A Borrowed Scot Read Free Page A

take it, but she’d been so grateful to the Mercaii for allowing her to attend that she hadn’t wanted to be rude.
    “How long have we been here?” she asked.
    “A little over an hour.”
    He folded his arms across his chest and stared at her coldly. “I’ve been waiting for you to surface from whatever they gave you.”
    “I shall not trouble you any further,” she said, reaching for the door handle.
    He leaned forward and put his hand over hers.
    “I’m not about to let you leave after I’ve rescued you from harm. Where do you live?”
    “I didn’t ask you to rescue me,” she said, pulling her hand free.
    “No doubt you would have preferred to be raped in front of thirty men,” he said, his voice deceptively mild.
    She glanced at him, horrified by his comment. Was that what they’d planned for her?
    “Thank you,” she said faintly, feeling nauseous. “Thank you for rescuing me, but you needn’t do more.”
    “Where do you live?” he asked, his tone bordering on exasperation.
    “I beg you, please do not escort me home. If you do, I’ll be found out, and the punishment will be severe.”
    “You’re afraid you’ll be dismissed.”
    Thank heavens, he thought she was a servant.
    “Shouldn’t you have thought of that before you went to the Society?”
    She pulled the robe even closer, gathering the folds in front of her, as if doubling the robe would offer further protection for her nakedness.
    “Do you think they’ll say anything?” she asked faintly.
    “I’ve no doubt your tale will be bandied about in certain quarters. Whether it comes to the attention of your employers, I can’t say.” He hesitated for a moment. “What would make you go to such a place?”
    That was a question she wasn’t going to answer.
    “Why were you there?” she asked.
    “A bit of stupidity on my part,” he said, glancing toward the bag at his side. “I’d thought to learn about the origins of an object.”
    Curious, she leaned forward, her fingers brushing against the cloth. A tingling began in her fingertips, traveling up her arm. She jerked back her hand, looking up at him.
    “What is it?”
    “A mirror,” he said.
    She leaned forward again, daring herself to touch the bag. When she did, and the vibration didn’t recur, she wondered if she’d imagined it.
    He didn’t say anything when she picked up the bag. Surprised at the heaviness of it, she sat back and balanced it on her knees. Slowly, she loosened the string at the neck of the bag, then removed the mirror.
    Three indentations on the handle were a perfect resting place for her curved fingers. How many hands had held the mirror over the years? Age had mellowed the gold and softened the trailing roses pattern incised on the handle as well as the writing on the back. The most surprising thing about the mirror was the row of diamonds around its circular face.
    Still, for all its adornment, it couldn’t be called pretty. She turned it over to see that the glass had turned brown with age.
    “Why would you take this to the Society?” she asked.
    “Damned if I know,” he said, glancing at her. “Someone I know thinks it’s magic, that it shows the future.” His look revealed what he thought of that.
    “I’ve heard of people seeing the future by staring at a bowl of water,” she said. “Never a mirror.”
    “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never seen anything,” he said.
    She glanced down at the glass again. As she stared, the brown color faded. In its place was her face, smiling. She was surrounded by people, and although she couldn’t see their faces clearly, she knew they were smiling, too. The mirror, held in both her hands, trembled as if was alive. In the reflection, her eyes were soft with love, her smile curving and tender. The feeling of happiness was so deep and pervasive, she felt her heart swell with joy.
    She was herself, yet she was not. The woman who faced her in the mirror was different. Was it age, experience? In that moment, she