Under the Kissing Tree by L.L. Muir

Author:L.L. Muir [Muir, L.L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2013-12-04T06:00:00+00:00

Why was it, Tam wondered, that as soon as he’d decided to be content to never know the face of his mysterious woman, the Fates sought to push her back into his path? When he’d first realized his foolishness in looking for her again, he’d suddenly seen her standing on the battlements. When again he’d strengthened his resolve to set her from his mind, he’d been greeted at the very gates with none other than Lars himself. And damn the boy for being overly handsome.

But this morn, he’d awakened with a new purpose—to woo his bride to be, and her father as well. Hellingsby was too fine a property to lose for not spending enough time with her. And he was certain any lass would come round to appreciating his form, his wit, and his ability to manage a glen full of people, starting with his wife.

Unfortunately, he could not seem to manage his own thoughts, thanks to the third incident of meddling on the part of the Fates—that being his mystery woman’s laughter. It had blended with his own, just as it had in the hollow. And worse yet, that laughter had come from the high table. Would to God it had been from his own bride, but alas, it belonged to the strange sister.

His hand fairly burned with the memory of the curls at the back of the woman’s head. A glance at Bronwyn’s hair proved the curls were there. He’d just never imagined them to be red.

He fought the urge to stand and bolt, to find some quiet place in the open air where he might slow his thoughts and consider. But at the same time, he wished to command everyone to remain in their seats while he took a moment to peer closely at the sister of his bride-to-be.

Odin’s teeth! It could not be. She could not be. There was just something so terribly wrong about his mystery woman being Bronwyn. But then again, she’d be entering an abbey in a year…

He shook his head and stood. “If ye will excuse me, there is a matter that needs my attention this morn.”

Astrid’s hand took a gentle hold on his arm. She looked a bit pale, and he had the impression she might need a lie-down. He worried she might have somehow been privy to his thoughts. But that was impossible.

He placed his free hand over hers. “What is it, my lady?”

“I thought, before you go far…I thought to ask you…Nimmo.”

He stopped breathing.

“The name Nimmo,” she began again. “I overheard it and wondered if it is a Scottish name.”

He cleared his throat and gave up on clearing his thoughts any time soon.

“Yes. I believe it is a Scottish name,” he croaked and took a step, but her hand pulled him back. Even when pale, she was much stronger than she seemed. He suspected Astrid Helling was not a woman who was easily frightened, even though she seemed agitated at the moment.

“My lady?”

“I wondered…Perhaps I heard the name

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