The Rogue: A Highland Guard Novella (The Highland Guard) Read Free Page A

tree when he caught up to her.
    He dismounted, tied up his own horse, and followed after her along the narrow path that circled the base of the rock.
    She seemed to dance through the ankle-high grass, still brown from winter, as she walked. If he wasn’t so acutely aware of the shapely hips, round bottom, and very womanly chest revealed quite splendidly in her form-fitting, green wool gown, he might have thought he was watching a child let out of doors for the first time after a long, cold winter.
    The thought made him smile, which he was still doing when she reached the furthermost curve and turned to look at him.
    She seemed startled. He could have sworn he heard a sharp intake of breath, and the pulse at her neck appeared to flutter a little faster.
    “Is something wrong?” he asked.
    She blinked a few times and shook her head. “You’ve never smiled like that before.”
    He frowned. “Like what?”
    But she’d already turned from him to examine the rock face. She had her hand pressed against one of the flat surfaces when she turned back to him to ask, “How do you think it became shaped like this?”
    The sun had turned her hair to shimmering silver, her eyes to aquamarine, and seemed to bathe her features in a warm light. He was struck by the delicate lines of her small, straight nose, her softly pointed chin, her deftly curved cheeks and brow, her big, wide-set eyes, and her dainty bow-shaped mouth.
    “By the hand of God,” he answered, his voice oddly rough, not just thinking about the rocks.
    The answer didn’t seem to satisfy her. She skimmed her hand over the mostly dark gray with an occasional tinge of pink, finely grained rock surface. “It’s magnificent.”
    Could one be jealous of stone? Clearly the stone had impressed her—which was more than he could say for himself.
    He reached back through the recesses of his mind and pulled out a fact that had been buried a long time ago. “Pliny the Elder classified different kinds of rocks. He would have probably called this ‘tephrias’ as it appears volcanic in origin.” He frowned. “Or maybe ‘basanite,’ which is a specific type of volcanic rock used to carve ancient statues.”
    She was looking at him as if he’d grown a second head. His face started to feel hot, and if he didn’t know better, he would say that he was actually feeling self-conscious.
    “You’ve read Naturalis Historia ?” she asked, obviously shocked.
    “You know Pliny?” he asked, equally so.
    “A little. Unfortunately, my brothers were more interested in learning about Sparta than they were natural philosophy.”
    He chuckled. “I was, too, but I’ve always been interested in architecture.” It was his passion. He could talk about it for hours. “The book on mineralogy includes information about stones for building.”
     
     
    Izzie hoped she didn’t look as surprised as she felt, but she suspected her expression matched her incredulity. First the smile—the real smile that nearly stole her breath—and now this? He liked architecture? Apparently, singing wasn’t the only anomaly of shared interests between them.
    “I know,” she said. “That’s why I wished to read it as well.”
    She wasn’t alone in her shock—or in her ability to mask it. He was just as surprised as she. “ You are interested in architecture?”
    She shrugged, a little embarrassed. Her brothers teased her about her uncommon propensity for learning by telling her that if she wasn’t careful, they’d send her to a nunnery. But Randolph wasn’t her family. Would he understand the curiosity that took her in strange directions of study?
    “Nothing so formal,” she said. “But when my brother had our donjon rebuilt—it had been hastily repaired after King Edward had it slighted in 1298—I worked with the master builder on the design. I loved it and wanted to learn more. He was the one who told me of Pliny’s work—among others. I tried to interest my younger brothers with the