The Virgin Spring by Debra Lee Brown

Author:Debra Lee Brown
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2013-10-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

She had better think of something, and quick.

Rachel nonchalantly dropped the saddlebag in the corner by the hearth. “I was just tidying up a bit.” The lie came easy, but ’twas impossible to tell whether or not Hugh believed her. She tipped her chin high and folded her hands together in front of her. “Why are you here?”

“The laird sent me to fetch ye.”

The hunting plaid slipped from her shoulders. Hugh snapped it up before she could react, and cast it onto her pallet. “Ye willna need this. ’Tis a warm night. Come.” He extended his hand to her.

She had a strange feeling about Hugh. He seemed different, in a way she couldn’t explain. When she first arrived at Monadhliath he’d scorned her, along with the rest of the clan. He’d been kind to her of late—almost friendly—but now, she wasn’t certain. His eyes were warm, but his expression was cool and unreadable.

“Wh-where are we going?”

“To the celebration, of course.” He shot her a surprised look. “Where did ye think?” He took her arm and guided her to the door. “When ye didna show up, Gilchrist bade me come and fetch ye.”

“Did he?” Now she was the one who was surprised.

“Aye, and he doesna like to be kept waiting. Come.” He paused at the door and studied her, then took another look around the cottage. “Something seems amiss here, but I canna put my finger on it.”

She didn’t respond, and forced an innocent expression.

Hugh stared at the saddlebag in the corner for what seemed a long time. Her pulse quickened. His gaze roamed over the rest of the cottage, then lit on the silver necklace—Alex’s gift—hanging from a nail over the hearth. She’d forgotten all about it. The pink gemstone glimmered in the firelight.

Hugh grinned. “Ha! I knew ye wouldna wear it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Alex’s gift to ye.” He shot her a knowing glance. “Aye, he made ye accept it, but I knew ye’d never wear it—especially in front of the laird.”

“Why on earth not?” She wrested her arm away from him.

“Och, ’tis plain why.” His grin broadened. “To me, at any rate.”

Ten minutes later Hugh pushed open the door to Monadhliath Castle’s great hall. Rachel stood beside him, waiting to enter, the silver necklace dangling from her neck.

The keep had undergone a complete transformation in the last week. What had been a cold, dark shell was now lively and warm, save for the spartan furnishings of Gilchrist’s chamber. Dozens of beeswax tapers, along with the huge hearth fire, drenched the hall in a soft light.

Clansmen and -women, attired in their finest plaids and gowns, packed the long wooden tables assembled for the celebration. The room was alive with singing and laughter, the clash of ale cups, and the occasional squeal of a girl whose lover had risked a pinch.

The walls were decorated with all manner of weaponry. There were neither tapestries nor artwork. All had been lost in the fire at Braedûn Lodge. But everywhere—on shields and clan

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