Angus had not expected her to be so frightened. Fear he had expected, but her terror was uncharacteristic of the intrepid Mhairi he vaguely recalled.
But then the reason was so evident that he felt a fool for forgetting. Aye, one look upon him when he was angered might make even the bold Mhairi faint. His quest had changed more than his character—it had destroyed his face.
In contrast, Mhairi was more lovely than he had ever expected she might become. She was a beauty of flaxen hair and emerald eyes, a daintily wrought woman yet with fulsome curves. Her flesh was tanned to a golden hue, a shade that made her hair seem like burnished gold. Her eyes were startlingly clear, of the particular green hue the sea could take on a summer’s day.
’Twas astonishing to Angus that it troubled him so
