| |
They rode at a moderately quick and steady pace. From the corner of his eye, Cyrus watched the poised and lovely lady riding beside him. He could not get over the fact that even though Elspeth had not been born into the aristocracy, she had no less grace than a marquess's daughter. Somehow, she had learned to present a façade of elegance and sophistication, even while riding a fidgety horse through the mud.
The gelding snorted and shook his head. He was certainly not adapting to the new rider.
Maybe Cyrus should get her off the wee beast, just to be safe.
Noticing a swiftly flowing burn ahead, he announced, "The horses need a drink."
The gelding danced about, and Cyrus feared he would fling Elspeth into the stream. After stopping, he dismounted, grabbed her horse's bridle and attempted to calm the fractious animal.
When the gelding settled down, Cyrus lifted Elspeth to the ground.
The horse flung his head and trotted forward a few paces, as if glad to have her off his back.
"Blasted beast." Cyrus was unsure how she would respond when he told her he was not allowing her back on the irascible creature.
He led the two horses to the stream to drink, then stepped back to stand beside her. The faint but tantalizing scent of her perfume reached him, so out of place here among the scents of bruised grass and peaty soil. The fragrance stirred his thoughts and his blood, reminding him of last night when he'd staggered into her bedchamber by mistake. Miraculously, no one had learned of it yet. 'Twas a hellishly enticing memory and he knew not why. Naught had happened but a brief conversation. Still, the memory of seeing her kneeling upon the bed... and wrapped in the blankets. Her gazing up at him through the darkness with complete trust as he'd helped her dissuade Fraser's misguided affections.
That gave him a warm and welcoming feeling. He relished it when people trusted him. He simply had not known he'd wanted such from a woman.
What tamped down his reaction was Elspeth's lost look.
Clearly, she was trying very hard to be strong and independent in the face of unpredictable circumstances. Of a certainty, she was out of her element, here in the countryside on the edge of the Highlands, traveling with men she hardly knew after surviving a carriage accident. Not to mention how someone had broken into her home, injured one of her staff and stolen from her.
Was being on her own a new situation for her? How long since her baron husband had passed? Regardless of Cyrus's curiosity, now was not the time to pry.
"What do you think of the horse?" he asked instead.
"He hates me," she blurted.
He barely controlled the urge to laugh. "And you are not fond of him either."
"'Tis true." She shrugged. "I haven't ridden much recently. I had no need to. I've always lived close to town and used my coach."
"Ned MacKenzie is likely the only person who's ever ridden that horse, and the wee beastie is not used to the scent of Parisian perfume," Cyrus said dryly.
Elspeth's brows shot upward. "Oh. Well, I'm not going to apologize for smelling pleasant."
Cyrus felt a grin tugging at his mouth but squelched it. She smelled far better than pleasant. Her fragrance was damn near intoxicating. Regardless of the temptation, he had to protect her.
"You'll ride with me," he said.
Her startled gaze shot to him. "Nay, 'tis not necessary. I can manage the horse."
Did she fear him? Why would she? She'd had no problem dancing with him the night before. Of course, she'd probably wanted to bludgeon him over the head when she'd awakened to find him in her chamber. But, in truth, he had been on his best behavior. Now, he was simply trying to protect her and get her home safely. He saw no reason that would frighten her.
"The fractious beastie is too dangerous." Ignoring her protest, along with the stark alarm in her eyes and her blanched face, he strode toward Fraser. "Give me your blanket."
Fraser grinned, then dug into his pack. "She could ride with me."
"Nay." Cyrus felt himself bristling. Surely Fraser did not still think he had a chance with her. She'd already rejected his advances. Or could it be that Cyrus was jealous of Fraser's devil-may-care manner? Such a thought galled him. "Goliath is larger," Cyrus added.
"Of course." Fraser smirked.
Cyrus ignored him. Taking the wool plaid blanket, he returned to his horse, fashioned a cushion behind his saddle and tied it in place with a leather strap.
"Truly, I'll be fine riding alone." Elspeth approached from behind.
He turned. "Nay, that horse could hurt you. He knows you're afraid of him. How long since you've ridden?"
Straightening her shoulders, she hesitated. "I know not exactly."
"Years?"
"Aye." Sheepishly, she glanced up at him beneath her long elegant lashes.
He had to do something quickly before that enticing look could bewitch and ensnare him.
"I'll help you mount." Without waiting for her response, he lifted her onto Goliath's back, then leapt on in front. "Hold fast."
"Aye, Chief." Elspeth mimicked a warrior clansman.
Lifting a brow, Cyrus glanced over his shoulder and gave her an unreadable look. Was he amused or annoyed? 'Twas difficult to tell, for his expression rarely shifted from stern. Although she had been pleasantly shocked by his smiles and laughter while he'd been dancing the previous night.
Having never ridden behind a man before, much less a tall Highlander on a massive horse, Elspeth had no inkling what to do. He'd said hold fast, aye, but hadn't explained how exactly. What was she supposed to grasp onto? She placed her hands tentatively at his trim waist on his thick metal-studded leather belt.
"Hang on with both hands, lest you be tossed to the ground." He dragged one of her hands farther around his waist.
Saints, but he was bossy and brusque!
She drew in courage, along with a deep breath of cool air and Cyrus's masculine scent, then clasped her hands in front, above his belt and scabbards. In the baldric, his sheathed, basket-hilt broadsword thumped gently against her thigh.
As they galloped forward, her heartbeat sped along faster than the hoof-beats around her. What was racing through her blood? Although she told herself it could be fear, she well knew 'twas excitement. She had never been on such an adventure.
She was unsure how she felt about the gorgeous Highlander riding in front of her... between her legs. Nay, she could not think such scandalous thoughts. Her face heated. How unladylike of her. Well, she was a fallen woman, but even so, she had never felt as wicked as she did at this moment.
Being a maker of clothing—or even if she hadn't been—she could not help but notice his belted plaid and bare knees once again. Clearly, he was proud of his heritage. Despite being an earl, he hadn't yet started dressing like his Lowland peers. As well, Cyrus's brothers and friends, including the Earl of Rebbinglen, also wore belted plaids.
Grey had dressed in Lowland trousers, as had Alexander, the Earl of Dalacroy. But she was quickly growing to appreciate these Highlanders' plaids. The vibrant colors inspired her creativity in dressmaking. What would Cyrus say if he knew she was imagining her own designs with plaid petticoats and bodices? Most of all, she was not opposed to seeing muscular calves all about her. And even a shocking glimpse or two of brawny thighs as the men mounted or dismounted.
Heavens, when had she started thinking like Rose? Mayhap the lick on the head had done it.
Slipping her hand inside her cowl, she ran her fingers over the sore lump. It was a bit more swollen than it had been earlier, but 'twas not terrible.
In addition, she could feel that her hair was a bedraggled mess of tangles. She'd hated for Cyrus to see it in such a state, but what did it matter? She was not interested in impressing him.
She looked upward at the somber clouds gathering thicker and lower overhead, while a misty rain hissed through the cool air. Cyrus did not seem to notice. She pulled her cowl tighter over her head to keep the light rain off her face. She prayed there would be no downpours and that they could reach her home before gloaming.
A sudden realization occurred to her. Since it would be late evening when they arrived, the men would have to stay the night at her manor house and return to Castle Rebbinglen in the morn.
No nobleman had graced her door since Alexander. Even before his death, it had been many months since he'd last visited. Darby Hall was no grand castle, but she loved her home and found it very comfortable. She did not care whether Cyrus was impressed by it or not. Her housekeeper and maids were meticulous. She was certain everything would be tidy and in order, despite the break-in and burglary. Most likely, the bedchambers Cyrus and Fraser would use were already clean. But she was certainly not accustomed to noblemen spending the night. She hoped Fraser didn't get any more ideas about seducing her.
***
WHEN NEXT THEY STOPPED to water the horses, Cyrus helped Elspeth to the ground and gave her a drink from his wineskin. He took note of her lush lips and slender throat as she swallowed. Her cheeks were pink from the brisk wind. Hellfire, how was it possible for her to grow more appealing each time he glanced at her? Maybe he truly should've allowed her to ride with Fraser. That way, he couldn't have felt her enticing, womanly curves against his back the entire journey.
Accepting the wineskin from her, he corked it. "Did you break your fast this morn?"
She licked a droplet of red wine off her lower lip. "Nay. I had no time for that."
He forced his gaze away from the tempting sight. "You must be starving. I'll see if Fraser or the men have any dried venison."
"'Tis not necessary. I'll be fine until I reach home."
"Nonsense. Let me see if I can find something." Cyrus strode away.
An amused gleam in his blue eyes, Fraser observed him as he approached.
Determined to ignore whatever Fraser intended to needle him about, Cyrus asked, "Do you have dried venison?"
"Nay. Is the lady hungry?"
Cyrus nodded. "She missed breaking her fast this morn."
A slight grin quirked his lips. "MacNeil or Norval may have some."
"Why are you looking at me thusly?"
"No reason." Fraser didn't bother hiding his smile.
"You find it amusing that the lady is hungry?"
"Of course not. What is amusing is the way you're coddling her and indulging her every whim."
"I'm doing no such thing." Annoyance twisted inside him. "I couldn't allow her to remain on Ned's horse. Could've thrown her and broken her neck."
"Aye, but 'tis clear you've developed a keen fondness for her."
Cyrus snorted, truly irritated now. "No more than for any other female."
Fraser raised a skeptical brow. "I've seen how you've been watching her."
"I'm helping her. I have no choice but to look at her. 'Twould be daft if I always looked over her head."
"Well then, when I was dancing with her last night, why did you keep glaring at me?"
Cyrus frowned. He hadn't done that, had he? "'Tis my normal expression."
"Usually, I would agree with you. But when I came back inside, you were dancing with her and smiling."
"Saints." Cyrus rolled his eyes. Fraser was the only one of his brothers who teased or challenged him in such a way. He didn't ken why he put up with it. "'Twas not her who caused me to smile. I'd forgotten how much I enjoyed dancing. It had been a long time. I would've smiled no matter who I was dancing with." 'Haps he had fought too many battles and not indulged enough in the frivolities of life.
"Oh, aye." Fraser chuckled, obviously unwilling to give up his assumption.
Incensed that he was right, Cyrus turned to stride away. "I'll ask MacNeil if he has any food."
Cyrus well knew he was serious about most everything. But because of this, Fraser could have an easier life. Of course, they often fought side by side and his brother was an excellent soldier. Fraser hadn't suffered any hardships that Cyrus was aware of, and he was glad.
He still saw Fraser as a lad in many ways, though he was in his mid-twenties. 'Haps he and Elspeth were around the same age, but that didn't mean Cyrus was going to allow his brother to dally with the lady. Cyrus would deal with him severely if he attempted it again. The only reason he couldn't confront him about propositioning Elspeth last night was that Fraser would ken Cyrus had been inside her chamber... a far more precarious position.
In the meantime, all they needed to do was take Elspeth home, then Cyrus, Fraser and their clansmen could leave.
***
CYRUS GUIDED HIS TIRED horse along the muddy road, glad MacNeil had given him some dried venison for Elspeth, so she could break her fast and not starve the whole of the day.
'Twas near gloaming and the rain was growing heavier. Cyrus should, by all rights, be exhausted himself, but he wasn't. Elspeth's curves brushing against his back as she held on around his waist made his body feel as if was buzzing with energy. At times, he felt her head lean briefly against his upper back. 'Twas a sweet feeling he could never recall experiencing before. With a wry grin, he imagined her dropping off to sleep, then startling awake. He did not ken why he enjoyed that image, which was so different from the infernal heat simmering in his blood, awakening his lusts as no woman had done in years.
He felt her stiffen behind him and attempted to glance over his shoulder.
"Thank the saints!" She removed her hand from his waist and pointed. "'Tis Darby Hall, there."
"Your home?"
"Aye."
Cyrus eyed the dull gray stone wall in the distance which surrounded a brick manor house of around three stories. One taller tower stood near the center. 'Twas attractive, but he could tell the curtain wall was completely inadequate. Of course, 'twas the norm for manor houses because they were not meant to be fortified castles.
"We'll be glad to get out of this rain." He urged Goliath to a slightly faster pace.
Moments later, they drew up at the gatehouse and Cyrus called out, "Guards, open the gate!"
All was quiet while they waited. A cold prickle in his gut told him something wasn't right. The place appeared abandoned. Through the small, high window, he could see that no one occupied the gatehouse, unless he was lying upon the floor or hiding in a corner.
"I'm surprised the guards aren't responding," Elspeth said. "Reeves!"
All remained eerily silent within the walls, the pattering of rain the only sound.
"Where are they? I must dismount." Elspeth shifted as if to get down.
"Wait." Cyrus leapt to the ground and lifted her down from the horse.
She strode forward and called out Reeves name twice more, then peered through the gate. "I wonder if he left his post to eat supper. Or..." She turned quickly. "Was there another break-in? Mayhap he was injured, too."
"Do you normally have a guard on duty at all times?" Cyrus questioned.
"Of course."
He removed his broadsword and tapped the steel basket-hilt against the iron bars, creating a great clanging.
Finally, the portal of her manor house opened, and a man stuck his head out. "Who's there?" he called.
"Thank goodness. 'Tis my steward," Elspeth said.
"I've brought Lady Grey home!" Cyrus shouted to the man, who simply stood staring.
"Open the gate, Morrison!" Elspeth ordered. "And do hurry."
"Och! M'lady, I did not recognize you in your cowl. 'Tis a dreadful time to be out."
"'Tis why we would like to get inside," she muttered dryly.
Cyrus barely stifled a grin.
The steward hustled forward through the rain as fast as his short legs would carry his round body. The gate's iron lock rattled as he shoved the large key in and turned it. "Who has escorted you home, m'lady? And where is your coach?"
"This is the Earl of Stornmor, his brother, and their guards."
Morrison's eyes widened as his gaze swung up to Cyrus. He removed his dripping hat and bowed low. "M'laird, 'tis my great pleasure to meet you."
"Likewise." Cyrus was not too sure about the wee man. Could he be trusted?
Elspeth moved forward. "Why is Reeves not at his post? Was he injured also?"
Stepping aside, Morrison returned the hat to his head and widened the gate. Their party entered and the guards led the horses into the courtyard.
"I know not where Reeves is," Morrison finally answered, locking the gate again. "The rest of the guards, aside from Stillman, disappeared about an hour after I sent the missive." Morrison hastened through the rain toward the portico.
"Disappeared?" Elspeth halted, causing Cyrus to bump into her from behind.
He steadied her with hands on her slender upper arms.
"Where did they go?" she demanded.
"We should have this discussion inside," Cyrus advised. "You need to get out of the rain."
"Of course... 'tis only," she faltered. "I don't understand what is going on."
"We'll figure it out."
Morrison held the wide oak door open for them. Elspeth, Cyrus, Fraser and three guards entered the hall while three guards took the horses to the stables.
Cyrus glanced around the hall. Not as large as a castle great hall, but still an impressive room with dark oak beams overhead, rich tapestries, along with a long, polished table, chairs and benches. A fire burned in the hearth. Freshly cooked food scented the air, causing Cyrus's stomach to growl.
"The men were at their posts when the messenger left, m'lady," Morrison continued. "I came inside to see to Stillman. When I went out again, the guards were all gone. None of the servants noticed when they left. 'Twas as if they vanished into the dawn mist."