Bride For A Knight Page 0,16

expansive hand. "Is she not fine?"

Jamie looked at her and drew a sharp breath, his world upending. Aveline Matheson was more than fine.

She was his faery.

And recognizing her almost stopped his heart. As did her perfume of violets and sun-washed summer meadows. A sweet, fresh scent that went to his head so quickly he'd swear it was making him drunk.

It also let him know what had bothered him upon entering Fairmaiden's hall. It'd been her scent.

He'd recognized it.

Jamie swallowed. Saints, he felt so light-headed the floor seemed to roll and dip beneath his feet, letting him feel almost as unsteady on his legs as the one time he'd had the misfortune to cross the Irish Sea.

Even worse, his birthday tunic, donned especially for his visit to Alan Mor, seemed to have grown even tighter. So uncomfortably tight, he was tempted to slip a relief-spending finger beneath his shirt's fancily embroidered neck opening. And all the while the Lady Aveline sat watching him, an unreadable expression on her beautiful face.

Her unblinking eyes the very sapphire shade he'd imagined. Not that it mattered whether she blinked or not.

He was surely blinking enough for the both of them. And, the saints pity him, the whole of his great, hulking body tingled beneath her steady gaze. Alan Mor grinned. "Well?"

"She is beyond lovely," Jamie managed, his heart thudding. "A vision."

He started to reach for her hand, but thought better of it and gave her a low bow instead.

He'd crushed more than one knightly bravo's fingers with the firm grip of his overlarge hand. His intended bride had the tiniest, most delicate-looking hands he'd ever seen.

Unthinkable should he forget himself and clasp hers too tightly. Nor was it wise to touch her silky smooth skin, however innocently. Not with that blue gaze locked on him and her bewitching scent of summer violets wafting so sweetly beneath his nose.

"Lady, you bedazzle me," he said, powerless but to speak the truth. Her lashes - gold-tipped as he'd suspected - fluttered in surprise. "And you, sir, should have allowed yourself time to catch your breath before coming here." She slid a glance at her father and her lips tightened ever so slightly. "My sorrow that we could not have met under more auspicious circumstances."

She stood then, placing her dainty fingers on Jamie's arm. "I am ever so sorry for your loss."

Jamie nodded, her sympathy warming him.

She stood proud before him, for all that she barely reached his shoulders and that the wildly flickering pulse at the hollow of her throat revealed the nervousness she strove so well to hide.

An edginess her father dismissed with a loud hrumph .

"'Fore God! An auspicious meeting!" He clapped a hand on her shoulder, pushing her back onto the trestle bench. "What more favorable way could the man begin his return home than coming here to meet you?"

To Jamie's astonishment, a flash of hot anger flared in her eyes and she lifted her chin, the stare she fixed on her da every bit as challenging as any foe he'd e'er faced down on a field of battle.

"Aside from some quiet time to mourn his brothers, some might say a more propitious beginning might have been to count the coin in those coffers you delivered to his sire," she declared, holding her father's gaze. "My marriage portion, you'll recall?"

Jamie arched a brow, her cheek secretly pleasing him.

Alan Mor laughed. "Ne'er you worry about Munro and his siller. That old he-devil e'er gets what's a-coming to him and he cares far more about the sweet grass in our grazing lands than what's in those strongboxes."

Jamie looked from his intended bride to her father and back again. He cleared his throat. "If several large, iron-bound chests in my da's bedchamber are meant, I dinna believe he's opened them."

"Hah! Just what I meant!" Alan Mor hooted another laugh. "The man has other worries these days and that's why I'm of a mind to help him turn his thoughts elsewhere."

The words spoken, he thrust a hand beneath his plaid, fumbling inside its folds until he produced a small leather pouch.

"Let no one say I'm no' letting this alliance cost me," he announced, slapping the pouch onto the table with a flourish. "I sent clear to Inverness for these, had them fashioned by the most skilled goldsmith known to do business in that den of robbers and money-pinchers."

The Lady Aveline turned scarlet.

Jamie eyed the small leather pouch, suspicion beating through him. Alan Mor turned a pop-eyed stare on them