Virtue and Valor: Highland Heather Romancing a Scot Series by Collette Cameron Read Free Book Online Page A

duels. The Scot was a blight upon the earth.
    Voices echoed from the entrance.
    Glimpsing Sethwick and Isobel crossing the threshold, Yancy narrowed his eyes. Turning on his heel, he strode purposefully in their direction, his boots beating a harsh staccato upon the stone floor.
    Isobel’s rough attire, and what the garments suggested about her whereabouts, troubled him. As a War Office representative, he had a duty to speedily solve the clan crisis while ensuring everyone’s safety. Particularly, the well-being of strong-minded young misses capering about the countryside.
    Head bowed, she made straight for the stairs.
    “Hold there, Miss Ferguson.” Yancy quickened his pace.
    One foot on the bottom riser, she paused and swung her startled gaze his way. The closer he came, the larger her beautiful eyes grew. She ascended a couple of steps, sending her brother an alarmed look.
    “Thank you, Fairchild,” Sethwick said. “Please have luncheon delayed fifteen minutes. Isobel must change her gown.”
    “Very good, sir.” Fairchild disappeared down the passageway.
    Sethwick turned his attention to Yancy and raised a brow. “I know that expression. That’s your War-Secretary-about-to-issue-an-order glower.”
    “How astute of you.” Yancy forced his annoyance aside. “Until further notice, I would prefer no one”—he cast a sidelong glance at Isobel hovering on the stairs—“especially the women, leave the walls of the keep unaccompanied by at least one armed man. On second thought, make that two men.”
    “No.” Isobel gasped and whirled to face Yancy full on. “You cannot—”
    “ Aye . I’m in agreement.” His features thoughtful, Sethwick slowly nodded. “We need to discuss the situation after we dine. That’s the reason I sought you in the stables. I have information I believe you’ll find of particular interest.”
    He turned his attention to Isobel. “Shouldn’t you be changing? We’re late as it is.”
    “Yes, but . . .” She compressed her lips and clutched the folds of her cloak, obviously struggling for comportment.
    “Ewan, you are the laird.” Her color high, Isobel pointed at Yancy. “Are you going to allow him to dictate like that? Forbid us to leave the keep?”
    Although he stood several feet away, Yancy sensed the frustration radiating from her. He hadn’t seen this fiery streak in her before. Her faultless manners had kept this side well-hidden. He would bet his best French brandy he’d been right about her being outside the keep unaccompanied this morning. Why was she so upset she couldn’t leave without an escort?
    A nasty notion crashed into him.
    Did she have a lover?
    His stomach clenched almost as tightly as his fists. The urge to shake the truth from her—no, hunt down the man and pummel him—raged across Yancy’s reason. In his mind, he’d all but claimed her as his, as irrational as he knew that was.
    Who did she sneak out to meet?
    He surveyed her coarse garb again. A villager? Or, devil take it, one of the Highland travellers? Taking a controlled breath, he attempted to curb his anger.
    Sethwick needed to keep a closer eye on his sister. Perchance, Yancy would drop a hint into her brother’s ear.
    Sethwick approached the stairs. “Ramsbury is here in an official capacity at my behest. There are details regarding Lydia and the clan unrest you’re not aware of.”
    “And may I assume, because I am a woman, I’m not to be apprised of those unpleasant details?” Arms folded, Isobel glared at them, one toe tapping an angry cadence on the stair.
    “To protect my delicate sensibilities, of course. Correct?”
    Now she understands.
    Yancy allowed a pleased grin. “Precisely.”
    He enjoyed a lingering appraisal as she stood fuming. Her arms, pressed below her breasts, jammed the full mounds upward. He tore his gaze away from the tempting, and wholly distracting spectacle. “Women shouldn’t have to bother their lovely heads with politics, warfare, or clan