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

kitchen lass departed, the lady focused on her immediate task. Dabbing a square of linen in the pitcher, she began cleaning the blood from the wound. Alex sucked in a sharp hiss through his teeth at the first touch of the hot cloth, but suffered the administrations patiently.
    Her touch was firm and confident—she’d become well versed in attending to such minor injuries over the years. But her subjects had never before been anything but that: subjects . Sir Alexander MacByrne, however, affected her concentration. She could not help but marvel at the feel of his satiny forearm beneath her fingertips; at the golden hue which, in the dimmed light of the hall, shimmered faintly.
    A strange urge niggled beneath her skin. A desire to trace the bluish lines of his veins on the inside of his wrist, and to follow the contours of the nicks and scars he’d accumulated from his trade. It was a yearning she’d experienced before, with other, insignificant men. And one which she expertly ignored now.
    Wrapping the wound tightly, she tied the bandages off in a knot. “There ye be,” she said, mildly patronizing. “Mind ye’re careful wi’ yerself from now on.”
    She stole a g lance once more at Alex’s face—and nearly faltered. His striking green eyes were fixed on her intently, as though he could see into her soul and read his effect on her. Raising her chin, Lady Glinis stood and strode purposefully away. It would not do for him to believe that he’d be in her thoughts beyond this encounter.
    Though God knew he would.
    BUNDLED AGAINST THE icy wind, Moira pushed her mare onward through the deteriorating weather. That morning, she had set her mind on making it to Glendalough by mid-afternoon (Highland wind be damned). She wanted to leave well before the evening meal to avoid being guilted into staying.
    E xcept now, she was starting to regret her zeal; her new priority was to simply reach the castle’s walls before dark.
    One way or another , she would confront Viscount Strathcairn. After a considerable amount of thought, she’d made up her mind.
    She would accept his proposal—sweet heaven above, she couldn’t even think the words without gritting her teeth!
    As muc h as she detested the arrangement, for however brief a time it may be, she had to concede that it was logical. As long as he was willing to uphold his end of the bargain and have the marriage annulled when the time came—and Moira had no choice but to trust that he would—then she would agree.
    And why wouldn’t he make good on his promise? A man like Lachlan Ramsay wouldn’t want a plain, simple lass like Moira for a wife under more natural circumstances. Any more than Moira would want a vain, over-confident, self-important brute like him .
    Vain he certainly was!
    Well, he probably was, at any rate. All men that good looking were.
    “Come on, then, Beauty,” she encouraged, patting her horse affectionately on the neck. The mare snuffed great spurts of steam, and obliged her mistress.
    Beauty. It was the perfect name for this particular mare. On the outside, she was anything but beautiful, with notably squat hindquarters and a long, marring scar that crossed over her left eye to the bridge of her muzzle. Moira had traded a sack of raw wool for the beast at market last year. Given the animal’s unattractiveness, Master MacCormack had taken it upon himself to inform her that she’d not gotten the bargain she thought she had.
    Moir a had named her Beauty anyway. And no name could fit her better for she had a lovely, gentle soul. After all, wasn’t that what made a person beautiful? That which existed on the inside?
    Take Lady Glinis, for instanc e. Outwardly she was ravishing. Her figure was unparalleled, even when compared to ladies half her age. Her eyes, deep and black as coal, gazed out at the world as though they guarded some mysterious secret. Long, flowing, raven-black hair complemented a complexion that was as iridescent as pearls.
    Yet the lady