Catherine wished she could make out the muffled words coming through the door. The voice of the Highlander was consistently the most distinct, though every now and then the pitch of the other’s voice reached her more clearly through the thick oak door. They were clearly arguing over something, and Catherine’s curiosity was aroused. Fanning her golden brown tresses over her shoulders, she waited, straining to hear what Malcolm was saying. Interestingly enough, the Highlander aroused more than just curiosity in her, and she had missed seeing his ruggedly handsome face.
Aye, she thought, the man definitely interested her. Last night, lying alone in the huge bed of her cold chamber, she had found herself considering the fact that she had never had a Scot. There was no reason why she should le
