Free English, Elizabeth by The Border Bride

ago that he could not remember. In Jemmy's experience,
women were the ones to charm and flatter him, setting their pretty silken
snares. And it was he who decided whether to be caught, by whom, and for how
long.
    But
Maude was no laughing, light-minded lady. Yet he was not sure exactly what she
was. The haughty ice maiden beside him now? The hot-tempered lass who had
slapped a goblet full of wine from his hand during their wedding feast? Or the
girl who had trembled in his arms before the altar?
    He
could find out. He had no doubt of that. He could draw her out, set her at her
ease, make her smile if he set his mind to it. With time and just a bit of
patience he could surely win her trust. And then...
    All
at once he could see her lying naked in his arms, tumbled, rosy, glowing with
the aftermath of love. The image was so unexpected, so vivid, so wildly erotic
that his body reacted to it instantly. For a moment he forgot everything but
the question of how quickly he could get her in his bed.
    He
pushed the thought away, disgusted with himself. It would all be a lie, a
damned foul lie like this whole misbegotten marriage. Once she had learned to
trust him, he would abandon her, never to return. And though Jemmy's past was
hardly blameless, he had never stooped to lies to lure a woman to his bed. He
looked at her averted face, the long, white throat, and clear line of her jaw
and felt like the lowest form of life. She was quite right to guard herself
from him.
    The
Laird leaned close. "If ye think ye are doing the lass a kindness, ye are
mistaken. She kens what is expected. Best to have it over."
    Maude
on one side, Father on the other—the devil and the deep blue sea. How blindly
he had walked into the trap! Now he was shackled by his duty on the one hand,
his honor on the other.
    Jemmy
could bear cold and hunger, loneliness and disappointment without complaint.
The one thing he could not tolerate was the feeling of confinement. Twelve
years ago he had fled these walls, abandoning all comfort and security in a
desperate bid for freedom. Now the reckless streak that was never far from the
surface blazed into full flame. No one held Jemmy Kirallen against his will.
And no one gave him orders. God help the man—or woman— who dared try.
    Suddenly
it didn't matter how or why he had become entangled in this situation. He
wanted out. And he would do whatever must be done to make good his escape.
    ***
    Alyson
shed the silver dress with relief and donned a plain chamber robe. Then she
paced the floor with restless energy. Two days gone. How many more to follow?
And how could she possibly survive them?
    She would survive, she promised herself fiercely. She would be strong and
tough and clever. Nothing—and no one—could be allowed to interfere with that.
Certainly not Jemmy Kirallen, with his charming smile and empty compliments. He
was not important, not in the least, no matter how giddy and breathless she
might turn when he took her hand in his. She would, she must get back to
Robin, and together they would journey to the Highlands and the
    McLarans.
    "Find
where they're most vulnerable," Darnley had ordered. " I want
to know how many men Kirallen has and how prepared they are for battle. Since
the older brother died, I've heard they grow lax. Is it true?"
    "Maggie!"
Alyson called. "Bring out my sewing. Edina, Mistress Selton—attend me,
please."
    "It's
verra late, my lady," Mistress Selton began.
    Alyson
quelled her protest with a single glance. At least Maude has taught me one
thing of value, she reflected as they settled down and pulled their work into
their laps. She would have to remember the trick when she went back to the
kitchens.
    Mistress
Selton bent over her darning, her mouth set in an angry line. She was a
formidable dowager, with a stern face and iron-gray hair. Edina Kirallen was more
biddable. She was but three or four years more than Alyson, a plump and timid
widow with a sweet mouth and a perpetually anxious