Claimed by a Scottish Lord Read Free Page B

unseen force inside him.

    One glance into his unshaven face told her why people called him the Black Dragon. Though it had been the name of his frigate, he wore the mark like a mantle of armor. Heat burned where his hands held her.

    ―Loose me,‖ she whispered on a caught breath, cleared her throat and said the words again with more authority. ―Now, if you will.‖

    His grip loosened. She stepped backward but not so quickly her actions signaled fear or retreat. Her foot bumped one of her precious books that lay scattered in the straw.

    ―Allow me,‖ he offered and stooped to gather up the books.

    She started to protest but he had already knelt at her feet. Instead she let her gaze trace the width of his shoulders beneath his jacket. His hair was nearly black in the shadows that seemed to steal the setting sun‘s light from the surrounding sky and clubbed back from his face with a leather thong. A small silver hoop pierced his left earlobe and gave him an irrepressibly wicked look. She stole another glance at his face as he rose and had to suppress the urge to step back. She had never met a man taller than she was. Being this close to such a rarity stole her breath.

    ―You read,‖ he said, turning each leather-bound tome over in his gloved hands. Amusement laced his expression. ― Arthurian Legends ? The Myth of Merlin ? Metallurgy and Electricity ?‖

    She removed each book from his hands and held them protectively to her chest, not about to trust this stranger with her secrets. She was conscious of a prickling warmth that spread where his fingers had brushed hers as if the books had become electricity themselves. ―Is it so strange that a woman should read? Or that I should be interested in science?‖

    His eyes filled with growing amusement brushed down her, taking in her simple dress and wrap. ―Both perhaps.‖ His mouth crooked and revealed white teeth. ―Those are very old tomes. Valuable.‖

    She did not dispute that fact. Nor did she explain how she had got her hands on such valuable antiquity. She balked at fearing him. ―You are not planning to steal them from me, are you, Lord Roxburghe?‖

    ―You know who I am?‖ His eyes narrowed perceptively on her hair, then her height. ―I would remember if we‘d met.‖

    Rose withheld a frown beneath his scrutiny. It was too true that she was memorable to people for all the wrong reasons. He would be no exception. ―I was one of your many minions lining the street when you passed through Castleton.‖ She graciously inclined her head in an act only the dimmest would construe as subservient. ―No doubt the speed with which you rode through the village, you missed us all standing along the streets cheering your return. ‘Tis understandable if you missed the village entirely, small as we are, my lord.‖

    Amusement lifted the corners of his mouth, though his eyes as they peered into hers remained more thoughtful. She wanted to turn away from the disturbing gaze. No one, not even the lowest field hand had ever eyed her thusly, in a way that caused a curious sensation in her stomach.

    ―A thousand pardons, m‘lady. Had I seen you standing there, I would have surely stopped—‖ His hand motioned to her hair, and she thought he might touch her. ―If only to discern the color of your curls. Like a radiant sunset burning against the ocean. The color of warm cinnamon.‖

    Her hair? A radiant sunset? Warm cinnamon indeed. She stared speechless and saw the laughter in his eyes. But before she could give him the rebuke he deserved, he humbled himself with a light bow. ―My horse has come up lame,‖ he said with seriousness. ―I am seeking shelter for my men and me tonight and a conversation with the prior of this keep.‖

    Rose looked beyond him. The abbey did not have enough food in its stores to feed his small army. Nor did she understand who Jack had seen crossing the bridge.

    ―There are only four of us,‖ he said, clearly reading her