Beloved Imposter by PATRICIA POTTER Read Free Book Online Page B

as a man of three and thirty years, a man who had commanded a ship for the last six of those years.
    He was hesitant to exert authority for that same reason. He had never wanted to be laird. He held this place for his older brother, nothing more.
    Rory retreated to his room and poured himself a tankard of wine from a jug on the table, then went to the window that overlooked the sea. It was low tide, and the rock where his ancestor chained his wife jutted upward from the beach. Waves washed around it, splashing water high into the air.
    He could only imagine the lady’s terror as she watched the waves rise slowly, as her body was buffeted and frozen by wind and icy spray.
    He brushed the images from his mind and thought about the woman in the chamber below him. It was the room his mother had used years ago before her death, the same room that Patrick’s and Lachlan’s mothers had inhabited.
    He had not taken the chamber next to it, the one which belonged to the laird. Although it had been prepared for him upon his arrival. He felt the chamber belonged to Patrick. Rory preferred the plain, stark chamber of his youth.
    He turned away from the window and took another sip of wine as he considered how to approach the lady, how to convince her that she had not been abducted at all.
    Felicia followed Moira. She tried to control the small tremors that racked her. They did not all come from the cold winds that had buffeted her all day.
    She had never been a timid person, but she was in the enemy’s lair, and she knew she had to keep her wits about her.
    She had expected a villain. According to her Campbell clansmen, every Maclean was a fearsome being. Corrupt, brutal, and untrustworthy. She had expected someone like Morneith, only younger.
    Instead, the Maclean had been courteous, apologetic, and solicitous. Even charming with his unexpected apologies. He’d appeared to be as confused by her kidnapping as she had been. Mary help her, but he was also as handsome a man as any she had seen.
    She kept telling herself he was an enemy, yet he had been nothing but kind. He was tall and well formed. His eyes were steel gray and his hair a dark brown, almost black. His face was hard, and his lips unsmiling, but he had a face that attracted attention. In that, he reminded her of Jamie.
    But while Jamie was open and frank, Rory Maclean seemed surrounded by shadows despite his outward courtesy. His eyes were guarded, and despite polite words, there had been no smile. His touch had been electric, and when he’d so unexpectedly lifted her, she’d felt a brief impression of confidence and strength. She’d even felt safe.
    She knew that for the falsity it was. He believed she was Janet Cameron, and it was to his advantage to be charming and protective. His charm would vanish quickly enough if he discovered he had a hated Campbell in his keep.
    Still, her skin remained warm where he had touched her, and an unfamiliar ache plagued her.
    Moira opened the door to a large chamber. The furnishings were magnificent, though covered with a film of dust. The bed was finer than hers at home, but it looked neglected, the covering slightly stained.
    Moira’s face fell. “I know it must no’ be as grand as that you know.”
    “It is fine,” Felicia assured her.
    Moira’s anxious face creased into a smile. ” ‘Tis a long time since we have had a lady here. We have needed a lady’s presence.” Her face fell as her gaze moved around the room. “We have had no lady or lord for too long.”
    Felicia looked at her. “But I just met…”
    “Lord Rory returned just a few days ago from years at sea. The old lord died nearly three years ago, and Lord Rory’s older brother, the heir…” Her voice trailed off.
    “His older brother?” Felicia prompted. She knew some of the story. And a Cameron that had maintained relations with both clans should know more. Yet her life might well depend on information tossed like crumbs to a hungry bird.
    “He went