Scandal's Bride
Authors: STEPHANIE LAURENS
Scandal's Bride
She'd never had a vision like it before. Eyesâblue, blue blue as the skies. . .
Chapter
   Â
1
   “Will there be anything else, sir?”An artful arrangement of sleek, nubile. . .
   Â
2
   Richard rose early the next morning. He shaved and dressed. . .
   Â
3
   A few minutes before eleven o'clock the next morning. . .
   Â
4
   That night, Catriona slept poorly, bedevilled by a vision. . .
   Â
5
   “AhâRichard?” Halfway across the front hall, Richard halted. . .
   Â
6
   Two minutes later, Catriona stood in the shadows before Richard's door. . .
   Â
7
   Richard woke the next morning,very slowly. An age seemed to pass. . .
   Â
8
   She had the touch of a goddess. He could feel her hands on him. . .
   Â
9
   Morning eventually dawned. Weary, wrung-out, Catriona. . .
   Â
10
   They were married by special license, granted by the Bishop of Perth.
   Â
11
   Richard woke the next morning as he had the past two. . .
   Â
12
   December rolled on, and winter tightened its grip on the vale.
   Â
13
   He wasn't, in fact, a patient man. Ever since receiving the information. . .
   Â
14
   “Oh, no!” Catriona focused on the curtains shielding her window. . .
   Â
15
   Despite the Ãre and its aftermath, or, perhaps, because of it. . .
   Â
16
   Catriona was late down to breakfast the next morning. . .
   Â
17
   “I am not an invalid!” Richard eyed the mushy food. . .
   Â
18
   The week passed slowly for Richard, conÃned to his bed. . .
   Â
19
   Catriona was not called upon to make any declaration. . .
   Â
20
   Together, Catriona and Richard reentered the front hall.
Epilogue
“And so there you have it.” Leaning back in a chair drawn up to the table. . .
Â
Click on a name listed below to expand their branch of the family tree.
December 1, 1819
Casphairn Manor, the Vale of Casphairn
Galloway Hills, Scotland
S
he'd never had a vision like it before.
Eyesâblue, blueâblue as the skies over Merrick's high head, blue as the cornflowers dotting the vale's fields. They were the eyes of a thinker, far-sighted yet focused.
Or the eyes of a warrior.
Catriona awoke, almost surprised to find herself alone. From the depths of her big bed, she scanned her familiar surrounds, the thick velvet curtains half shrouding the bed, their mates drawn tight across the windows beyond which the wind murmured, telling tales of the coming winter to any still awake. In the grate, embers gleamed, shedding a glow over polished wood, the soft sheen of the floor, the lighter hues of chair and dresser. It was deep night, the hour between one day and the next. All was reassuringly normal; nothing had changed.