Page 18 of The Scot is Hers
Alec scoffed. He’d been colder before, in battle when temperatures dipped below freezing or sitting for hours exposed to the elements. “No’ as cold as ye, lass.”
She unfastened the hooks near her throat and wriggled free of the cloak, dropping the sodden cloth in a mound beside her. Then, she accepted his jacket with a grateful look and slipped it around her slim shoulders. The woman was tiny; he’d felt it when he held her in his arms. At least a foot shorter than himself, he’d guess.
Alec picked up her drenched cloak and wrung it out as best he could before spreading it out on the ground, well away from the rain, to dry.
“What are ye doing out here?” she asked. “I told ye my reason, but ye never did give me yours. My guess is ye do no’ lie in wait in the abbey ruins for damsels falling off their horses.”
Alec turned around to face her, finding it difficult not to smile at her teasing. She’d tucked her knees up around her chest, and his jacket was wrapped around her legs.
“Ye should elevate your ankle the way I had it,” he said. “It helps alleviate the swelling.”
She didn’t argue but put her foot back on the stone where he’d placed it before, revealing the now-brown stocking of her shapely calf. The lass tried to adjust her skirts to cover what she exposed, but the fabric of her skirt was not cooperating. Finally, she gave up and leaned her head back against the wall, eyes closed as if she were gathering strength. Alec racked his brain for a way to impart comfort, but then her eyes popped open, and she flashed him a saucy smile.
“Any other orders, my lord?” The level of sarcasm in her tone was unnerving.
Alec cleared his throat, deciding to ignore her bait. “Ye mentioned we’d met before. Where?”
The chit bit her lip, nodded and looked away. Definitive signs of withholding information and a reluctance to share. The glee she’d expressed a moment ago evaporated. He was starting to get whiplash from her emotions. Teasing and bold one minute, then closed off and tentative the next. Was it deliberate? He had to guess, given his experience with females, that it was. After all, his mother was classic for changing her moods to fit the environment or get something she wanted—or get rid of something she didn’t want.
Well, Alec wasn’t going to play any more games. He didn’t have the patience for it. He wanted to know exactly who she was and how deep into the rabbit hole he’d be, knowing she’d been engaged to Joshua Keith, that bastard. Was Keith going to storm Slains in the dead of night?Oh, aye, please do...Alec would relish the moment he had good cause to hold his blade to the man’s throat.
“Are ye going to tell me, lass, or am I going to turn to dust waiting?”
She pressed her hands around her ankle. “Since it’s only sprained and no’ broken, as soon as the rain clears, I’ll be on my way. Ye’ll no’ have to deal with me anymore.”
That was a quick and unexpected amendment. Also, she was changing the subject. Alec narrowed his gaze.
“No’ so fast, lass. Tell me who ye are.” Coming within only two feet of her, he crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at her the way he used to stare down at the wayward recruits in his regiment.
“Giselle Hepburn.”
Worked every time. Alec grinned with satisfaction. Guess he hadn’t lost his touch.
He cocked his head to the side, considering her name.Giselle, Giselle...but there was no recognition in the recesses of his mind. The truth was, he wasn’t very good with names, or the list of those within the peerage either. “Does no’ ring a bell, lass.”
She huffed a breath, clearly annoyed with him. “My da is the Earl of Bothwell.”
Well, he knew that name and the man. They weren’t close, but they had come into contact plenty of times in the House of Lords. There was nothing particularly memorable about the man. Good, bad, Alec was indifferent. So how the hell had he come across this chit before that she remembered him? He might have been bad with names, but he thought he’d remember a lass like her. In her company for less than an hour, he’d already picked up on her personality traits.
“Ah, well, I am acquainted with your father. But I can no’ recall meeting ye.”
“Ye’ve made that clear. Why no’ say it again in case the crows did no’ pick up on it?”
Ooh, so the lass had a little bite in with her wit. Had he been shouting? He didn’t think so. Seemed as if one of those responses meant to deflect attention. Alec grinned all the more. The lass was quite revealing in her moods and thoughts, even if she didn’t mean to be.
She huffed in annoyance—and resignation. “We met a couple of years ago at the ball your mother threw in your honor after your return from the Peninsular War.”
So she was one to the rotten lassies who’d made his night awful, he supposed. Which one had she been? The one who blanched so white she could have disappeared into a cloud if it came to earth? Or maybe she was the lass who’d gagged when he kissed her hand, her revulsion so palpable even he’d shuddered. The reactions from the lassies always surprised him. For certes, his scar was heinous, but it didn’t make him a leper, for bloody’s sake. And he’d done his best to grow a beard that covered nearly half the grotesqueness.
“That explains a lot,” he said, turning away from her. He went to examine the rain, which was not relenting. The sky had turned an ominous dark gray, nearly black in spots. If she’d been one of those lasses, then he didn’t want anything to do with her, no matter how intrigued he was by her now. But being the gentleman he was, Alec couldn’t leave her here and send word back to her father at Keith’s house to come and get her.
“What do ye mean by that?” she asked.
“Nothing.” He certainly didn’t want to get into it with her about how rude the lasses had been since he’d come back to Scotland with the scar, and he didn’t blame them. Alec touched the mark on his cheek, running down the length. Though it wasn’t as bad as they made it out to be, now that he had his beard, he supposed it did make him look a little terrifying. Or more so, it reminded them of the brutality of war. How cushy their own lives were.
Spoiled rotten, the lot of them.
Lady Giselle tried to stand, scooting her spine up the stone wall with her hands planted on the surface, but she winced and sat back down heavily, a sigh of disappointment on her lips. Seemed she was more eager to escape him than he first thought. Didn’t that figure?
