The Scot's Angel - Keira Montclair Page 0,3

eyes, she caught Thorn staring at her. With a look of desire, something she’d seen many times cast toward her sister Dyna, Chrissa, or any number of other lasses in the keep.

But it had been a long time since anyone had looked at her that way. Cordell had admired her, yet it hadn’t made her feel like this. If anything, Cordell’s glances had made her slightly nervous. She’d been interested in him, aye, but if she were honest with herself, she’d only agreed to marry him because her first choice had seemed unapproachable. That had to mean something, did it not? Since then, a few others had attempted to get close to her, but none of them measured up to her warrior. She was convinced Thorn was the one meant for her.

She blushed, heat traveling from her head to her toes, but she dropped her gaze and finished her stew before glancing back at him. Her spirits dropped when she saw he’d already turned away.

Her mother asked, “Will you help me decorate the mantel and the staircase after supper, Claray?”

“Of course, Mama. Will you decorate our tower room, too?”

“Aye, but I’d like to finish the hall first. The aroma of the pine is my favorite part of decorating for Yule.”

“Just like Grandmama,” Claray said, feeling a press of longing for Alex and Maddie. Were they looking down on them now? “’Twas her favorite, too. It always makes me feel closer to her when we have the hall all decorated.”

Dyna came inside with her husband, brushing the leaves from her hair. “Are we in time for some stew?” Between them were their two lassies all wrapped in furs, Sylvi and Tora, both with big smiles and cherry-red noses from the cold.

“I hope so,” Derric said, “I’m starving. Sliding down the hill and climbing back up always makes me hungry. Is that not so, sweet Sylvi?” The toddler giggled as he flipped her into the air. “Papa, do it again.”

Dyna was the next eldest of Claray’s siblings, at eight and twenty. They had another sister, Astra, who was three and ten, and two brothers. Hagen was one and twenty, and Morgan was two and ten. Claray was the eldest of the five, and the only one who didn’t have Connor Grant as a father.

Although none in her family, or her clan, made her feel like an outsider, she could never forget that her father had abused her mother and held her captive…and he’d died at Connor Grant’s hands.

Once the meal was finished, Thorn got up and left, something she hadn’t expected. It soured her mood a wee bit, because her main reason for enjoying the decorating had just walked out on her.

Chastising herself for being so shallow, she got up to join her mother, who led her to a far table covered with pine boughs. Her mother came over and said, “You and Dyna can break up the boughs while the other lasses work on the ribbons and the baskets.”

Claray glanced at the others, not surprised to see her younger sister, Astra, with their cousins Chrissa, Maryell, and Merelda. The three of them had always carried on, and although their antics could be amusing, Claray didn’t fit in. She was too old. Even though Chrissa was recently married, there would be much giggling about lads, Chrissa had now deigned herself the matchmaker for the rest of the group.

Dyna joined her at the table and said, “Stop looking at them that way. If you wanted to, you’d fit in just fine. But you have to try.”

How she hated Dyna’s ability to always know what she was thinking. “Sometimes, aye. Sometimes, nay. You and Chrissa are now married, and I am the eldest and alone.”

“I know that, Claray,” Dyna said, grabbing a pine bough and using her dagger to cut it into smaller, more flexible pieces. “I’m so, so sorry you lost Cordell before you could marry, but he died five years ago. ’Tis time for you to start anew.”

Claray loved to watch the skill Dyna had with a dagger, cutting her targets as swiftly and exactly as any man. And yet, she had little interest in learning to fight. Her mother had told her it was probably because she’d seen so much fighting at a young age, but the thought of holding a dagger or a bow made her squeamish. Fortunately, neither her mother or father had pushed her, but she still watched others with sheer admiration. Why couldn’t she be more like