Free Seducing a Scottish Bride by Sue-Ellen Welfonder

the same unswerving intensity as the raven on the turret. Torchlight glinted
     off his golden neck torque and sleek black hair, but his face was hard as stone, his eyes unwelcoming.
    “I thought you wanted this match,” she blurted, angling her chin.
    “Me?” He sounded skeptical. “Lady Gelis, I was wed twice before. My second wife, God rest her soul, is barely cold in her
     grave, our stillborn son with her. Is it so difficult to think I am not desirous of a third marriage?”
    “I am not afraid of childbearing.” Gelis stood back and patted her hips, proud of her generous curves. Certain she’d guessed
     the reason for his discomfiture. “You needn’t concern yourself for me. Why, Devorgilla, the great wise woman of Doon, once
     told me I have the perfect form for birthing. She assured me I would have many fine and strong sons.”
    “And I hope you do.” He folded his arms and looked at her, his expression giving the impression that he hoped she’d bear those
     sons to a different man.
    Displeasure and a cold, black anger poured off him, stealing inside her like thousands of tiny, ice-coated fingers, each one
     squeezing her heart.
    Crushing her dreams.
    Hoping she was mistaken, perhaps overtired from the journey, or that he was simply upset by her father’s rudeness, she brushed
     at her cloak, causing its closure to open. The Raven’s sharp intake of breath upon seeing the bared swell of her breasts encouraged
     her and she drew a deep breath, deliberately enhancing his view.
    But rather than the appreciation she’d expected, his eyes grew more shielded, the set of his jaw looking tight enough to crack.
    Confused, she hitched up her bodice, covering the top rims of her nipples. Unfortunately, the movement made her breasts jiggle,
     which only served to deepen his scowl.
    The wind freshened, too — a damp, gusting chill bringing the scent of rain while low, scudding clouds proved a fitting backdrop
     for cold miens and clipped words.
    For the Raven’s frosty indifference.
    “I do not understand.” She kept her chin lifted, met his gaze full on. “Your courier said —”
    “My grandfather’s man, not mine.”
    “Yet you did not hinder us in coming here.” A surge of triumph swelled inside her. Now she had him. “You could have sent your
     own messenger, telling us you had no interest in our union.”
    “And dash the hopes of an old man? Causing you shame in the by-going?” He shook his head. “I think not, my lady. As I told
     your sire, I, too, have my honor.”
    “You have an odd way of showing it.” She flicked a raindrop off her cloak. “Even your grandfather greeted me gladly.”
    “My grandfather is always glad-hearted in the company of women. He is overfond of them.”
    “And you are not?”
    Rather than answer her, his mouth tightened into a straight hard line.
    “That, you do quite well.” Gelis eyed him hotly. “If there were a Highland prize-giving for frowning, I vow you would win
     it.”
    His dark eyes glinting, he gave her a look that would have made a lesser female’s belly quiver. “That should not astonish
     you. If you would know the truth of it, it’s been forever since I’ve smiled.”
    A sudden gust of wind caught his plaid then, lifting its edge and riffling his hair, making him appear as untamed as the night
     around them. Gelis’s breath caught in her throat. He truly was magnificent.
    She swallowed, furious that he so affected her. That each time the torchlight fell across his face, he seemed to grow more
     handsome.
    Dark, fierce, and dangerously dashing.
    Even his scent had its way with her. A heady blend of leather, plaid, and wild, wide-open moorland, full of wind and rain,
     the scent was so like she’d imagined it would be that her pulse leaped and her throat began to burn, filling with a painful
     thickness she refused to acknowledge.
    He was her raven and he should need and desire her as much as she wanted him. After all, it was he who’d come to