Free A Noble Deception (The Douglas Clan) by Veronica Bale

without a second thought.
    But for whatever reason she could not dismiss the fact—inconvenient though it might have been—that Moira was not at fault. The girl was not to blame for the wretched farce that was Glinis’s marriage.
    Lilian , on the other hand... She could happily loathe the woman to the centre of her core.
    C urse them, John Douglas and Lilian MacInnes both! They’d done this to her, turned her into the bitter, hating woman she was now. Did they know, or care, how damned hard it was to put a smile on her face every day so that no one would know how much it hurt?
    Ahead of Glinis , the sound of voices at work echoed from the great hall. Before she took herself off to bed, she decided to peek in and make sure the servants didn’t need anything for the next hour or so. Stopping in the entrance she saw that the tapestries—not Moira’s thank the heavens; Glinis had insisted on that—were being taken down from the walls for their scheduled beating.
    But instead of a Douglas servant perched on the ladder to remove the cast iron rods from their mounts, it was Lachlan’s companion. Sir Alexander MacBride... or MacBurns... or Mac-Something-Or-Other. He stood on his toes as far up the ladder as he could go, one hand gripping the very top of the wooden support pole and the other reaching for the tip of the rod above him. Glinis grimaced; that particular tapestry had always been a nuisance to remove when it needed cleaning.
    My, but Sir Alexander was a handsome man, she reflected. Similar in stature to her nephew, Viscount Strathcairn, he was tall and strong, though more lean-limbed than Lachlan. Broad, sculpted shoulders sloped to a narrow waist around which his feileadh mhor was snugly belted. The plaid’s colours were unknown to her.
    Also in contrast to Lachlan , with the fair skin, midnight eyes and raven black hair that marked the Ramsay line, Alexander Mac-Whoever-He-Was had been endowed with a richer complexion. As though he’d spent time serving in warmer, sunnier climes. Golden hair, braided back from his temples and hanging loose over his shoulders, hinted at the possibility of Norse blood in his lineage.
    She did not watch for long; Glinis rarely indulged in the sigh t of silly, handsome young men—though for their part they seemed more than willing to fall at her feet (even now, when the days of her youth were far behind her). Intent on retiring, she drifted away from the door.
    But not before she was spotted by one of the servants, who called out to her as she departed.
    “My Lady, if ye dinna mind, can ye tell me—”
    Alerted to Glinis’s presence, Alex swivelled his head to catch a glimpse of her—an action which upset his balance on the ladder. As he slipped from the rung on which he perched, his fingers nudged the tip of the rod. With a clatter he fell to the stone floor below and the heavy rod fell on top of him.
    Grumbling under her breath, Glinis rushed to assist the prostrate knight. Her head throbbed under the sudden rush of movement. Oh, but she did not need this right now!
    Reaching Alex , she knelt at his side. He was shaken, but otherwise alright. A gash in his forearm, however, was visible, sliced open by the sharp end of the tapestry’s rod. Dark red blood seeped from the wound.
    “Ye clumsy fool,” she tisked. Then to the servants and clansmen gathered round she instructed, “Send to the kitchens for a pitcher of hot water and clean linen strips.”
    “ Aye, my Lady,” answered the servant woman who had inadvertently caused the commotion. Dipping a curtsey, she scurried off.
    “ Ye , come sit.” Hoisting Alex by the elbow, she led him to one of the benches which decorated the perimeter of the room.
    Obediently, Alex yielded to her authority as the servants dispersed to resume their tasks. When she sat, he lowered himself next to her. He was so close that his sculpted thigh (which she could clearly see, despite the cover of his plaid, was indeed admirably sculpted)