise, some of his self-confidence slipping. “What? Do you not
     recognize the name of your betrothed when you hear it?”
    Her eyes widened. “Surely ye jest, sirrah? My betrothed died ages ago, at least ten years
     ago by my count.”
    Now he truly looked dismayed. “Died? Who the devil told you such nonsense?” "Told me? Why
     no one, m'laird. I reasoned it out fer mesel' when he didna arrive to claim me...ten
    years ago when I came of age ." The man had the grace to color at her words, though he
     regained himself and his quick smile swiftly
    enough. “I fear your reasoning was wrong. Tardy I may be, but I am certainly not dead.”
    “Nay. I fear ye're wrong an' me reasonin' was right,” Seonaid retorted. “Me betrothed is
     dead. To me,” she added harshly, then turned away and continued out of the chapel.
    Blake stared after the woman in amazement. No female had ever dared to speak to him so,
     nor had any woman yet turned her back on him and walked away. Good God! Women were more
     like to sigh and swoon in his presence than to show him their back. He did not know what
     to do about it. Part of him wanted to order her to return to him at once. He had every
     right, she was his betrothed, and within a short time she would be his wife and under his
     order. Yet another part reasoned that he did not wish to marry her anyway. Why not let her
     walk off and hide herself in the abbey somewhere, refusing him? It would set him free.
    Oddly enough, Blake quite suddenly no longer wished to be free, at least not this way. He
     was the one who was supposed to be reluctant to marry her, yet here he was, hesitant about
     angering the king and his father and unwilling to break the contract and give up rich
     lands. His would-be bride appeared not to suffer the same concerns. Losing her betrothal
     lands didn't seem to worry her. Impossible. He was the Angel; she should have been
     grateful he had come to claim her, no matter his tardiness. He was here, was he not? Who
     the devil was she to refuse him? A bloody Dunbar.
    “All does not go well, I see,” Rolfe murmured behind Blake as Lady Seonaid slammed out of
     the chapel.
    “All does not go well?” Blake turned on him irately. “Well! She is... she is a barbarian.
     My God, she is wearing braies! And just look at the way she had at me with her sword!”
     Gaze narrowing, he glared at him. “Did you know she was trained in battle?”
    Rolfe shifted uncomfortably. “ 'Tis a valuable skill here in the Highlands, where” “She is
     an Amazon!” Blake interrupted. “God's toes! She is near to as tall as myself.” “Aye, she
     is quite statuesque,” Rolfe began soothingly, only to be interrupted once again.
    “She is also as flat as a door. Where are her breasts? And what is she doing in a man's
     braies? I swear I thought her a man when I first saw her.” Frowning, he shook his head,
     saying aloud what he had thought but moments before. “She should be grateful I even
     bothered to follow her here, yet she insults me and walks away. Who the devil does she
     think she is?”
    Sighing, Rolfe shook his head for answer and returned to the bishop to see what he
     intended to do with Lady Elizabeth.
    “Lady Helen, please doona take on so.” Seonaid tried for a soft tone but feared she
     sounded more
    annoyed than anything. She was uncomfortable with strong emotion, and there was no other
     description for what Helen was presently exhibiting. The Englishwoman wasn't exactly
     sobbing, and she did try to staunch them, but tears continued to flow down her cheeks in
     silent testimony to her exhaustion and fear. The worst part was, Seonaid could not blame
     her. The lass had done nothing but run and hide and suffer the fear of capture for days,
     and now, when she had thought