Courting an Angel by Patricia; Grasso

tale that goes along with the tavern?” Gordon asked, leaning close.
    Beneath his amused gaze, Rob inched away from the danger his disturbing nearness presented. His clean masculine scent reminded her of mountain heather and made her senses reel. She flicked him a skittish, sidelong glance.
    “What’ll it be, folks?” a voice beside the table asked loudly.
    Both Gordon and Rob looked up at the proprietor’s wife, a handsome middle-aged woman. Shrewd intelligence shone from her hazel eyes. And then recognition.
    “Robbie, ’tis a pleasure seein’ ya again,” the woman greeted her. “How’s yer ma? Nothin’s happened, has it?”
    Rob shook her head. “My parents enjoy the best of health, Mistress Jacques.”
    “I told ya before to call me Randi,” the woman chided her. “All my friends do, and I won’t take no for an answer.”
    “Verra well, Randi.” Rob smiled. “I’d like ye to meet Gordon Campbell, a friend from Scotland.”
    “A pleasure to meet ye,” Gordon said, inclining his head toward the older woman.
    She stared hard at him for a long moment. “Gawd, ya look familiar.”
    Rob giggled. “Gordon is Magnus Campbell’s son. Do ye remember Lord Magnus?”
    “Do I ever!” Randi burst out laughing. “Gawd, I ain’t washed me right hand in the twenty-five years since that rascal kissed it . . . I’ll fetch ya some vittles right away,” she added when she heard her husband calling her.
    “What was that aboot?” Gordon asked, a puzzled smile flirting with his lips.
    “A verra long time ago, my mother ran away from my father,” Rob told him. “Along the road to England, she met your father who escorted her to London where she found employment as a servin’ wench at this verra tavern. Your father’s mission was to invite the Earl of Lennox and his son. Lord Darnley, to the Scots court. Queen Mary was in search of a husband.”
    “I never knew aboot that,” Gordon said. “How excitin’ the times must’ve been with two bonny, rival queens rulin’ over virtually the same island kingdom.” He winked at her and dropped his voice to a husky whisper, adding, “See the heritage we share? I’d love to share ever so much more with ye.”
    Rob felt the hot blush rising upon her cheeks. His oh-so-sensual voice made her tingle all over — in secret places she’d never imagined could tingle.
    “Gawd, he’s as handsome as his father,” Mistress Jacques said, materializing with their stew and ale. “Grab him if ya can, Robbie-girl; I warrant ya’ll never shiver with the cold on those long, winter nights.”
    Embarrassed almost beyond bearing, Rob suffered the powerful urge to slip beneath the table to hide. Her stricken expression and her telltale blush told them exactly how she felt because both Gordon and Randi chuckled at her apparent discomfort.
    “Have ya taken him to see the queen’s menagerie?” Randi asked.
    Rob shook her head, too embarrassed to look either of them directly in the eye.
    “’Tis a startlin’ sight,” Randi said, winking at Gordon. “Them growlin’ lions always put me in the mood for a parcel of protection — if ya know what I mean.”
    As soon as the woman left them to continue her duties, Rob lifted her spoon and began to eat. She reached for a hunk of brown bread; but without any warning, the marquess snaked his hand out and grasped her left hand. Rob froze and wished she’d kept her gloves on. She despised anyone looking at her evil deformity.
    “Yer still wearin’ my weddin’ ring,” Gordon said, inspecting the scrolled band she now wore on her smallest finger. He planted a kiss on the stain and murmured, “Ye and No Other.”
    Rob felt her stomach lurch at his words. The marquess remembered the ring’s inscription. That boded ill for her future with Henry Talbot.
    “There’s a matter of importance we must discuss,” Rob said, giving him a nervous smile as she extracted her hand and hid it on her lap.
    “Discuss away, angel.”
    Rob