in her gaze—or because the sight of him
repulsed her. Before long though, Luke’s naturally charming disposition coaxed her
into what seemed to be a very enjoyable conversation. She even let go of Sarah’s hand.
Leave it to the knight in shining armor to break the stone.
Edmund could have sat where he was and watched the different nuances of her smiles
for hours, remembering how her lips felt against his…but women fell for Luke fast
and it wouldn’t do for any of them to form attachments that would only have to be
broken later.
He got up, not really knowing what to say before he covered the distance of the two
steps it would take to reach her. He’d lied to her, stolen her away from her home,
her family. She had every right to never forgive him. He would handle her anger with
the respect she deserved and he’d failed to give her. He ran his fingers through his
hair and paced before the fire. What the hell was the matter with him? She wasn’t
the first lass he’d found to his liking. So what that her winsome smile played on
his memory like a siren song beckoning him to follow her and win back her favor. Aye,
the curl of her lips, the tilt of her nose, and the depth in her gaze made him want
to take up painting to try to capture her image forever.
He stopped his pacing and almost laughed out loud at himself. What the hell was he
thinking? She was his enemy’s niece and he wasn’t some love-starved lackwit. He was
the son and grandson of two of the most fearsome warriors the three kingdoms had ever
known. He sure as hell wouldn’t grovel to a woman.
He was about to turn back to his previous place by the fire when Luke stopped him.
“Cousin, ye look perplexed and a bit agitated. What is it?”
Edmund’s gaze settled on Amelia when she finally looked up at him. What did he see
in those large sable depths? Hurt, insult, anger. He’d tricked her into liking him,
trusting him, giving a tiny piece of herself to him, and then he’d stomped on the
scant moments of happiness they shared. “Tell me the secret of making the lady smile.
I’ve tried to no avail.”
“There doesn’t seem to be a secret,” Luke told him. “The lady smiles quite easily.”
“Aye?” Edmund asked, finally sitting beside them. “The memory of it fades in its absence.”
“Ye kidnapped me, Mr. MacGregor,” she pointed out a bit tightly. “Before Lucan’s comforting
assurances that none of ye will harm Sarah or me, I sat frightened fer our lives.
Did ye expect smiles then?”
Edmund didn’t think reminding her that he’d already made the assurance would make
a difference. “Nae, of course not, Miss Bell. But now that ye’ve been properly comforted,
mayhap ye will grace me, as ye did last eve, with a smile.”
“Last eve, ye were someone else.”
Looking a bit uncomfortable that he may overhear something he didn’t need to know,
Luke leaned forward and addressed Edmund. “Let us return then to the topic that made
her smile, cousin, aye? We were speaking of Henry Purcell.”
“Ye have probably never heard of him,” Amelia said tersely. “He was an English composer
who, while including French and Italian elements in his music, became famous for his
distinctly English form of Baroque music.” She cut him a side glance accompanied by
a barely concealed smirk. “Fergive me. ’Tis careless of me to think ye know what Baroque
is. Shall I explain?”
Edmund smiled at her. “Let me think. Does it not originate from the Portuguese word barroco , meaning ‘malformed pearl’? Is it not also a style of composition in music that is
marked by expressive dissonance and elaborate ornamentation?”
She looked so bonny in the firelight, her lovely lips parted and her extraordinary
eyes large with stunned surprise and a wee bit of irritation. “That…that sounds correct.”
He hadn’t seen this side of her. He was pleased to find her spirited and saucy.
repulsed her. Before long though, Luke’s naturally charming disposition coaxed her
into what seemed to be a very enjoyable conversation. She even let go of Sarah’s hand.
Leave it to the knight in shining armor to break the stone.
Edmund could have sat where he was and watched the different nuances of her smiles
for hours, remembering how her lips felt against his…but women fell for Luke fast
and it wouldn’t do for any of them to form attachments that would only have to be
broken later.
He got up, not really knowing what to say before he covered the distance of the two
steps it would take to reach her. He’d lied to her, stolen her away from her home,
her family. She had every right to never forgive him. He would handle her anger with
the respect she deserved and he’d failed to give her. He ran his fingers through his
hair and paced before the fire. What the hell was the matter with him? She wasn’t
the first lass he’d found to his liking. So what that her winsome smile played on
his memory like a siren song beckoning him to follow her and win back her favor. Aye,
the curl of her lips, the tilt of her nose, and the depth in her gaze made him want
to take up painting to try to capture her image forever.
He stopped his pacing and almost laughed out loud at himself. What the hell was he
thinking? She was his enemy’s niece and he wasn’t some love-starved lackwit. He was
the son and grandson of two of the most fearsome warriors the three kingdoms had ever
known. He sure as hell wouldn’t grovel to a woman.
He was about to turn back to his previous place by the fire when Luke stopped him.
“Cousin, ye look perplexed and a bit agitated. What is it?”
Edmund’s gaze settled on Amelia when she finally looked up at him. What did he see
in those large sable depths? Hurt, insult, anger. He’d tricked her into liking him,
trusting him, giving a tiny piece of herself to him, and then he’d stomped on the
scant moments of happiness they shared. “Tell me the secret of making the lady smile.
I’ve tried to no avail.”
“There doesn’t seem to be a secret,” Luke told him. “The lady smiles quite easily.”
“Aye?” Edmund asked, finally sitting beside them. “The memory of it fades in its absence.”
“Ye kidnapped me, Mr. MacGregor,” she pointed out a bit tightly. “Before Lucan’s comforting
assurances that none of ye will harm Sarah or me, I sat frightened fer our lives.
Did ye expect smiles then?”
Edmund didn’t think reminding her that he’d already made the assurance would make
a difference. “Nae, of course not, Miss Bell. But now that ye’ve been properly comforted,
mayhap ye will grace me, as ye did last eve, with a smile.”
“Last eve, ye were someone else.”
Looking a bit uncomfortable that he may overhear something he didn’t need to know,
Luke leaned forward and addressed Edmund. “Let us return then to the topic that made
her smile, cousin, aye? We were speaking of Henry Purcell.”
“Ye have probably never heard of him,” Amelia said tersely. “He was an English composer
who, while including French and Italian elements in his music, became famous for his
distinctly English form of Baroque music.” She cut him a side glance accompanied by
a barely concealed smirk. “Fergive me. ’Tis careless of me to think ye know what Baroque
is. Shall I explain?”
Edmund smiled at her. “Let me think. Does it not originate from the Portuguese word barroco , meaning ‘malformed pearl’? Is it not also a style of composition in music that is
marked by expressive dissonance and elaborate ornamentation?”
She looked so bonny in the firelight, her lovely lips parted and her extraordinary
eyes large with stunned surprise and a wee bit of irritation. “That…that sounds correct.”
He hadn’t seen this side of her. He was pleased to find her spirited and saucy.
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