Free A Borrowed Scot by Karen Ranney

his cruelty and use of you. These things are simply what God has given woman to endure.”
    She didn’t know what to say to that, so she remained mute, behavior evidently pleasing Aunt Lilly if the pat on her hand was any indication.
    “You must think of more pleasant things, Veronica. The Empire. The change of seasons, our poor dear Queen.”
    In her childhood imaginings, when she was dreaming of her future, she’d never thought of passion or desire. Nor had her knowledge accumulated appreciably over the years. She knew how the act was performed. She wasn’t an idiot, after all. The emotion behind it, however, was something she’d never felt from anyone.
    Anguish, joy, anger, those were easy to sense with her Gift. Passion must be a little more subtle.
    When her aunt was blessedly gone, leaving her to contemplate the sacrifice of marriage, she stared at herself in the mirror.
    The formidable Montgomery Fairfax would be her husband.
    She’d felt pain and anger from him. The anger had been easy to understand, but why was he in pain?
    Now that he was going to be her husband, she’d have ample time to discover, wouldn’t she?
    Montgomery Fairfax would be her husband.
    How odd to watch oneself blush.

Chapter 7
    T he first time Montgomery saw Veronica MacLeod, he’d noticed her beauty. The circumstances of the meeting at the Society of the Mercaii had, however, overwhelmed any further observations. He’d been too intent on rescuing her to note her hair wasn’t truly brown or her eyes weren’t really green. Instead, her hair had brown and gold and red in it. Her eyes were a greenish hazel with gold flecks.
    She stood quiet and still beside him, dressed in a pale blue dress that didn’t flatter her coloring. She smelled of something reminding him of spring, something womanly and fresh. Her face was too pale, however, and her lips nearly bloodless.
    If he’d known her better, he would have bent and whispered something nonsensical in her ear to make her smile. He would have commented about any of the many people who crowded into the Earl of Conley’s parlor, or told her an anecdote about Virginia. Because he didn’t know her, because she was suddenly his wife when he didn’t want to marry, he merely stood silent beside her, finding himself amazed that this day had ever come.
    In the last hour, they’d been married by an ancient minister who’d taken so long to perform the ceremony Montgomery thought it would never be over.
    In the last day, he’d given more than a fleeting thought to returning home, thereby extricating himself from the situation. His honor, however, wouldn’t allow him to renege on his word, however grudgingly it had been given.
    The parlor in which they stood was filled with bric-a-brac, nonsensical fringe, deep purple and crimson upholstery. The crimson velvet drapery defeated even the bravest sunbeam, but somehow the ferns and plants occupying every available surface were flourishing. The result was a crowded and oppressive room.
    He wanted to be away from here almost as much as he wanted to be unmarried.
    What would Alisdair and James have thought of this day? No doubt they’d have made some ribald comment about his bride, her beauty, and Montgomery’s obvious impatience to be gone from this place. If they’d been alive, he wouldn’t have been there at all. Alisdair was the oldest, followed by James. One of his brothers would have been the 11 th Lord Fairfax of Doncaster. Montgomery would have remained at Gleneagle, content to be about the business of ensuring that the plantation was profitable or practicing law.
    Instead of his brothers standing beside him, he’d been accompanied by his solicitor. Edmund had left after witnessing the ceremony, claiming the press of work, an excuse Montgomery wished he could emulate.
    Too many people milled around the small parlor. The air was stuffy with the various scents of perfume clashing with the dried flower arrangements and the aroma of breakfast