Lady With the Devil's Scar by Sophia James

Author:Sophia James [James, Sophia]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Romance, Historical, Fiction
ISBN: 9780373297023
Google: zRWPwe5mFgsC
Amazon: 0373297025
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2012-07-23T21:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

She wore a kirtle of blue and a bliaud of grey, the colour of sadness, when he went to her room the next morning, and around her waist she had fashioned prayer beads. Her hair was hidden under a barbet and veil, whilst on her feet she favoured soft boots of leather.

Like a novice almost, or a virtuous young maid in the first blush of youth with the mantle of religion firmly draped around her. In spite of everything Marc smiled because no one else in his entire life had managed to confound him as Isobel Dalceann did.

He saw piety in her stance and in the way she bowed her head, a frown on her forehead and her teeth worrying her swollen bottom lip.

All the small gestures were exactly right; he could not have faulted such a performance even as he wondered where it was she had secreted the knife he had given her.

‘Breakfast will be sent up. I thought it prudent to keep you out of sight for this morning at least.’

She stood before the window, a few small wisps of dark hair escaping around the edges of the fabric tied beneath her chin. The dawn burnished everything, lending the room a repose that had not been there the afternoon before.

‘Thank you.’

She did not raise her eyes to meet his, but kept them downcast.

Disquiet began to fill him.

‘I hope you slept well.’

The only sign of anything being amiss was the tightening of her fingers on the cloth of her bliaud.

‘Very well.’

His own ire rose at such an answer. He had spent most of the night trying to drink himself into a stupor and failing.

But looking at her more closely, Marc saw that the circles beneath her eyes were dark and the bruise on her cheek where she’d been hit by the bastard

McQuarry had turned purple.

He also saw that the silver ring she wore on her marriage finger was missing. Little details, but important. Women seldom did things on a whim, he had come to understand in his life of knowing many, and although other men laughed at the capriciousness of the feminine sex he himself had never found that to be true.

Nay, women only did things after much reasoning and debate.

‘The castle is safe for you now, Lady Dalceann. No one shall dare place a hand upon your person.’

That brought her glance up. She was angry. He could see it in the shifts of muscle on her face and in the puckering of her scar. The brown in her eyes was almost black.

‘What will happen to me, then?’ There was a cadence in her voice that he had not heard there before—beyond caring, if he could have named it.

‘You will be taken to Edinburgh to stand before the king.’

‘I see.’ She did not even flinch at the words. ‘And my men?’

‘Will remain here until the fate of the keep is properly resolved.’

‘Properly.’ She echoed the word and her bosom strained against dove-grey material. He made his eyes come away from the roundness, almost embarrassed when she saw where it was he looked.

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