The Lass Who Kissed a Frog by Lee, Caroline (bookreader txt) 📕

“Well, hullo there, little green friend.” The frog struggled for a moment, then froze. “That’s right. I’ll no’ hurt ye. I just wanted to see if I could still do it.”

She kept her voice down, though she knew no one was there to hear. Still, if a maid did happen to poke her head out one of the open windows, Vanessa didn’t want to become known as the most beautiful lady in the Highlands who also spoke to frogs.

But on the other hand…

Thinking about the way she’d joked with Bonnie earlier, Vanessa’s lips curled upward.

“Would ye be a better husband than a man, my little friend? Ye didnae fight me too hard. Ye would no’ bother me if I decided to go into town to spend some money. Ye would no’ complain overmuch about the dinner menu I chose, as long as ye had yer bug cocktail.” Chuckling, she lifted the animal until it was level with her nose. “Maybe I should kiss ye, just to see what would happen.”

No one was looking, and she was feeling nostalgic.

Vanessa puckered her lips softly, brought the frog closer—he only struggled once more—and brushed her lips across the top of his bumpy head.

Chuckling softly to herself, she held the frog out to peer at him. “See? That wasnae so bad, was it?”

She didn’t expect an answer, so when a voice came—deep and full of laughter—Vanessa jumped.

“Nay, milady. No’ at all.”

She screamed…and dropped the frog into the well.

Chapter 4

“Well, shite.”

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

“Ye should be! I cannae believe ye were so clumsy!”

“How was I supposed to know the damn thing would break if I knocked it off the table?”

“Broca! Grisel! Calm yourselves, please!”

“Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!”

“Deep breaths, Willa dear. All is not lost. Luckily, the ball didn’t shatter when poor, clumsy Grisel slapped it—”

“I’m no’ clumsy! Just enthusiastic! And look, Willa. It isnae broken, just…sputtery.”

“Sputtery?”

“See? The images are all there, just jumbled up.”

“Oh dear. Oh dear! How are we supposed to see Roland and Vanessa? My first assignment, and I cannae even follow them?”

“Grasmag t’mink stahp.”

“What? Oh, yes. Um…do ye think you might be able to fix it, Seonag? It is your crystal ball after all.”

“Whizzit fink.”

“Quite. Here you are. Try to fiddle with it, would you? In the meantime—take some deep breaths, Willa—does anyone have any suggestions? Yes, Broca?”

“I might have an idea…”

* * *

Roland couldn’t help it; he burst into laughter at her response.

Granted, he’d known it had been a little cruel to tease her like that, but really, what was he supposed to have done? He’d pushed open the garden gate to find Vanessa speaking in low tones to a frog she held at eye level. Then, for some odd reason, she’d kissed the thing, and had asked if it had been that bad.

Well, of course he had to reply to that. And when she’d screamed and tossed the poor frog into the well she was standing beside, it was exactly the response he had been hoping for.

Unfortunately, his deep laughter had her whirling around; the shock on her beautiful face melting into irritation when she saw him.

“That was ye? Who spoke?” she snapped, though he supposed it should’ve been obvious.

Roland allowed the gate to close behind him and walked into the garden, adding an exaggerated limp for good measure. “Aye, milady.” He knew he should be humbler in her presence, if he was hoping to pull off this deception, but he was still grinning broadly at the way she’d thought the frog was speaking to her.

But his words hadn’t been wrong: the kiss hadn’t been that bad, from the frog’s point of view, anyhow. Though it would’ve been even nicer had Roland been the one under those lips—

Nay. Remember yer purpose here.

Not to ruin her future, as Phin had warned, but to humiliate her and teach her a lesson.

Oh, like that’s any better.

His good humor dissipated as he sent an internal glower at his apparently guilty subconscious.

I’m doing this for her own good. She needs to learn her beauty doesnae make her a good person.

And his appearance today didn’t make him a bad person.

Although judging from the way she was scowling at him, she hadn’t learned that lesson yet.

For the occasion, he’d borrowed one of Lyon’s kilts, although he hadn’t told his older brother why he’d needed it. Once he’d donned it—and the oldest, roughest shirt in his collection—he’d actually gone out to the corral behind the stables, and while no one was looking, had rolled around in the dirt like a horse with an itch. As a result, the shirt was ripped in three places, his legs were filthy—who would’ve thought he’d be wandering around showing off his knees like some kind of barbarian?—and his affected limp was believable.

The tam he’d borrowed from the stablemaster hid his brown hair, and the mud he’d rubbed into it likely disguised him even further. And of course, a week’s worth of beard hid his jawline so effectively, even his valet had insisted he couldn’t recognize Roland.

But the pièce de resistance was the eyepatch he’d made after Phin’s suggestion. It covered his left eye and affected his depth perception terribly, but there was no way Vanessa would recognize him as the handsome and charming Viscount Blabloblal now.

As he hobbled closer, she ran her hands down the sides of her skirt in a nervous gesture he was sure she wouldn’t have made had she known who he really was. But from the equally nervous way she was eying him, she thought he was nothing more than a hurt beggar. And he’d do his best to make her continue to believe that, at least until he felt she’d learned her lesson.

“Forgive me, milady.” A man in his position—a poor farmer, or an actual beggar—might pull his cap off, but Roland couldn’t for fear she might recognize him. “I didnae mean to startle ye.”

“Aye, but ye did.” Her