Free The Maclean Groom by Kathleen Harrington Page B

concern, her long lashes, ruby-tinged in the sunlight, fluttered becomingly in her agitation.
    He barely spared her a glance. “Measuring.”
    She had to skip to keep up with his long strides. “Measuring what?”
    He stopped, his hands propped on his hips, and looked at her with a show of impatience. In spite of the soot on her cheeks and chin, the sight of her upturned face filled him with pleasure. God, she was bonny. Small-boned, bright-eyed, and enticing as the perfume that drifted from her pillows.
    And she belonged to him.
    All five feet of her.
    He wanted to snatch off that tawdry knit cap and release the coppery hair hidden beneath. To take her in his arms and taste the soft lips and discover if they were really as sweet as they looked. But Rory wasn’t about to enter marriage as the duped bridegroom. He’d no intention of playing court jester to Clan Macdonald.
    First, he’d establish firm control over the wily Sassenach heiress and her equally deceitful kinsmen. Then he’d teachJoanna just how easily a MacLean tamed a recalcitrant wench too clever for her own good—carrots and apples be damned.
    â€œWe’re going to start the renovations on the barbican,” he told her and promptly turned away.
    She caught hold of his sleeve. “Aren’t you planning to wait till you’ve wed Lady Joanna?”
    He looked down at the tapered fingers clutching the saffron material of his shirt.
    That’s it, lass, touch me .
    As no lowly stable boy would dare touch his laird .
    And before I’m through, you’ll have forgotten who you’re even supposed to be .
    She snatched her hand away as though she’d read his thoughts. “You…you really should wait,” she added lamely. “At least till after the wedding.”
    â€œI see no need to wait, Joey,” he replied in an absent tone. “I might as well get the masons and wrights started on the work while the weather’s still fine.”
    The consternation in her eyes was laughable. Hooking her thumbs in her belt, Joanna squinted up at him. Her delicately arched brows drew together in displeasure. “And you’re determined to go ahead with your plans for the new fortifications without discussing them with Lady Joanna?”
    Rory strode briskly along the edge of the barbican once more. “What good would it do?” he tossed over his shoulder. “The Maid of Glencoe appears too ignorant to comprehend the need to have towers stand astride the curtain walls or the emplacement of artillery in the gatehouse.”
    He stopped, and Joanna, who’d been half-running to keep up, almost plowed into him. “She is simpleminded, isn’t she?” he inquired gruffly.
    â€œOh, very!” Joanna exclaimed with an adorable smile, then sobered, trying her best to look properly downcast at the heiress’s misfortune. “’Tis sad to be born that way, but such things happen now and again, I’ve been told.”
    â€œI’ve been told you can read and write.”
    The abrupt change of subject caught her unprepared.“Who said that?” she demanded. She raised her chin in cautious deliberation, uncertain if she should deny it.
    â€œI’m not sure,” he lied. He looked up at the tower above them as though calculating its height. “Perhaps Father Graham mentioned you’d received some scholastic training. Is that true?”
    From the corner of his eye, Rory could practically see her devious little mind whirling, trying to decide if she should tell the truth or fabricate another tale of folderol.
    Come on, my wee lass, step right into the trap .
    She wavered for the space of a moment, and he commenced walking once again. Just as he’d hoped, the opportunity to portray the fractious stable lad as the complete opposite of the half-wit heiress proved too enticing. She nodded. “’Tis true. Why do you ask, laird?”
    â€œI think your