The Virgin of Clan Sinclair Read Online Free Page B

shut and forced herself to take several deep, calming breaths. The musty air made her want to cough, but that was the last thing she could do. She had to remain undetected.
    She closed her eyes and tried to relax. Lying half on her side, she wasn’t at all comfortable. The compartment might be deep but it wasn’t wide. She had to draw her knees up until they were pressed against the front.
    Was this what it felt like to be in a coffin?
    She could almost hear the earth pressing down on the top, hear the wails of the mourners. Had Eudora felt the same?
    Don’t be foolish. When you’re dead, you’re dead. No one feels or hears anything. Or at least no one had come back from the dead with reports on what it was like.
    Would they place roses on her bier? She truly loved roses, especially Drumvagen roses. The rose garden Macrath had created for Virginia was only a few years old, but it was filled with old plants he’d acquired from as far away as France. Every spring they bloomed and scented the air for weeks and weeks.
    All she could smell now was dust.
    She wrinkled her nose when a sneeze threatened. That would never do. A sneeze would announce her presence as loudly as a shout. Here I am—trespasser!
    No, she would be better off sleeping. But if she did, she might miss when they arrived in Edinburgh and be trapped in a locked stable, only released when someone opened the bay doors days later. How would she ever survive without water and food?
    She couldn’t breathe.
    She had to calm down. None of what she imagined could come to pass. Very well, perhaps it could, but it wouldn’t. They would arrive in Edinburgh, the owner of the carriage would disembark. The coachman would be concerned about his horses, leading them away to their stalls. She would emerge from her hiding place, obtain a conveyance to Mairi’s house, and then her plan would begin in earnest.
    Mairi would read her manuscript, want to publish her book, and her future would be assured.
    Her mother wouldn’t be able to plan her marriage to a stranger. She wouldn’t be required to live a life she didn’t want. Instead, she would be just like Mairi, choosing her own destiny. She would write more stories about adventuresome women in the throes of lust. She might even experiment a little on her own to ensure she got all the details just right.
    She would become a lady of letters, someone to whom women would point in admiration. There she goes, Ellice Traylor. She wrote that scandalous book, you know. Have you read it?
    She could almost hear the guilty giggles now.
    Women would read her book in secret, their cheeks reddening. They would marvel at The Lusty Adventures of Lady Pamela and wonder if they, too, had the courage the heroine had demonstrated.
    Would her book incite others to explore the world with more adventure?
    For that matter, would the book inspire her?
    Why else would she be hiding in a stranger’s carriage? Lady Pamela would have done exactly this. In addition, her heroine would have discarded her bustle in the same manner.
    Or perhaps she would have simply seduced the owner of the carriage and he would have gladly given her passage to Edinburgh in exchange for a little tumble on the leather seat.
    Her face warmed as she thought of such an adventure taking place only inches from her. The stranger would be overcome by her beauty, of course. He would undress her slowly, each garment removed with a reverent air. He would kiss each area he unveiled, the curve of her neck into her shoulder, the skin above her shift.
    He would touch her breasts, bend to kiss each nipple while excitement raced through her.
    She was brought back to herself by voices.
    Lifting her head, she tried to make out their conversation but couldn’t. To her surprise, however, they were moving, the carriage lurching as it started.
    She lifted the seat up to discover that the carriage was empty.
    They turned, the sharp curve throwing her shoulder against the compartment. She bit