A Scottish Love Read Online Free Page A

her.
    Gordon was the one to glance in her direction, his expression conveying an understanding of her sudden distress. As if he knew how very much she hated depending on his kindness. Or as if he knew how close she was to crying.
    She was not about to weep in front of him.
    Keeping silent was difficult, but she managed it, nonetheless, while Fergus was helped into Gordon’s carriage. Gordon stood silent beside her on the steps, taller than she’d remembered, broader of shoulder. He smelled of some masculine scent—or was that just him?
    She wanted to lean closer. Instead, she wrapped her arms around her waist, waited patiently with a small and placid smile curving her lips.
    He pulled out a card from his inside vest pocket and handed it to her. Her hand curled around it, felt the warmth from his body, and stared down at his distinctive writing.
    Meet me today. I’m thinking of you. Missed you. Notes they’d shared over the years.
    “My address,” he said.
    “Yes.”
    He looked as if he wanted to say something further, but censored himself.
    “It’s chilly today,” he said.
    How many times had she been taught that one could never go wrong with a comment on the weather?
    His glance encompassed her attire from her dress to her shoes, an examination of the same ilk she’d given him only days ago. She hoped she’d been a tenth as annoying.
    “I’m not cold,” she said.
    She didn’t want him to show any concern, or act gentlemanly, or—God forbid—make her remember how kind he could be when he wanted.
    Just go away. Take Fergus with you and remember he was once your dearest friend.
    Soon enough, they were situated, and as Helen bid Fergus an emotional farewell, Shona stepped back, waving from a vantage point far enough away that no one could see the tears in her eyes.
    G ordon entered the carriage. The last time he and Fergus had traveled together had been on the return voyage from India, and the other man had been half out of his mind from fever.
    Even now, six months later, Fergus was too thin, too pale, but what was more disturbing than simple physical appearance was the fact that the enthusiasm, the excitement that used to dance in Fergus’s eyes was missing. In Sebastopol, he’d been the first among them to see the amusement in a situation. Even in India, he’d found something about which to comment in a droll fashion, garnering laughter from his men.
    Although he’d been an exemplary soldier, Fergus’s mouth had been a detriment to his advancement. How many times had Fergus made a remark about the stupidity of their generals, their orders, or even their mission? How many times had he wished Fergus would just shut up?
    Now, he would have preferred the Fergus from Sebastopol or the Siege of Lucknow. Not this quiet, too polite stranger.
    “I lied to your sister,” he said abruptly. “And to you.”
    Fergus turned his head, regarding him unsmilingly.
    “I’ve a house in town, but I’ve my mind set on going home,” he said. “It’s been too damn long since I’ve been there and I’m missing it.”
    He turned to face Fergus, surprised at the other man’s smile.
    “You’ve a choice,” he continued. “You can either go to the house, where my staff has been advised to welcome you, or you can come with me.”
    “To Invergaire Glen?”
    He nodded.
    “I choose home,” Fergus said. “It’s glad I am to be going there myself,” he added, his smile growing in scope, leaving Gordon with the distinct impression that his old friend was amused at a secret jest.
    T he carriage was hired; Shona hadn’t the money to maintain her own carriage and horses. Now she and Helen sat inside the vehicle, a small basket of provisions at their feet. The leather of the seats was cracked, the interior of the carriage musty-smelling, and the upholstery stained in places as if the roof had leaked.
    She hoped it was only water damage.
    After the driver deposited them at Gairloch, he would return to Inverness, then come