Never Seduce a Scot (The Montgomerys and Armstrongs #1)(13)

When they approached Aiden, he was frowning, and she knew a reprimand was forthcoming so she purposely didn’t look at him, because if she didn’t see what he was saying, then it didn’t really happen.

Perfectly logical in her mind.

Not that Aiden was ever mean. He was just less patient than Brodie. And he worried for her. If he had his way, she’d stay in the keep and never wander far. She’d never forget that it was he who’d found her in the ravine and that he’d feared the worst. That she had died.

She walked into the keep, flanked by her brothers, and she had to admit, it bolstered her courage because being between them, she knew she’d never come to harm.

As soon as she entered the hall, she came to an abrupt halt, her gaze automatically finding the man who commanded the most authority. It was obvious—at least to her—who the chieftain of the Montgomery clan was.

Power clung to him. It was an almost visible aura surrounding him.

She swallowed nervously and her palms grew damp. He was big. Really big. Taller than even her brothers. He was broad-shouldered, with an equally broad chest, more narrow at the waist, and his legs were solid masses of muscle, as big around as she was. Maybe her first impression was a wee bit exaggerated, but he looked like a mountain to her.

His medium brown hair was unruly. It hung to just below the base of his neck and curled at the ends, flipping this way and that. It was obvious he hadn’t a care when he had it shorn. Unlike his brothers—or at least she assumed the two men with him were his brothers—he wore his hair shorter.

One of the men with him was beautiful. It seemed odd to describe a man with such a feminine term—and there was nothing remotely feminine about him. But he hadn’t a single flaw that Eveline could see. His hair was as dark as a raven’s wing and his eyes were a vivid blue. It was a certainty that Eveline had never seen his equal when it came to fairness of face. It was hard to look away from him.

The man who stood on Graeme’s other side was nearly as large as his two brothers, and he had a lot of similarities to the really handsome brother. In fact, of the three, Graeme was probably the least blessed with a face that women would fawn over or that poets and bards would compose lyrics about, but still she was drawn over and over to Graeme’s features. The lines of his face. The strength in his deceptively casual pose.

Nay, he wasn’t beautiful like his brothers, but there was something even more arresting about his appearance. Something that intrigued her and drew her to look at him again and again.

To the unguarded eye he seemed relaxed, but to her he seemed tense and ready to strike at a moment’s notice

And then the most amazing thing happened. As she stood there gaping, nearly hidden behind her brothers, an odd vibration echoed through her ears.

It was faint—so faint that she thought perhaps she’d imagined it. But no, there it was again. A deep timbre—a voice! Low-pitched like some of the other rare sounds she was able to hear, though until now she’d never been certain that they were real. She’d thought they were only memories of sounds she’d heard before her world had gone silent.

She pushed around her brothers so she could more squarely see the room, and she searched for the source of that sound. That beautiful sound.

As soon as she made her presence known, the others looked her way, and it was then she saw that Graeme’s lips were moving. It was him she was hearing!

Uncaring of how forward or discourteous she might appear, she rushed forward, eager to be closer, wanting more of this delicious sensation in her ears.

But his lips stopped moving the moment she halted in front of him. They turned down into a frown as he stared back at her, almost as if he found her lacking.

Color suffused her cheeks and she lowered her gaze, suddenly shamed. Of course he’d find her lacking. He would have heard the stories and here she came boldly rushing forward, not even refreshed or appropriately dressed to greet her prospective husband. He must think her extremely disrespectful.

She took a step back, her hands shaking at her sides, and then she chanced another glance up at him, hoping that he would speak again, even if it was to voice his displeasure. She craved that sensation in her ears, something to break the endless, suffocating silence she lived in.

Graeme stared down at the tiny slip of a lass in front of him, taking in her heightened color and the sudden shame that had crept into her eyes.

Christ’s bones, but the lass was beautiful. Breathtakingly beautiful. He hadn’t imagined—how could he have?—that his intended bride would be such a bonnie lass.

She was tiny, almost fragile in appearance. He could likely break her bones with a simple squeeze. Her hair was like a wash of sunshine, only a little paler. Honey blond with the bluest eyes he’d ever seen on a woman. They reminded him a lot of Bowen’s eyes, eyes he’d inherited from their mother. And they were fringed by dark lashes, long, making her eyes seem even larger against her small face.

He’d expected a … child. Perhaps even someone who resembled a child. This was no girl barely on the cusp of womanhood. She was a woman full grown with gently curved hips and a bosom that, although not overly large, was well beyond the initial budding of a girl in her youth.

He had to remind himself that she wasn’t … normal. Or at least she was not as a normal woman should be. He still wasn’t sure the extent or even the nature of her condition. There was much he needed to know.