The Scottish Bride by Catherine Coulter Read Free Book Online Page B

don’t believe this—you’re afraid of me, aren’t you?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Mary Rose said slowly, looking up at him.
    â€œYou don’t know what? If you’re afraid of me?”
    â€œYes, that’s it. I don’t know you. I think you are probably too handsome for your own good. It must be difficult to be a good person looking the way you do. You’re a baron now, too. Perhaps that gives you all the permission you need to be wicked.”
    Tysen said, all stiff and formal, “My brother is an earl. He isn’t wicked. Well, he is, but not in the way you mean.”
    â€œYou mean to say that your brother would rescue a lass in distress and would not attempt to take advantage of her?”
    â€œYes, that’s exactly what I mean,” Tysen said. “His name is Douglas and he is a fine man.”
    â€œOne never knows about Englishmen,” Mary Rose said, sounding all sorts of doubtful. “You brag about your brother, but what about you, my lord?”
    She began rubbing her ankle now. “Oh, dear, I believe my ankle is swelling. This isn’t good at all.”
    â€œI am not too handsome for my own good,” Tysen said, and he began gently massaging her ankle for her. “I am just myself. It is my brothers who are handsome.” Where had that errant nonsense come from?
    â€œIf your brothers are more handsome than you, then I fear for the sanity of ladies everywhere.”
    He blew out his breath, then stopped cold. He looked at his hand, now lightly curved around her ankle. He jerked it away as if she’d burned him. “I’m sorry. That was badly done of me. No wonder you would question my character.”
    â€œNo,” she said, “not at all.”
    â€œWhatever that means,” he said.
    â€œPerhaps you made my ankle feel a bit better.”
    He said nothing, just frowned at his hand that had been not only touching her ankle but massaging it. He had to get himself together. He was a man of God, and he must consider her as one of his flock and help her, not think of her in the way a man would perhaps think of a woman. Yes, he would help her. “Now, if you will contrive to trust me, I will get you out of that ditch.”
    â€œIt’s not a ditch, it’s a crevice. There are a good dozen in this stretch. All the crofters call them sheep killers. Sheep are stupid, you see, and they just wander right up to them and step in and die.”
    â€œJust like you were so smart that you fell in.”
    She actually smiled up at him. “You do have a point there.”
    He blinked at her, then eased his hands beneath her arms and gently pulled her out. He leaned her against a rock and looked down at her. Her face was very white. She was obviously in pain. “If you will continue to trust me, I’ll try to get that boot off your foot before your ankle is so swelled I’ll have to cut it off.”
    He helped her sit atop a boulder, then stooped in front of her. It was difficult, but he finally managed to work the boot off her foot. He held that thick old boot, looking up at her to see if she was all right. She was crying, but she wasn’t making a sound. The tears just gathered and ran down her cheeks. She scrubbed her fisted hand over her cheeks and gulped.
    He said, “I’m sorry, but now it’s off.” He lightly touched his fingers to her ankle. It was appropriate that he do so. He said, more concerned now, “It feels hot and swollen. I fear you won’t be doing much walking for a while.”
    He rose and reached into his pocket for a handkerchief. He didn’t hand it to her, but rather dabbed it against her cheeks. Then he drew back, frowning. “It is odd of me,” he said, “and I did realize that quite clearly even as I patted your face. I suppose you could say that I am a private man, in the usual course of things, not given to talking so much with people I