form in his mind. He would auction her to the highest bidder. If he did this right he might double the amount of gold he had hoped to receive and finally be rid of her.
“Tis Connall Canmore, the Earl of Caithness. Ye may wish to consider him if he offers for ye. Ye could be a Countess!”
“Dear Angus, titles and gold mean naught to me. Do ye nae understand this yet?” Connall had drawn near as she answered her uncle’s counsel . Brighde glanced up gasp ing as his vivid green eyes locked with hers. She trembled at the intense scrutiny of his mesmerizing gaze.
His eyes moved to Angus’ portly body and frowned as thoughts of the villagers flashed through his mind.
“My lord Canmore, what brings ye to my humble Ca s tle?”
Connall did not answer immediately. He removed his helm and gauntlets slowly just to watch the despicable laird sweat. He knew his reputation and the effect it had on pe o ple. This is one time he was glad of it. He glanced back at Brighde as he spoke in a deep voice. “Are manners more lax in this part of the H ighlands, Laird Fraser?”
Angus gasped and sputtered at the insult but knew he was correct. “Nay. Pray forgive me , my lord! I would pr e sent my niece, Brighde. Dear, this is Connall Canmore, Earl of Caithness, great grandson of King Malcolm III!”
Connall had dismounted during the introduction and stood before her. Taking her delicate hand in his, he brought it to his sensuous lips placing a light kiss upon it. “A pleasure, my lady.” He straightened to his six-foot four inch height smoothly, towering over her diminutive five-foot three. He turned to Angus.
“I and my men journey home. We ask for a roof over our heads this eve and, perhaps, a hot meal. Porridge will do if it be hot.” Fergus cleared his throat behind him. Wit h out hesitation he went on. “I would ask for a hot bath and some broth be delivered to my chambers and warm clot h ing that will fit a four-year old bairn , if it be possible.”
Without waiting for an answer, he retrieved the child from his squire’s arms and made to enter the keep. Brighde rushed forward disregarding the mud and stench emanating from his bundle. She stroked the bairn’s brow checking for fever.
“She has nae fever. What ails her sir?” She glanced up in question.
Connall was impressed with this tiny lass. Most lady’s would back away and order their servants to tend the child…like her uncle just did. She had spirit. “I suspect she is weak from hunger…naught more.”
“I will make the arrangements. Please bring her out of this cool air before she catches a chill.” She spun around and led the way to a warm bedchamber where a bath was being prepared. “Lily, would ye please find some clothing that will fit this bairn?”
“Aye, m’lady.” She bobbed and rushed from the room.
As Brighde began to peel away the filthy clothes, Co n nall observed her lack of concern of the mud mussing her clothing. It was rare, indeed, to find someone so self-effacing… and beautiful. He wished to know more.
“Ye do nae have your servants tend her…even though the tending will ruin your gown.” It was not a question.
She blushed, suddenly conscious of his presence. “Nay. My gown is of no consequence and she needs a ge n tle touch. My father always told me ‘if ye want it done right…do it yourself’.” She shrugged. “Who is the lass?”
Connall peered at her, determining his answer. The squalor he had recently witnessed could not have been her doing. The blame must rest with her uncle.
“Her name is Amy. Our paths crossed recently on my journey home. Her parents had died and she has no other kin so I have made her my ward. When she is grown I will find her a good match. Fergus perhaps .
She looked at him with disapproval. Another man who thinks he kens what is best! Perhaps arrogance is inbred in the male speci es.
“Ye disapprove? Why would that be? If I had nae i n tervened she would die.”
She shook her head
“Tis Connall Canmore, the Earl of Caithness. Ye may wish to consider him if he offers for ye. Ye could be a Countess!”
“Dear Angus, titles and gold mean naught to me. Do ye nae understand this yet?” Connall had drawn near as she answered her uncle’s counsel . Brighde glanced up gasp ing as his vivid green eyes locked with hers. She trembled at the intense scrutiny of his mesmerizing gaze.
His eyes moved to Angus’ portly body and frowned as thoughts of the villagers flashed through his mind.
“My lord Canmore, what brings ye to my humble Ca s tle?”
Connall did not answer immediately. He removed his helm and gauntlets slowly just to watch the despicable laird sweat. He knew his reputation and the effect it had on pe o ple. This is one time he was glad of it. He glanced back at Brighde as he spoke in a deep voice. “Are manners more lax in this part of the H ighlands, Laird Fraser?”
Angus gasped and sputtered at the insult but knew he was correct. “Nay. Pray forgive me , my lord! I would pr e sent my niece, Brighde. Dear, this is Connall Canmore, Earl of Caithness, great grandson of King Malcolm III!”
Connall had dismounted during the introduction and stood before her. Taking her delicate hand in his, he brought it to his sensuous lips placing a light kiss upon it. “A pleasure, my lady.” He straightened to his six-foot four inch height smoothly, towering over her diminutive five-foot three. He turned to Angus.
“I and my men journey home. We ask for a roof over our heads this eve and, perhaps, a hot meal. Porridge will do if it be hot.” Fergus cleared his throat behind him. Wit h out hesitation he went on. “I would ask for a hot bath and some broth be delivered to my chambers and warm clot h ing that will fit a four-year old bairn , if it be possible.”
Without waiting for an answer, he retrieved the child from his squire’s arms and made to enter the keep. Brighde rushed forward disregarding the mud and stench emanating from his bundle. She stroked the bairn’s brow checking for fever.
“She has nae fever. What ails her sir?” She glanced up in question.
Connall was impressed with this tiny lass. Most lady’s would back away and order their servants to tend the child…like her uncle just did. She had spirit. “I suspect she is weak from hunger…naught more.”
“I will make the arrangements. Please bring her out of this cool air before she catches a chill.” She spun around and led the way to a warm bedchamber where a bath was being prepared. “Lily, would ye please find some clothing that will fit this bairn?”
“Aye, m’lady.” She bobbed and rushed from the room.
As Brighde began to peel away the filthy clothes, Co n nall observed her lack of concern of the mud mussing her clothing. It was rare, indeed, to find someone so self-effacing… and beautiful. He wished to know more.
“Ye do nae have your servants tend her…even though the tending will ruin your gown.” It was not a question.
She blushed, suddenly conscious of his presence. “Nay. My gown is of no consequence and she needs a ge n tle touch. My father always told me ‘if ye want it done right…do it yourself’.” She shrugged. “Who is the lass?”
Connall peered at her, determining his answer. The squalor he had recently witnessed could not have been her doing. The blame must rest with her uncle.
“Her name is Amy. Our paths crossed recently on my journey home. Her parents had died and she has no other kin so I have made her my ward. When she is grown I will find her a good match. Fergus perhaps .
She looked at him with disapproval. Another man who thinks he kens what is best! Perhaps arrogance is inbred in the male speci es.
“Ye disapprove? Why would that be? If I had nae i n tervened she would die.”
She shook her head
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