Night of the Highland Dragon Read Free Page A

back of her head, a voice very much like her brother Colin’s said that it was deuced odd for the lady with the title and castle to be bristling about snobs. Judith told that voice to hush. Arundell wasn’t just rich and educated. He was an outsider, for one thing, and for another—she didn’t like the way he’d looked at the room or at Agnes.
    She certainly didn’t like the way he was looking at her. It wasn’t lust. She’d spent enough decades around soldiers and sailors that she wouldn’t have batted an eye at mere lechery. No, Arundell’s expression was gentlemanly enough, but underneath it she sensed the same evaluation he’d turned on the parlor, but without the satisfaction, she was glad to see.
    What reason—never mind, what right —did he have for sizing her and her friend and her village up like so many horses at auction or so many freaks in a sideshow?
    â€œWhat brings you up here?” she asked. “You don’t have family in the village?”
    Only politeness kept it a question rather than a statement. If Arundell had been anyone’s relation, Judith would have known—unless he was a bastard who’d done incredibly well for himself. She was considering that possibility when Arundell shook his head.
    â€œNo, nothing of the sort,” he said. “My physician recommended it. Not here specifically, of course, but getting away from city life, from crowds and smoke and so on. I’ve been touring the countryside. One of the villagers in Belholm mentioned Loch Arach. It sounded like an excellent—well, retreat, if you will.”
    â€œI suppose we are that,” said Agnes, laughing. “And you’ll be wanting rooms, then?”
    â€œFor an indefinite time, if it could be managed.”
    â€œAnd gladly.” Agnes got to her feet—still easily, Judith noticed, while wishing she could stop noticing such things—and put her cup down on the table. “Lady Judith, if you’ll excuse us for a moment, we’ll just be stepping into my office to settle the details.”
    Judith was glad to let them go.
    Once again, the voice of self-reproach spoke up, wondering whether she was truly going to dislike the man because of the strangeness in the way he’d looked at her. Once again, she told the voice to be silent. If two centuries of life had taught her anything, it was to trust her instincts. At the moment, she couldn’t act on this one—the man had done nothing overtly wrong—but she tucked the impression away to turn over and look at later from more angles and with better tools.
    When Claire came over to nab a muffin, Judith thought she might have an idea where her distrust came from. A man who viewed Loch Arach as an interesting diversion might well look at its people the same way. Arundell wouldn’t be the first man to decide that fresh things other than air would give him a new outlook on life. He was in his forties, if Judith was any judge, and Claire was sixteen. Agnes had probably told her daughter a few home truths by now—Agnes hadn’t had much time for men even before her husband had died—but that could hurt as much as help at Claire’s age.
    â€œDid you talk to Mr. Arundell much outside?” Judith asked as casually as she could manage.
    â€œWell, no,” said Claire, sighing, “not really. He said good afternoon, and I said aye, it was bidding fair to be grand, and could I be helping him with anything, and he asked was I the proprietor of this establishment, only in a joking sort of a way, ye ken—and he has a bonny smile, Lady Judith, you should see it—”
    â€œI’m sure he does.”
    â€œAnd I laughed and said no,” Claire went on. If she’d noticed the interruption, she gave no sign of it. Sixteen, Judith thought, was in certain ways the youngest age. Her own time in the valley of that particular shadow was a dim memory now,