Free The Great Scottish Devil by Starla Kaye Page B

thing!”
    His mighty shoulders squared. “Do no’ keep threatening to leave then.” He lowered his gaze to her hands on her hips. “Ye ken what happens when ye go against me.”
    Douglas dared to move closer, to stand at her side. “She only means to—”
    Brodie rounded on him, his eyes flashing with warning. “She means to drive me crazy. Someone wishes to kill her. I canna let her leave here unguarded…or at least without a husband by her side. I canna!”
    “Kill her?” Douglas’s scowl matched Brodie’s when he looked at her. “What is this aboot? Who?”
    The fight went out of her at the reminder that someone wanted her dead. Her knees threatened to give out. She felt weak all over, and so desperately alone. Except for the two fierce-looking men in front of her. But, in truth, she should not, could not, depend on them to protect her. Mayhap while she was here at Urquhart, but she could not stay here forever.
    “’Tis not your problem. Either of you.” She started to walk toward the keep. She wanted to lie down, have some time to think everything through.
    “Ye’re wrong, lass,” Brodie gritted out. “I’m yer guardian until ye have a husband. My duty is to look after ye, keep ye safe. And I will.”
    She kept on walking, struggled to keep from crying. His duty . That was all she was and ever could be to him.
     
    * * *
     
    Several hours later Brodie stood rigidly in front of the keep. His stomach knotted as he waited for the two dozen, chain-mailed soldiers to cross over the drawbridge and enter the inner bailey. In the midst of the riders he finally caught sight of the woman he was to marry and spend the rest of his days with. A perfect lady. She rode perched on a side-saddle with one leg wrapped around the saddle horn. Her gown was blue and lines of beading ran down from the low décolleté. Her hair was hidden beneath a Wimple that wrapped around her throat and was tucked into the neckline of her gown. He had no idea what color her hair was, but he didn’t really care. In truth he cared little about her, wanted nothing to do with her. A frustrated thought that had him clenching his hands into fists at his sides.
    The bailey was crowded with his soldiers, servants, and many of the villagers. All had heard of the pending arrival of their laird’s betrothed and had come to see the woman who would become the lady of the castle. Where only moments before there had been much talking and easy laughter, now there was only silence. Except for the heavy hoofbeats over the wooden bridge.
    Sir Douglas stood next to him, as if sensing Brodie’s unease and trying to offer him support. “Lady Stonewall is a rare beauty, my laird.”
    Brodie nodded but didn’t answer. She might be a beautiful woman, but she wasn’t Anna.
    Forcing himself to do what was right, he strode toward his soon-to-be bride. He stood next to her horse and gazed awkwardly up at her for a second. Then he reached to help her down. She was heavier than Annabel, though still slender. She was also a good six or so inches taller than Annabel, with the top of her head—without the pointed Wimple—coming to his nose instead of his shoulder. And it annoyed him to keep comparing Agatha Stonewall to Annabel Henderson.
    “Is something the matter, my lord?” she asked warily at his apparent frown.
    She does not deserve your anger . Brodie shook his head. “Nay.” He forced a smile, weak as it was. “Yer trip went well?”
    “Aye, but ‘twas tiring.” She glanced around the bailey at the many people and gave a slight nod of acknowledgment but no warm smile, as Anna gifted them with every day.
    Then she focused on a pair of young maids nearby. “You two. You will act as my personal maids. I am in need of a bath as soon as you can see to arranging it.” She looked at Brodie. “If that is acceptable with you, of course.”
    He nodded approval and the young women hurried toward the keep. He looked at the heavily loaded wagon at the rear