Her Highness and the Highlander: A Princess Brides Romance by Tracy Anne Warren Read Free Book Online Page A

morning sunshine, the room made pleasantly warm
     by the gently rising summer heat outside. Soon her lady’s maid would be along to chase
     her from her bed. Mercedes would then enjoy her usual breakfast of toast and fruit
     and tea while the other young woman bustled around the room laying out her clothes
     and preparing her bath. Once Mercedes was dressed and her belongings repacked, they
     would climb back into the coaches and resume their journey home.
    Resume their journey home…
    Mercedes’s eyes snapped wide, the spare surroundings of the inn bedchamber coming
     into sharp focus.
    So it hadn’t been a dream after all. Instead, it had been a nightmare from which she
     wished she could awake. Tears she hadn’t been able to shed before filled her eyes,
     sliding silently over her cheeks and chin as she realized that her maid would not
     be coming to attend her. She would never do so again because she was dead; they were
     all dead.
    A quick knock sounded at the door.
    She sat up with a jolt, as though startled by a gunshot.Before she had time to speak, the door opened and the inn’s serving maid entered bearing
     a well-laden tray.
    “I’ve brought yer breakfast,” the girl announced as she crossed to the table without
     bothering to glance Mercedes’s way. “Good Scottish oats and a pot of strong black
     tea. There’s milk too, if ye’ve a liking for it. Personally, I can’t abide having
     mae meal watered down, but then ye’re English, so I suppose it’s only tae be expected.”
    Mercedes opened her mouth to say that she was not English but just as quickly realized
     there was no point in attempting to explain. Instead, she lifted the sheet and used
     a corner to quietly wipe the dampness from her face. She would have preferred a handkerchief,
     but she had none at present. In point of fact, she no longer had any personal belongings
     to her name, not even the nightgown she was wearing.
    She looked for her robe where she had left it lying across the end of the bed, but
     it wasn’t there. Instead, she found the garment draped over the back of a nearby chair.
     How had it gotten there?
    Suddenly a fresh flood of memories rushed upon her and she gasped. Her gaze darted
     first to the floor and then to the bed’s spare pillow lying so innocently next to
     her own.
    The major’s bedding was gone, but not the slight, incriminating dent in the pillow.
     In her mind’s eye, his nocturnal visit seemed so much like an illusion, jumbled in
     among all her nightmares and lingering fears. Yet there lay the evidence, the head-shaped
     dip that clearly showed the reality of his having come to her room last night. She
     was certain if she lifted the pillow to her nose, she would be able to catch a hint
     of his heady masculine scent lingering on the linens—a sultry richness that had wrapped
     comfortingly around her as she’d finally dozed into a blissful sleep last night.
    Heat surged into her face and she raised her palms to cover her cheeks. She darted
     a look to the side, grateful when she saw that the serving maid was occupied drawing
     open the curtains, her back turned to the room.
    Heavens above, did I do what I think I did last night?
she mused as she lowered her hands to her lap and bowed her head. If she wasn’t misremembering,
     she had actually begged the major to stay with her—not once but twice, insisting the
     second time that he actually sleep with her in her bed.
    She had only a vague recollection of their last conversation, and then everything
     went blank—everything, that is, except for the unsettling memory of curling herself
     against him as sinuously as a cat, her head pressed to his chest, as she fell into
     a contented slumber.
    “Don’t blame me come morning.”
    From out of nowhere, his warning replayed itself in her head, the honeyed tones of
     his voice rounded with ill-suppressed laughter.
    And now here it was—morning. As for any apportionment of blame, she could hold