A Noble Deception (The Douglas Clan) by Veronica Bale

was a miserable wench. Cold and uncaring towards anyone that was not noble, a condition caused by nearly a lifetime of disappointment thanks to Lord Kildrummond and his Lilian. Not even her uncommon beauty could thaw the lump of ice that was her heart.
    If being beautiful on the outside meant being bitter and unable to love on the inside, then Moira would much rather be beautiful where it mattered. It was why she shared such an affinity with her mare: neither was particularly attractive, but both knew what it meant to feel love in all its forms.
    Not that Moira knew love in all its forms; she certainly loved the MacCormacks well enough, each and every one of them. She loved them like they were her very own kin. And she enjoyed the company of the villagers. Most of them, anyway... the ones that didn’t frequent the castle and talk about her behind her back.
    Yes, though she was far from beautiful, Moira knew what it was to love her fellow man.
    As to the form of love which she had still yet to know—not love for her fellow man, but love for one man in particular—perhaps one day she would have the opportunity to learn. She was not against marriage, necessarily. If she could find a man whom she could love, and who could love her in return... then yes, she was quite confident she had the ability to love in that respect, too.
    Lachlan Ramsay, Viscount Strathcairn, however, was not that man!
    “ Come now, old girl, no use getting yerself all worked up,” Moira muttered. Beauty let out another snort, agreeing with her mistress.
    By the time the towers of Glendalough came into view, the sky had transformed, taking on a hue that was a blend of rose-and-gold, peppered with rich, rounded clouds of greyish-blue.
    “My Lady Moira,” called a familiar voice from the gate.
    Glancing up, Moira waved to Dougall MacFadyen, who leaned over the crenellated parapet of the tower gate. He peered down at her, a warm smile on his handsome face.
    There, she thought. Sir Dougall MacFadyen was a prime example of the co-existence of beauty both without and within. He would make some lady a fine, devoted husband one day.
    “Dougall, good evening,” she responded.
    “ I didna ken his Lordship were expecting ye. Shall I send word ye’ve arrived?”
    “N ay, thank ye. Actually, I have come to speak with the Viscount Strathcairn. Is he wi’in?”
    “Aye, he is.” Dougall had to raise his voice to be heard over the clatter of the wooden gate as it was raised to admit her. “I’ll fetch him.”
    “Dinna trouble yerself, I’ll find him.” Moira nudged Beauty with her heel and trotted the beast into the bailey. Reaching the main doors she hopped deftly down to the cobbled courtyard. Handing the reins to an awaiting ghillie, she stepped through to the inner corridor of the castle.
    “Where might I find Viscount Strathca irn?” she inquired of a passing servant, a village Douglas woman whom she knew.
    “Em ... I am no’ certain, Moira dearie—er, that is, my Lady. If he be no’ in the great hall, then ye might wish to try his chamber.”
    “ Dinna call me my Lady , or I’ll never speak to ye again,” she teased.
    “Cheeky lass ,” the woman responded affectionately.
    Taking the servant’s advice Moira proceeded to the great hall . At this time of day it was being set up for the evening meal, and the air was alive with the bustle of preparation.
    Lachlan wasn’t there. Moira muttered an un-ladylike curse. She’d been hoping to avoid his chamber. Though she may have made up her mind to marry the man, such an intimate space need not be shared prematurely.
    Reluctantly she set out for the keep, stopping once more to enquire exactly which chamber the Viscount Strathcairn was in. Finding it, she paused outside his closed door, and breathed deeply to settle her nerves. Then, raising her hand, she rapped decisively.
    The sound of shuffling feet from within seeped through the oaken door, but no one came to open it. Had she been heard?