Perfect Strangers (The Scots)

Aye, she was as much used to stares, and the occasional rude comments that accompanied them, as she was used to not showing a tra

ce of response to either.

Outwardly.

Inwardly, her reaction was another matter; she felt dismal, discouraged, and embarrassed by her looks, for she knew that was the reason the men stared. Not for the first time did she wonder why people insisted upon forming a first impression by appearance alone.

The men seemed not to be a very chatty bunch. When they did talk, their speech was thick and guttural, most of their words incomprehensible to Gabrielle.

Was her husband-to-be among this ragged-looking group? she wondered. The question had been circling her mind for a week, her curiosity intensifying by the day. Surely if Colin was here he would have made himself known to her. Wouldn't he?

Gabrielle sneezed and wiped her nose with the hem of her still-damp cloak. There was only one way to find out if Colin was indeed part of the group, she decided finally.

Gathering up her courage, she edged her horse into step alongside that of a large, redheaded man. Her nose wrinkled. The man smelled as though bathing was a ritual to be practiced but once a year, and then, only if forced!

"Excuse me," she said hopefully, "but would you please point out Colin Douglas to me?"

If the man heard her, he ignored her.

Gabrielle frowned, cleared her throat, and tried again. "I said, could you please tell me which of these men is Colin Douglas, my betrothed?"

Finally, the man turned his attention toward her.

Gabrielle swallowed hard. Perhaps she should not have bothered him? He didn't look pleased to be yanked so abruptly from whatever thoughts were traipsing through his mind.

His voice, when it came, was gravelly, thick and angrily tight. "Nach eil mi a'bruidhinn Beurla?" he muttered hotly under his breath in his native Gaelic. Louder, he said, "I dinny ken what ye be saying. If ye can't speak slow and plain, lass, dinny speak at all."

The man might have had trouble understanding her, but except for whatever he'd muttered in Gaelic, she understood the rest of what the man said all too clearly.

She scowled darkly at his dismissive tone as well as his words. Her own expression and tone hardened when she said, a bit more loudly and a bit more slowly, "I asked you where Colin Douglas is. Can you point him out to me?"

"Colin?" One shaggy red brow cocked high. Was it her imagination, or did Gabrielle see a glint of amusement flicker in his eyes? She was unsure; the emotion came and went too quickly for her to interpret it "Is that who ye be looking for? Colin?"

She nodded. Was the man daft? Who else would she be looking for, for heaven's sake?

While Gabrielle wasn't sure what sort of reaction the man would give her, the one he settled upon shocked her to the core.

A grin twitched at the corner of his thickly mustached lips. As she watched, he tipped back his shaggy red head and let loose a loud, deep, rumbling laugh that drew the attention of more than one of the riders nearby. They craned their necks, looking at the man with surprise. Hadn't they ever heard him laugh before?

Gabrielle gasped and winced at the booming racket. The man's mount seemed equally shocked. As though it was also unused to hearing laughter originating from its master, the horse whickered nervously and sidestepped in surprise.

She'd barely enough time to maneuver her own horse away before the two could collide. Pursing her lips, Gabrielle's frown deepened. "'Twas a simple question, sir. I fail to see what's so funny."

"Aye, lass, that I'm sure of," he said, barely suppressing the laughter that could still be heard rumbling in his thick, gruff voice. "Och! dinny look so worried. Ye'll be kenning it all soon enough, once we reach Brack—er, the keep. Hmmm, methinks by then, I'll still be the one who's laughing, whilst ye'll be scowling a fine muckle more than ye are now."

What an odd thing to say. Surely he was not crass enough to be inferring...?

Gabrielle felt a blush heat her cheeks. She thought of her size, of her plain features, and felt the familiar trickle of self-consciousness seep into her bloodstream.

With fingers that trembled only a bit, she used her free hand to fist the cloak more tightly beneath her chin. "Are you trying to say that my future husband will be disappointed when he sees the woman he's to marry?"

"Och! chan eil thu luath! I told ye, speak slowly. That accent of yers is thick, and I'm having the devil's own time understanding ye."

Gabrielle complied, but only because she was so anxious for an answer. "I asked if you think Colin will be disappointed in me."

"I'd not be worrying aboot that right now if I were ye. Truly, 'tis the least of yer concerns."

"I don't understand."