Taken by Angeline Fortin (great books of all time TXT) 📗

Scarlett caught her lip between her teeth and James stifled a moan at the sight.  “In front of everyone?  Really?  I’m sure there is someone better to entertain everyone.”

“Oh, no,” Aleizia protested, leaping up to catch Scarlett’s hand.  “You are the best storyteller I’ve heard in a long while.  I’ve never heard such a tale before and with songs to mark each moment.  It’s simply wonderful.  You must share.”

Aileen nodded in agreement still Scarlett hesitated.  “I told you I can’t remember all the words to the songs.”

“No matter, whatever you can do.  Right, Laird?”

“Aye, lass,” he said softly, his brogue rolling lazily.  “I am verra keen to see more of what ye hae to offer.”

16

James ran the pad of his thumb absently across his bottom lip as he watched his bonny captive’s expressive face as she told her tale.

Her performance showed James a side of his captive he hadn’t seen before.  A side that was light-hearted, lively.  Also one that was more amicable than a skin of whiskey could make her.  Personable and approachable rather than hostile and sardonic.  This new facet of her character held him spellbound. Confound it, she was a perplexing woman, prickly one moment, engaging with his sisters the next. Giving him a glimpse into a side of her he hadn’t imagined existed.

Igniting a spark within him that had long lain dormant as well.  He could hardly keep his mind on the convoluted tale of scarecrows, metal men and talking lions, she was such a vision in the firelight.  The rough linen gown of the morning was gone in favor of one far more becoming.  Though without lavish adornment, the bright blue of the velvet gown seemed to set her uncovered hair on fire by contrast.

And ah, those slender ankles!  At least she’d been shod in a jeweled slipper rather than shite this time.

“As thin and tall as she is, without womanly hair or ample bosom, she should look like a lad,” Rhys said quietly at his side.

It wasn’t a question rather than a statement of fact.  And fact it was, James couldn’t deny Rhys’ observation.  The most desirable ladies of the court were petite and plump, though hidden beneath stylish headdresses, their hair would be long.  Their bosoms and arse amply fleshed to warm a man’s body and plump thighs to cradle his hips.

Scarlett Thomas had none of those assets.  She was extremely tall and painfully thin to the point of emaciation, her collarbones clearly outlined.  Her wrists were as thin as a birds.  Aye, she should look like a lad.

But she did not.

Nay, she was lovely indeed.  Her delicate bone structure only accentuated by the heavy gown she wore.  Her flawless skin looked as soft as velvet and as pale as fresh cream as if the sun or the elements had never touched her.  So frail he could almost see the veins, blood beneath her skin.  Not a callous on her fingers.

Her figure might seem to some boyish or wraith-like, but he saw her as long and elegant.  Though it seemed as though she might break in a strong wind, her curves were not masculine and her breasts, he knew well, were ample enough to fill his hand and rouse his loins.

Her head was nearly shorn, her auburn hair far shorter than he wore his own.  Yet it somehow it suited her, accentuating that fey look.

But most compelling, despite that aura of delicacy and purity, there was something about Scarlett Thomas – perhaps the constant upward turn of her lips that suggested knowing amusement, the warmth of her whiskey brown eyes or the way they pierced a man’s soul – that made a man wonder at what fire that might be kindled beneath.

It made him long to pin her against the castle wall and taste her honey lips once more.  To taste much more of her as well.

As wrong as he knew it was, he couldn’t stop imagining it.

Those bewitching eyes were warm with laughter now as she brought yet another rare smile to Aileen’s lips.  Aye, James knew the sight of her shouldn’t have been able to conjure an iota of warmth in a man’s loins but James would wager that the mere memory of a night with her would sear a man to the core for the rest of his days.

“Laird?”

“Aye, she should,” he agreed at last, keeping the rest of his thoughts to himself.

“She insists that she hasnae been ill,” Rhys continued though James was only giving him half an ear.  “Still it maun be true.  I ken nay other reason why any woman of her years would shear their hair as she has.  ‘Tis against God’s will.”

James nodded at that, though his eyes never left the lass in question as she once again began to skip across the hall while her small audience clapped along.  “Nay, the only other reason I’ve e’er known a woman to shave her head was because she took the ve…”

Rhys chuckled aloud at the sour expression on James’ face.  “Aye, and doesn’t that just turn yer stomach given the thoughts going through yer head?”

James turned to his brother with a scowl.  “What do ye ken of my thoughts, brother?”

“I ken they’re the same as any man here.”  With some surprise, James looked about to find the gaze of many men following Scarlett with more than amusement in their eyes.

His brother laughed some more but James dismissed the other men and considered Rhys’ speculation.  Short hair aside, Scarlett was quite clever and seemingly educated.  He knew she had been reading the King’s proclamation the previous night.  Not just scanning it curiously as Lady Ishbel did.  She looked at a man as if she were his equal and demanded respect for her opinions.  She met his gaze steadily without fuss or flirtation.  The lasses in Scotland might be bold but never had one leveled him a look like that.  As if