Scandal's Bride Read Free

aura of restlessness. She didn’t probe further—she didn’t dare. The image was sharp—he was near.
    Dragging in a swift breath, Catriona blinked and pulled back. A knock fell on the door; it opened—Algaria stepped inside. And instantly saw what she’d been up to. She swiftly shut the door. “What did you see?”
    Catriona shook her head. “It’s confusing.” The face was even harder than she’d thought it; the essence of the man’s strength was there, clearly delineated for anyone to read. He was a man with no reason to hide his character—he bore the signs openly, arrogantly, like a chieftain.
    Like a warrior.
    Catriona frowned. She kept stumbling across that word, but she didn’t need a warrior—she needed a tame, complaisant, preferably readily besotted gentleman she could marry and so beget an heiress. This man fitted her prescription in only one respect—he was indisputably male. The Lady, She Who Knew All, couldn’t possibly mean this man for her.
    â€œBut if not that, then what?” Pushing aside the silver bowl, she leaned on the table and cupped her chin in one hand. “I must be getting my messages crossed.” But she hadn’t done that since she was fourteen. “Perhaps there are two of them?”
    â€œTwo of whom?” Algaria hovered near. “What was the vision?”
    Catriona shook her head. The matter was too personal—too sensitive—to divulge to anyone else, even Algaria, her mentor since her mother’s death. Not until she’d got to the truth of the matter herself and understood it fully.
    Whatever it was she was supposed to understand.
    â€œIt’s no use.” Determinedly, she stood. “I must consult The Lady directly.”
    â€œWhat? Now ?” Algaria stared. “It’s freezing outside.”
    â€œI’m only going to the circle at the end of the graveyard. I won’t be out long.” She hated uncertainty, not being sure of her road. And this time, uncertainty had brought an unusual tenseness, a sense of expectation, an unsettling presentiment of excitement. Not the sort of excitement she was accustomed to, either, but something more scintillating, more enticing. Swinging her cloak about her, she looped the ribbons at her throat.
    â€œThere’s a gentleman downstairs.” Algaria’s black eyes flashed. “He’s one you should avoid.”
    â€œOh?” Catriona hesitated. Could her man be here, under the same roof? The tension that gripped her hardened her resolve; she tied off her ribbons. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t see me. And everyone in the village knows me by sight—at least, this sight.” She released her knotted hair, letting it swish about her shoulders. “There’s no danger here.”
    Algaria sighed. “Very well—but don’t dally. I suppose you’ll tell me what this is all about when you can.”
    From the door, Catriona flashed her a smile. “I promise. Just as soon as I’m sure.”
    Halfway down the stairs, she saw the gentleman, short, rotund, and fastidiously dressed, checking the discarded news sheets in the inn’s main parlor. His face was as circular as his form; he was definitely not her warrior. Catriona slipped silently down the hall. It was the work of a minute to ease open the heavy door, not yet latched for the night.
    And then she was outside.
    Pausing on the inn’s stone step, she breathed in the crisp, chilly air, and felt the cold reach her head. Invigorated, she pulled her cloak close and stepped out, watching her feet, careful not to slip on the icing snow.
    In the graveyard, in the lee of one wall, Richard looked down at his mother’s grave. The inscription on the headstone was brief: Lady Eleanor McEnery, wife of Seamus McEnery, Laird of Keltyhead . That, and nothing more. No affectionate remembrance; no mention of the bastard son she’d