This Heart of Mine Read Free Page A

age.”
    “Old age?” She looked up at him, outraged, and then a wicked smile lit her features. “I shall never be old, Adam de Marisco,” she said, her fingers nimbly undoing his shirt. “I shall never be ready to become that comfortable and quiet.” Her warm lips spread little kisses across his furred chest, causing a shiver of excitement to race through his veins. Then she eyed him mischievously. “Shall we begin our adventure tonight, my darling?”
    His laughter rumbled about the room. “Our little daughterwould be quite shocked,” he said, smiling at Skye. “She considers us a most respectable and staid couple.”
    “And so she should,” replied Velvet’s mother. “She is much too young to be considering the ways of a man and a woman. There is plenty of time for her to think about those things after we return from India. Let her have her childhood first.”
    “She is betrothed, Skye.”
    “She has long since forgotten BrocCairn’s son, Adam. The betrothal took place when she was five, and you will remember I allowed it only because you swore to me she might make her own choice when the time came. I will not force Velvet into a marriage as my father forced me. Besides, although BrocCairn corresponds with you, his son has shown no interest in Velvet at all over the years. There is plenty of time yet to worry about such things. In the meantime, let Velvet be a little girl without a worry or care beyond her horses and the sweetmeats she constantly manages to weasel out of you and her brothers. She is really quite spoilt.”
    “You’re right,” he agreed with her, smiling as he thought of his only and much-beloved child. “There is time for Velvet. More than enough time.”



Now is the month of May, when merry lads do play!
Fa la la la la la la, la la!
Fa la la la la la la!
Each with his bonnie lass, a-dancin on the grass!
Fa la la la la!
Fa la la la la la la, la! la la! la la!
    —Sixteenth-century tune

“W hat the hell d’ye mean by ‘marry without delay,’ Father?” Alexander Gordon glowered down from his great height upon his bedridden father, but the Earl of BrocCairn was not intimidated by his son’s look. It was a look he’d often worn upon his own face in his younger days when someone more powerful than he was dictating to him. God, he thought, looking up at Alex, he looks just like I once did. He has the same height and lanky frame, a face that looks as if it was hewn from rock, and my black hair. Why, up until I had this damned accident, we were often taken for brothers.
    Angus Gordon sighed deeply. He hated admitting his own weakness, but gritting his teeth, he said, “It should be clear to ye, Alex, that I will not survive to see the spring. Each day I find myself growing weaker, unable to do even the simplest things for myself. Hell, man! I can’t even stand to piss! I don’t want to live like this, and the physician from Aberdeen says I will get no better. I know I’m dying.”
    “Damnation!” The younger man shifted his feet, obviously made quite uncomfortable by his father’s bluntness.
    “I will be dead within a few weeks, Alex, and ye’re my only male heir,” continued the Earl of BrocCairn. “Wi’ yer mother and brother, Nigel, gone in last year’s epidemic, I have no one but ye and yer sister. I would rather not pass Dun Broc on to Annabella and her weak-willed husband who does not bear my name. Ye have a betrothed wife, Alex. Marry her! Get me a grandson on her body!”
    “God’s foot, Father! A little English girl I haven’t seen in years? A child barely half grown, let alone capable of mothering a bairn of her own! Yer illness has addled yer wits!” Alexander Gordon’s voice was full of pity.
    “Aye,” his father retorted sharply, “ye’ve not seen the lass since the day of yer betrothal. Whose fault was that, my son? Are ye aware of how long ago it took place? Almost ten years have passed, and de Marisco’s lass is full grown now and ripe for