Free The Prince and I by Karen Hawkins

seemed genuinely shocked by the actions of Loudan’s guards.” Ian stared into the fire, a thoughtful expression on his face. “ ’Tis a known fact the men of an army reflect their leader. If tha’ is true, then the prince may be a guid mon.”
    Murian snuggled deeper into the blanket, oddly cheered to hear Ian’s rare approbation. For a moment, she was tempted to tell Ian of her encounter with the prince in the woods. She hadn’t mentioned it because the grizzled groom tended to be overprotective at times.
    Besides, keeping it secret meant the memory of that too-brief but oh-so-sweet kiss was hers and hers alone. Though she doubted Max thought of it as a memory worth treasuring, she most certainly did.
    She sighed restlessly and wished she’d dared explain to Max how things really were because of Loudan. Perhaps she’d get that chance one day, though she doubted it. Max had admitted he already disliked his host, which meant the prince and his men would leave as soon as they could. She wouldn’t blame him one bit.
    It was a pity, really. She’d have liked showing him her village, too. She looked about her with satisfaction. Though the cottage had been built by goat herders and the mud-daubed walls and broken slate roof were as plain as could be, the luxurious furnishings comfortedher ragged spirits. All taken from Rowallen, they made the dirt floor and cracked plaster walls palatable.
    She had taken more than a few items from Rowallen during their mad flight, too. Beneath the footstool was a heavy Aubusson carpet, while two red tufted chairs flanked the fireplace. The thickly cushioned settee shone with gilded wood and was framed on each side by small marble-topped tables. In one corner of the cottage, near a red Chinese silk screen, stood the magnificent mahogany bed that had once graced the bedchamber she’d shared with Robert. Hung with purple velvet curtains and piled high with pillows and thick down counterpanes, it was a jewel in a very small, plain box.
    The Earl of Loudan might have killed her husband and stolen their castle; he might have kicked their retainers from the land and tried to starve them when they fought back—but he hadn’t been able to keep Murian from taking everything not nailed down with her when she’d left her home.
    When things were bleak, she imagined Loudan’s fury on returning to Rowallen after filing his claim in Edinburgh and finding the castle nearly empty, devoid of almost everything but a few stray pieces of furniture too large to fit on the carts.
    What was even better was that not just her cottage was so decorated, but every crofter’s cottage in their small village. Though the wind might whistle through the cracks in the walls, they had soft rugs under their feet and good mattresses upon which to rest.
    In the beginning, when things had gotten desperate, she’d thought to sell some of the items, but had quicklyrealized the earl was watching for such transactions. So, with nowhere else to put them, she’d stored the rest of the furnishings in the barn, covered in heavy tarps to protect them from the weather. One day she’d see them all returned to Rowallen. One day soon.
    She hoped. A deep restlessness flickered through her. Her patience was close to an end. “Ian, I canna—”
    A brisk knock sounded at the door before it was thrown open and Widow Reeves stomped in. She turned to close the door, but was unable to hold it against the wind, so Ian hurried to help her.
    Murian rose to greet the older woman. “Widow Reeves, what are you doing oot in this weather?”
    “I’ve come to share some news. Return to yer seat, me lady. There’s no need to stand. ’Tis no’ as if I dinna know ye as well as me own elbow.”
    Murian laughed and sat down while Widow Reeves hurried to the fire, her iron-gray curls puffed about her red cheeks and forehead. The widow tucked her mittens in her pocket before holding her hands to the flames. “Och, tha’ is better. I miss bein’