The Rogue: A Highland Guard Novella (The Highland Guard) Read online

Her mouth twitched again, and he knew she was fighting a smile. He suspected because he’d been scowling as he answered. “I should like to see it.”

  His scowl deepened. She had an uncanny way of making him feel defensive. “Perhaps you might try by saying something that was actually funny.”

  The words were out before he could stop them. It was a rude and ungallant thing to say. He was never rude and ungallant—especially to a young lady.

  But if he was worried about offending her, he should have known better.

  She looked over at him, clearly startled, and then did something extraordinary. She burst out into laughter. Deep, honest-to-God, joyous laughter. It was beautiful to hear—even more so than her singing the day before, which had conjured images of angels and other heavenly creatures.

  “I suppose I deserved that,” she said with her typical good-natured wryness. She tilted her head, studying him with an intensity that made him vaguely uncomfortable. “You should be forthcoming more often, my lord. It becomes you.”

  “I’ll try to remember that.” He gave her an odd look. He didn’t know what the hell to make of her, and it showed. “You are an unusual young woman, Lady Isabel.”

  Proving the truth of his comment, she beamed. “Thank you. I think that is the nicest thing you have ever said to me.”

  He hadn’t necessarily meant it as a compliment.

  She laughed again, demonstrating a disconcerting ability to read his thoughts. “Even if you hadn’t meant it as a compliment.” When he reflexively started to assure her otherwise, she stopped him. “No pretty protests, please. Do not ruin the good impression left by your honesty. Perhaps you can think of something else rude to say instead?”

  Her eyes sparkled with amusement. They were the prettiest shade of light blue—like the sun on a crystal clear spring day. A day much like today as a matter of fact.

  Randolph was pretty sure this was the oddest conversation he’d ever had. “Give me a minute or two. I’m sure you’ll make me think of something.”

  She laughed again. “Keep this up, my lord, and you will have me swooning at your feet.”

  I’d pay to see that.

  He didn’t realize he’d muttered it aloud until she gave a fresh burst of laughter. “Why, when there are so many willing to do so for free?”

  Their eyes met. Was she teasing him or laughing at him again? He couldn’t tell. That was part of the problem.

  Suspecting that if he tried to continue the conversation, she’d keep getting the last word, he did something rare and gave up.

  They rode for a few minutes in companionable silence until he heard her gasp.

  “Is that it?” she asked, pointing to the hill and cliffs that had just appeared before them.

  “Aye. The hill is known as Arthur’s Seat, and those oddly shaped columns of rock in the cliffs on the southwest side are Samson’s Ribs.”

  Her eyes lit with excitement, and it hit him with the force of a hammer. Low in his gut at first, then stirring rather hard below his belt.

  Christ, she should look like that all the time. Animated and full of excitement, she was about as far from serene as he could imagine. She was lovely… absolutely breathtaking.

  “They are magnificent! I’ve never seen cliffs shaped like that. And they are aptly named, indeed; the square sided columns look like ribs.”

  “Hexagonal,” he corrected automatically. “When you get up close you can see the six sides of the columns. There are similar rocks on the Isle of Staffa and along the coast of Northern Ireland.”

  “There are?” She was honestly amazed, and for the first time he felt as if he might have impressed her with something. He liked the feeling. He liked it a lot.

  “Can we get closer?” she asked.

  “If you’d like.”

  The words were barely out of his mouth before she snapped her reins and raced off ahead.

  Strangely caught up in her enthusiasm, he told his men to wait there for them and set up their meal while he rode after her.

  She was a good rider, he noticed, but that didn’t surprise him. She seemed the kind of woman who would be just as comfortable roaming the moors as she would be sitting on the dais in the Great Hall of some fine castle. There was a genuineness to her, a lack of pretense that made her seem grounded in whatever she seemed to be doing.

  She was already tying her reins to a tree when he caught up to her.

  He dismounted, tied up his own horse, and followed after her along the narrow path that circled the base of the rock.

  She seemed to dance through the ankle-high grass, still brown from winter, as she walked. If he wasn’t so acutely aware of the shapely hips, round bottom, and very womanly chest revealed quite splendidly in her form-fitting, green wool gown, he might have thought he was watching a child let out of doors for the first time after a long, cold winter.

  The thought made him smile, which he was still doing when she reached the furthermost curve and turned to look at him.

  She seemed startled. He could have sworn he heard a sharp intake of breath, and the pulse at her neck appeared to flutter a little faster.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  She blinked a few times and shook her head. “You’ve never smiled like that before.”

  He frowned. “Like what?”

  But she’d already turned from him to examine the rock face. She had her hand pressed against one of the flat surfaces when she turned back to him to ask, “How do you think it became shaped like this?”

  The sun had turned her hair to shimmering silver, her eyes to aquamarine, and seemed to bathe her features in a warm light. He was struck by the delicate lines of her small, straight nose, her softly pointed chin, her deftly curved cheeks and brow, her big, wide-set eyes, and her dainty bow-shaped mouth.

  “By the hand of God,” he answered, his voice oddly rough, not just thinking about the rocks.

  The answer didn’t seem to satisfy her. She skimmed her hand over the mostly dark gray with an occasional tinge of pink, finely grained rock surface. “It’s magnificent.”

  Could one be jealous of stone? Clearly the stone had impressed her—which was more than he could say for himself.

  He reached back through the recesses of his mind and pulled out a fact that had been buried a long time ago. “Pliny the Elder classified different kinds of rocks. He would have probably called this ‘tephrias’ as it appears volcanic in origin.” He frowned. “Or maybe ‘basanite,’ which is a specific type of volcanic rock used to carve ancient statues.”

  She was looking at him as if he’d grown a second head. His face started to feel hot, and if he didn’t know better, he would say that he was actually feeling self-conscious.

  “You’ve read Naturalis Historia?” she asked, obviously shocked.

  “You know Pliny?” he asked, equally so.

  “A little. Unfortunately, my brothers were more interested in learning about Sparta than they were natural philosophy.”

  He chuckled. “I was, too, but I’ve always been interested in architecture.” It was his passion. He could talk about it for hours. “The book on mineralogy includes information about stones for building.”

  Izzie hoped she didn’t look as surprised as she felt, but she suspected her expression matched her incredulity. First the smile—the real smile that nearly stole her breath—and now this? He liked architecture? Apparently, singing wasn’t the only anomaly of shared interests between them.

  “I know,” she said. “That’s why I wished to read it as well.”

  She wasn’t alone in her shock—or in her ability to mask it. He was just as surprised as she. “You are interested in architecture?”

  She shrugged, a little embarrassed. Her brothers teased her about her uncommon propensity for learning by telling her that if she wasn’t careful, they’d send her to a nunnery. But Randolph wasn’t her family. Would he understand the curiosity that took her in strange directions of study?

  “Nothing so for