Amanda Scott by Reivers Bride Page B

their own reiver bands. It was said that when a Scott wife thought her stores had fallen to
     an unacceptable level, she uncovered a platter before her formidable husband, revealing a pair of spurs where the meat should
     be, thus suggesting that it was time for another raid. Indeed, the motto of the Scotts of Buccleuch was “let there be moonlight,”
     and other branches of their family and others boasted similar maxims.
    She could not believe that she had struck Sir Christopher, great though the provocation had been. Her lips still burned, though,
     and she had to exert self-control to keep from rubbing the sensation away. But she knew that the stable lads were watching
     and knew, too, that their opinion of her behavior would doubtless reach Malcolm Vole’s ears before long and her aunt’s soon
     after that. Moreover, she had enjoyed that kiss and the astonishing sensations it had stirred within her. Not that she could
     admit that to anyone, she reminded herself firmly. Just thinking of what she had done by kissing the man who was still, despite
     his denials, betrothed to her cousin sent heat into her cheeks.
    Drawing a deep, steadying breath, she lifted the front of her skirt enough to keep it from touching the ground and turned
     toward the house. As she had expected, several lads were watching. All but one looked hastily away, but that one stepped forward,
     saying diffidently, “Beg pardon, me lady, but I thought ye’d want tae ken that the gelding’s fetlock be scarcely swollen.
     Wi’ a day’s rest, he’ll be fine.”
    “Thank you, Teddy,” she said with a rueful smile. “It was through my own carelessness that he stepped in a rabbit hole, so
     I am glad he is not badly hurt.”
    “Aye, well, seein’ it were dark and all—”
    “Not then,” Anne said “It happened in broad daylight, I’m ashamed to say. I had walked a good way before Sir … before someone
     came along who was kind enough to help me.” Mentioning Sir Christopher’s name now, she realized, would only complicate matters
     more.
    “A good thing he come along,” Teddy said. His curiosity was plain, but Anne was certain he would not so far forget his place
     as to demand her rescuer’s name. Peg Elliot would not be so reticent, however. Nor would Olivia. Before either event occurred,
     she would have to decide how much or how little to tell them.
    As she walked around to the front of the house with her usual brisk stride, she briefly savored a mental image of herself
     walking into her aunt’s bower and announcing to Olivia and anyone with her that, contrary to what they believed, Sir Christopher
     Chisholm, true Laird of Ashkirk, was alive and eager to reclaim what was his. Such an announcement so near Fiona’s wedding
     day would eliminate any need to endure another scold, for in the uproar that followed, Olivia would certainly forget her irritation
     over Anne’s solitary excursion. Even the information that Sir Christopher was disturbingly handsome and admirably large and
     broad-shouldered would weigh little with her, although it might impress Fiona.
    Anne wondered as she approached the entrance if Sir Christopher expected her to make such an announcement. He had not asked
     her to keep silent, but neither had he expressed anything resembling delight at learning that Fiona, although betrothed to
     his hateful uncle, had not yet married him.
    Oil lamps on short posts lit the extensive garden paths, telling her that her aunt had entertained guests at supper, for they
     did not waste the oil when the family supped alone. Anne took note of the detail subconsciously, while her thoughts remained
     fixed upon her erstwhile protector.
    She did not know much about Scottish law. Even so, it seemed odd to her that titles and estates, especially ones of so powerful
     an entity as the Laird of Ashkirk and Torness, should change hands so quickly without positive proof of Sir Christopher’s
     death—which Eustace Chisholm clearly had