Page 16 of The Scot is Hers
The way he said “lass” struck a chord within her. She could swear she’d heard it before. “Well, then, ye should know ye did well. As long as ye do no’ plan to ravage me, I’ll send your compliments to wherever they might be shared.”
He let out a short snort. “No compliments necessary. I do no’ plan to ravage ye. Nor begin some sort of female rescue operation. It would no’ due for a lass to die on my lands anyway.”
She didn’t know if she should be offended by that or not. “Am I no’ ravage-able?”
“I’m no’ certain that is even a word, lass. And I am no’ in the habit of ravaging anyone, no matter how ravishing they are.”
“So ye find me ravishing?” she teased, uncertain what made her so bold. Despite his being a stranger, he’d yet to kill her, and so she felt she could trust him a little.
He let out a growl of frustration that was so familiar it was right on the edge of her brain to say his name if only she could tug out what it was. For she was certain, she’d me him before.
“Do I know ye?” she asked, squinting into the shadows.
He sauntered toward the dismantled wall several feet away to stare out into the storm. He faced away from her as if he wanted to hide his identity. “I’ve met most of my neighbors, and I canna say as I’ve seen ye here before.” His tone had taken on a bored note.
“I’m no’ from here.” Giselle grasped a handful of her skirts and started to ring out the water. Her dress felt as if it weighed a hundred pounds.
“Oh. Where are ye from, then?” Though there was a note of interest in his tone, still he didn’t face her.
“Edinburgh.”
“Och.” He sounded very disappointed, and even from where she sat, she could see his body stiffen. “Why were ye alone out in a storm? Did ye no’ bring an escort to the castle? And who bloody hell rides a horse from Edinburgh? Ye’re lucky no’ to have fallen to your death miles ago.”
She chose to ignore how helpless he seemed to find her. And how did he know she was from the castle? “My parents escorted me to the castle.”
“And where are they now?” He poked his head out of the ruins. “Should I go in search of them?”
“They are likely at the castle.”
“They left ye alone to ride in this weather?” Then he paused, and in a tone that sounded more than a little accusatory, he asked, “Better question, why were ye no’ in a carriage?”
Giselle let out an irritatedhumph. “I’ve nearly died, and hence, I am excused from having to explain myself to ye.”
He crossed his arms in front of him and stared down at her. If she’d been able to see his face, she was fairly certain he would be glowering. Giselle squinted in the dim light. She wished shecouldsee his face better. She hated that it was hidden in shadow and that he was so darn tall. Here she was huddled against the wall like a small, wounded animal while he towered over her. It wasn’t that his stature or the dark intimidated her; it was irritation that wended its way through her limbs. Curse her bloody ankle. She wanted to stalk away, to not have his judgement so readily in her face.
As if hearing her wish, another spark of lightning lit up the moors and flashed within the ruins enough that she saw the wicked scar coming down the side of his face before it buried itself in his ginger beard. A blaze of fierce blue—nogreen—eyes.
In an instant, she was all too certain of who it was that stood before her—the Beast of Errol: Alec Hay. That was why she’d felt safe with him. The man might have been cantankerous, but he wasn’t dangerous.
“Oh my goodness,” she said, rubbing her eyes and gaping up at him.
He let out a low growl, throwing up his hands. “I know, I’m hideous. But my mother assured me all the eligible maidens would no’ care. I suppose ye cared more for coin and position than truth. Typical, and no’ at all unexpected.”
“What?” She frowned, then shook her head. “Ye’re speaking nonsense. I know nothing of your mother, other than when I met her a couple of years ago. And unlike ye, I’m no’ willing to pass judgment so quickly.”
His hands settled on his hips. “Then what were ye doing heading to my castle?”
Again, how did he know where she was headed? Giselle touched her forehead, wondering if somehow there’d been a sign placed there.Lass, in desperate need of refuge, headed to your castle.But she drew away her cold, wet fingers, not having found one, and frowned once more in his direction.
“Ye’ve no’ changed a bit, my lord.” My time didn’t seem to heal all wounds, did it?
There was a moment of stunned silence before he said slowly, “We’ve met before?”
Giselle let out a deliberate sigh; the kind one did when the conversation was moving interminably slow. One she was certain he’d made several times already in this, their second meeting. “Aye.”
This time he didn’t hesitate. “I do no’ remember ye.”
Giselle shrugged. It wasn’t her fault he had a flawed memory. “I’m no’ that memorable, I guess. But if it makes ye feel any better, I’ve no’ thought about ye a day since our last meeting.” That was, of course, a lie. She’d avoided him at all costs, which had been unnecessary since he’d disappeared from society.
