LORD OF DUNKEATHE Read Online Free Page B

which wasn't surprising. What was surprising was the way the pretty servant reacted. Instead of smiling flirtatiously, as she had with several other men, both noble and servants, she became wary, perhaps even frightened. She quickened her already brisk pace and hurried past Riona.
    The man's gaze followed the servant—until it met Riona's.
    It was like being pinned to the ground and studied at leisure. Never had she been subjected to such intense scrutiny, from anyone. Never had she been so taken aback and flustered by a man's look.
    She immediately averted her eyes. Yet in the next instant, she regretted her trepidation and commanded herself not to be so silly. Why shouldn't she meet his gaze squarely? It wasn't as if she were a servant or hireling that he had any power over.
    So she boldly raised her eyes to return his steadfast gaze, determined to keep looking at him until he looked away. Their gazes met, and held.
    He slowly raised one dark brow.
    Did he think he was going to make her look away with that unspoken interrogation? Did he think she would give him the victory in this strange little game? Never!
    She leisurely arched her own brow.
    His other dark brow rose.
    Once more, she mirrored his action.
    He slowly started to smile.
    So did she.
    Still keeping his gaze upon her, the man lowered his arms. Then he pushed himself off the wall and sauntered toward her.
    CHAPTER TWO
    HE WAS COMING TOWARD HER? By the saints, what was he going to say, or do? Maybe he was going to suggest... improprieties.
    Riona's breathing quickened as she told herself she'd ensure he understood that she was a lady of virtue and honour . She wasn't a servant to whom he could make insolent suggestions.
    And she shouldn't be blushing like an addle patted girl as he continued to stroll toward her with that leisurely yet purposeful stride.
    If she quit staring at him, perhaps he'd be satisfied and leave her alone.
    "You there!" a woman called out imperiously.
    The soldier halted and they both turned toward the wagon from whence the voice came.
    It sported a painted canvas covering that had an opening at the back like the flaps of a tent, now held apart by an apple-cheeked, middle-aged maidservant, her hair covered by a white scarf, her dress one of dark brown wool. Seated beside the maidservant was a pale young woman with blond hair wearing a gossamer veil of white silk kept in place by a thin gold coronet. Her neck was long and slender, and the square bodice of her dark green silk gown was embroidered with golden thread. As for her features, she would have been very beautiful, had her ruby-red lips not been drawn up into a disdainful sneer.
    "Yes, you," she said in a haughty drawl as she addressed the solider. "Come here."
    He did as he was ordered.
    The rich beauty raised a bejewelled hand. "Unload that," she commanded, gesturing at a nearby wagon containing several wooden chests and boxes. "Ask my father, Lord Chesleigh, where they should go. And see that you don't break anything, or I'll have you whipped."
    "As you wish, my lady," the soldier replied, his voice low and deep and as powerful as the rest of him.
    By his accent, he was not, and never had been, a peasant.
    Perhaps he was in charge of the garrison here, although why he'd stoop to such manual labour was a mystery.
    Riona continued to watch as he undid the rope across the back of the wagon that prevented the boxes and chests from falling out. One by one, he lifted the pieces of baggage and set them neatly on the cobblestones, his muscles bulging and his jerkin stretching
    across his broad back. Even when he was nearly finished, he'd barely broken a sweat.
    The older nobleman Uncle Fergus had suggested might be Sir Nicholas joined the young lady at the wagon.
    "Be careful with those," he unnecessarily ordered the soldier before he addressed the lady. "I must say I'm most disappointed with our host. He should be here to greet us."
    "It's just as well he's not, Father," she replied. "I'd