The Devil Wears Plaid Read Free Page A

pew in front of him, “what in the devil is the meaning of this?”
    While the minister backed toward the altar, deliberately distancing himself from Emma, the earl lowered his clenched fist and slowly shuffled backward, leaving a clear path between Emma’s heart and the loaded pistol. Judging by the expectant hush that had fallen over the rest of the guests, she and Sinclair might have been the only two souls in the abbey. Emma supposed some response was required of her as well—that she ought to swoon or burst into tears or plead prettily for her life.
    Knowing that was exactly what the villain probably expected her to do gave her the courage to tamp down her own budding terror and stand straight and tall, to lift her chin and meet his ruthless gaze with a defiant glare of her own. She dug her fingernails into the bouquet to hide the violent quaking of her hands, crushing the lingering perfume of the heather from the crisp blooms. For an elusive second, another emotion flickered through those frosty green eyes—one that might have been amusement… or admiration.
    It was Ian Hepburn’s turn to march past his uncle, his dark eyes smoldering with contempt. He stopped a healthy distance from the man on horseback. “So now you’ve sunk to defiling churches
and
threatening to shoot helpless, unarmed women. I suppose Ishould have expected no better from a bastard like you,
Sin,
” he added, hissing the nickname as if it were the vilest of epithets.
    Sinclair briefly shifted his gaze from Emma to Ian, his grip on the pistol unwavering. “Then you’re not to be disappointed, are you, auld friend?”
    “I’m not your friend!”
Ian shouted.
    “No,” Sinclair replied softly, his voice tinged with what might have been either bitterness or regret. “I suppose you never were.”
    Even in retreat, the earl remained defiant. “You’re living proof that it takes more than studying at St. Andrews to turn a mountain rat into a gentleman! It must gall your grandfather beyond measure to know that sending you off to university was such a waste of his precious coins. Coins no doubt stolen from my own coffers by his motley band of rabble!”
    The earl’s insults didn’t seem to faze Sinclair. “I wouldn’t exactly call it a waste. If I hadn’t gone to St. Andrews, I might have never made the acquaintance of your charming nephew here.” That earned him a fresh glare from Ian. “But I will make sure to give my grandfather your regards the next time I see him.”
    So this brigand had lived among civilized folk for a time. That would explain why the roughest edges had been polished off his burr, leaving it even more dangerously silky and musical to Emma’s ears.
    “Just what do you plan to do, you miserable pup?”the earl demanded. “Have you come to hasten your own inevitable journey to hell by murdering my bride in cold blood on the altar of a church?”
    Emma was alarmed to note that her devoted bridegroom didn’t look particularly dismayed by the prospect. With his title and riches, she supposed it would be a simple enough matter for him to procure another bride. Ernestine and Elberta were both nearly old enough to wed. Perhaps her father would be allowed to keep the earl’s settlement if he offered the man a choice between the two girls so the ceremony could proceed without further interruption.
    After they’d mopped up her blood, of course.
    A nervous hiccup of a giggle escaped her. She had avoided swooning or begging for her life only to end up skating dangerously near to hysteria. It was just beginning to occur to her that she might actually die here at the hands of this merciless stranger—a virgin bride never knowing true passion or the adoring touch of a lover.
    “Unlike some,” Sinclair said with pointed politeness, “I’m not in the habit of murdering innocent women.” A tender smile curved his lips, more dangerous somehow than any sneer or glower. “I said I’d come for your bride, Hepburn, not that