“Positive,” he said, gently taking her chin so he could inspect her face. “I’m more worried about you.”
“I must say, it hurt like the devil,” she confessed.
“Did you bite your tongue?”
“I did.”
“I wish I could kiss it and make it better.”
As he’d hoped, that won him a rueful smile. “I’m sure you do, but I think a cup of tea is what I need right now.”
“Or a wee dram?”
“That would probably burn too much. Just tea with lots of milk and sugar, please.”
He steered her to the chaise and fixed her tea while Angus bounced Tira on his lap, trying to distract her. Unfortunately, the bairn was still a bit fussy and was soon gnawing on her fingers. That was a sure sign that her gums were sore.
After he handed her a cup, Ainsley put it down without taking a sip and eyed Tira. “If I didn’t hurt her, why is she still fussing? Do you think we should send for the doctor?”
“It’s the teething, lass,” Angus said. “Don’t fash yourself. No need for a sawbones.”
“I’m not fashing myself, I’m simply—”
She broke off in consternation when the old man dipped a finger in his whisky glass and then flicked off the droplets. When he stuck his finger in Tira’s mouth and started massaging her little gums, Ainsley shot to her feet.
“What in heaven’s name are you doing?” she all but shrieked.
“Och, don’t blast our ears off, ye daft woman,” Angus said. “I’m massaging her gums, dinna ye ken?”
Ainsley practically levitated off the floor with outrage. “With whisky? You’re giving my daughter whisky ?”
“It was just to clean my finger,” Angus protested. “Not to get her drunk. Besides, she likes the taste.”
That seemed to be the case, as Tira gnawed on her grandfather’s finger with evident relief.
Royal took Ainsley’s hand and tried to tug her back down on the chaise. She resisted.
“A taste of whisky won’t harm her, love,” he said. “I remember my mother doing that with Braden, and I’m sure with the twins, as well.”
“Aye, that she did,” Angus said. “Works like a charm.”
“But . . . but they’re boys,” Ainsley exclaimed, clearly revolted. “Tira is a girl.”
Angus rolled his eyes. “That makes no bloody sense. But it doesna surprise me, coming from ye.”
“I don’t have to make sense to you, you grubby old goat,” Ainsley snapped. “I’m her mother.”
“Aye, and a goat would be a—”
“Angus, enough,” Royal ordered. He stood and took Ainsley’s hand. “Please sit down and try to relax. I promise you Tira is fine.”
She snatched her fingers from his loose hold. “Why do you always have to take his side? It’s incredibly annoying.”
“I don’t always take his side.” Royal was incredulous at how quickly the situation was spinning out of control. “But, to be fair, you did just call him an old goat, which isn’t very nice.”
The flash of hurt in her gaze told him that he’d just firmly inserted his own foot into his mouth.
“Men. You always stick together,” she said in a low, quivering voice. She then rushed from the room, slamming the door behind her.
Royal pressed a hard palm to his forehead, like his head was about to explode. He’d cocked that up as thoroughly as one possibly could.
“Dicked in the nob, that one is,” Angus said in a pious tone. “Let’s hope it skips a generation.”
“Ainsley is right,” he snapped. “Sometimes you are a grubby old goat.”
He plucked Tira from the old man’s arms and stalked after his wife.
Chapter Sixteen
Her horse trotted beside the stream that tumbled its way through the brushy glen and down to the loch. Ainsley gave the dainty beauty her head, since there was not a remote possibility of getting lost. The trail was clearly used on a regular basis and led straight back to the castle.
At the moment, though, getting lost seemed rather a good idea.
She closed her weary eyes against a hot wave of shame. What a ninny she’d been to act like a tragedy queen. If her husband didn’t cast her off after yet another episode of stupid family drama, it would be a miracle.
Ainsley’s eyes flew open when a grouse exploded from the underbrush with a squawk, spooking her horse. She corrected her seat and encouraged the animal forward with a bit of leg pressure. Within seconds, the mare settled back into a steady trot.
“Sorry, old girl.” She patted the animal’s neck. “I’ll send myself into the stream if I’m not careful.”
The stable master had been reluctant to let Ainsley ride out without a groom, skeptical of both her abilities and state of mind. She couldn’t blame poor Brody, since she’d rushed into the stables like an escapee from Bedlam, demanding he saddle a mount for her.
After she’d stormed away from that ridiculous scene in the drawing room, she’d gone straight to her bedroom, where she’d struggled into her riding boots and yanked a pelisse out of the tallboy. Grabbing the first pair of gloves that came to hand—kid dinner gloves, for God’s sake—she’d pelted down the back stairs and slipped out through the gardens to the stables. She had to avoid Royal, who would seek her out to either gently scold or even more gently appease her. The man had the patience of a saint. Sometimes it tempted her to dump a teapot over his head simply to make him lose his sangfroid.
She deserved that he lose his temper with her. Perhaps if he did, she could stop feeling so guilty, and finally come to terms with the overwhelming sense of failure that was her daily companion.
Once clear of the castle gatehouse, she’d sprung the horse into a gallop. For a few glorious minutes, the rush of speed had blasted away the fatigue, the fear, and the frustration that kept her awake, night after bloody night.
But even the speed and the bracing Highland air couldn’t keep the emotions at bay. As soon as she’d slowed to a canter her demons had all come rushing back. Fear that she was failing as a mother, fear that her secrets would be discovered, and fear that the entire edifice of her fragile, spun-glass life would come crashing down around her ears.
And then there was the awful sense of shame that she was utterly failing as a wife. Bad enough that she’d ruined her own life; she couldn’t ruin Royal’s, too. She was driving a wedge between him and much of his family, especially his grandfather, so it was no wonder most of the Kendricks disliked her. Most days, she didn’t like herself very much either.
“It’s my punishment for all those years I was a terrible snob,” she said to the mare as they plodded by the stream. “Fate has a way of throwing one’s mistakes in one’s face, doesn’t it?”
Her biggest challenge was Angus. Ainsley could almost hear the gods laughing over that. But as a Kendrick wife, she was now stuck with the old goat. She knew she had to find a way to make it work, since Royal and Tira loved him, and he loved them back with equal devotion.
“If it came down to it,” she said, “they’d probably pick Angus over me, and I’m not sure I could blame them. Although I am a great deal prettier, so there’s that in my favor.”
The horse snorted and flicked her ears, as if amused by Ainsley’s nonsense.
If she wasn’t so bloody tired, she might be amused herself. It had perhaps not been the best idea to spend the last two nights on a cot in the nursery. Everyone had thought she was silly, and they were probably right. Tira was fine. She was always fine, whether her mother was with her or not.
You should have spent those nights with Royal. Then you would have slept.
To be snuggled against his strong, sheltering body in a lovely warm bed . . . she wanted that so much. She wanted to be with him, but the very idea of conjugal relations frightened the wits out of her too.
“Face it, you’re a confounded mess,” she said as she nudged the mare toward a large outcropping of rocks.
The animal whickered, as if to comme
nt.
“I’m glad someone around here agrees with me.”
And, yes, she was muttering to herself. It was an old habit she’d picked up as a young girl who’d spent a great deal of time alone in the schoolroom, reading books or working on puzzles. The habit always helped sort things out when she was confused or worried, or just plain lonely.
She used one of the flat-topped rocks to assist her dismount, and then tied the mare to a sturdy bush before looking for a comfortable place to sit. A springy cushion of moss and grass on the slope of the stream did the trick, since it was a sheltered spot in the full warmth of the sun. Ainsley wrapped her skirts around her legs and settled onto moss that was surprisingly thick and almost as well padded as a cushion.
Sighing, she turned her face up to the gentle September sun. The quiet of the place settled over her, broken only by an occasional splash of the water and the call of a passing eagle. The water was quite low this time of year, meandering by her on its way to the loch. According to Royal, it ran fast and high in the spring, gorged with snowmelt off the Highland peaks. He’d delivered quite a lecture about the dangers of the stream, giving her strict orders to stay well back on the bank and to never go wading without him. He’d then promised to take her fishing at some point, although apparently now was not the best season to do so.
The poor man had been so earnest that Ainsley had refrained from telling him she’d rather eat haggis than splash about in icy cold water, much less go fishing, which required the handling of slimy worms and other nasty things.
But today, the stream was like a genial, self-effacing neighbor, the sort who tipped his hat with a smile and never made a fuss. And the vista before her was so dramatically beautiful, the craggy Highland peaks topped with a diamond-bright blue sky and some powder-puff clouds. If she were a different sort of person, she might have pulled off her boots and gone wading. Perhaps she and Tira could do that someday, when Royal was there to hold their daughter’s chubby little hands and keep her safe. Ainsley couldn’t help but smile at the image of a laughing toddler with dark, tumbled curls and a violet gaze, watched over by loving parents who had not a care in the world but for their child.
Ainsley finally gave in to the fatigue dragging at her bones and stretched out on the mossy bank. Her maid would scold to see her lying on the ground, but the rippling stream sounded like a lullaby and the sun was so warm on her face. She’d just close her eyes for a few moments and . . .
She jerked awake at the sound of a galloping horse, the ground vibrating beneath her with the pounding of hooves. When she heard a muffled shout, Ainsley stumbled clumsily to her feet in time to see a fast-approaching rider.
And to see her husband then sail over his stallion’s head and hit the ground with a horrifying thud.
“Royal,” she shrieked.
Ainsley pelted around the rocks, tripping over her skirts as she ran along the trail to reach him. Royal lay flat on his back, his gaze wide and blank. Was he even breathing? Her fear was now sheer panic.
“Oh, God,” she gasped, dropping to her knees. Tears flooded her eyes, making it almost impossible to see.
Impatiently, she swiped them away and pressed a hand to his chest. “Oh, God,” she blurted again. “Royal, can you hear me? Please be alive!”
When he sucked in a huge breath under her hand, she almost collapsed with relief.
“It hurts too much to be dead,” he managed in a tight voice.
“I thought you’d killed yourself.” She kept patting him on the chest, as if that would help, but she felt too dazed and shaky to think rationally.
Please, please don’t be injured.
He lay there for what seemed forever, staring straight up at the sky. His face was ghostly pale.
“I thought the same about you,” he finally replied. “When I saw you lying on the ground.”
When he turned his head to look at her, she realized that he was furious, his gaze glittering and sharp-edged, like shards of green glass.
“Why would you think that?” she asked.
“Because you were lying flat out on the ground like a corpse?”
“I was just taking a little nap.”
“On the ground? By the blasted river?”
She couldn’t help bristling at his tone. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Everything,” he snapped. “And how the devil was I supposed to know you were napping? You’re hardly the sort of person to lounge about in the dirt. Hell and damnation, Ainsley, I thought your horse had thrown you.”
“Royal, I’m truly sorry I gave you that impression, but did you not notice that my horse was tied to that bush? That would hardly be the case if she’d thrown me.”
He blinked a few times, then went back to glaring at her. “Why the hell did you ride off without a groom? I told you never to come down to the river by yourself. It’s too dangerous.”
By the time he finished, he was all but shouting. Under normal circumstances, she’d have shouted right back, but Royal’s fury obviously sprang from fear. And not just the garden-variety fear, either.
“I’m sorry I frightened you,” she said contritely. “But as you can see, I’m absolutely fine. My horse is fine, the river is fine—we’re all fine.”
“That’s not the point,” he ground out. “You shouldn’t be racketing about Arnprior lands by yourself. Anything could happen.”
“Really? Are there cutthroat brigands lurking about the glen that you failed to apprise me of? Or pirates sailing up from the loch?”
“Ainsley—”
She patted him again. “Dearest, I’m perfectly well. You, however, took a ghastly fall. Do you think you can get up now?”
He blew out a frustrated sigh. “I should make the attempt. But this is not the end of the discussion, I assure you.”
“You can scold me to your heart’s content when we get back to the castle.” She peered at his big stallion, now calmly grazing several yards away. He looked fine, too, thank goodness.
Royal had gone back to glaring at the sky, which was an improvement on glaring at her. But his complexion was positively bleached, and sweat beaded on his forehead.
“Can you stand if I help you?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
Alarm again spiked in her chest. Years ago, she’d seen a man brutally thrown from a horse. He’d been paralyzed from the waist down as a result. “Can you move your limbs?”
“That is not the problem,” he gritted out as he pushed himself into a sitting position.
Ainsley shifted back to give him room. “Then what is?”
“My leg bore the brunt of the fall.”
Her heart sank. “Your bad leg.”
“Of course my bad leg,” he barked.
“I can hear you,” she said, trying not to flinch. “You needn’t shout.”
Royal grimaced. “Sorry. But the damn thing feels like it’s on fire.”
Blast. This was all her fault. “I feel wretched about that, but can you try to get on your horse? Else I must go back to Kinglas to fetch help.”
“God, no. I won’t lie here like an idiot while you’re forced to ride home by yourself.”
Ainsley tactfully refrained from pointing out that she’d had no trouble riding out here and would have no trouble riding back.
“Then let me help you up,” she said, scrambling to her feet.
Her husband shot her an irritated glance but took her hand. It was a sure sign he needed assistance, since he hated appearing like an invalid.
Ainsley planted her feet but still staggered a bit as Royal awkwardly hauled himself to his feet with her help. She slipped under his arm to provide better support. “Don’t be afraid to lean on me. As you may have noticed, I’m not a frail miss.”
He didn’t answer, obviously too busy grinding his teeth in pain and trying to find his balance.
When he was finally steady on his feet, Royal glanced at his horse. “I hope poor Demetrius didn’t lame himself because of me.�
��
“He looks uninjured,” she said. “Grazing his head off, in fact.”
“No thanks to me, fool that I am.”
“Royal, none of this is your fault. It’s my fault for acting like a spoiled child. Well, Angus was awful too.”
“We can apportion blame once we get back to Kinglas. If , that is, I can actually manage to get on my horse, and if Demetrius didn’t lame himself.”
“If he did, you can ride my horse and I’ll walk Demetrius back to the castle. It’s not that far.”
“You are not walking back to the castle.”
She gave up trying to reason with him. “Can you stand on your own while I fetch Demetrius?”
When he gave her a curt nod, she cautiously withdrew her support. But he staggered, so she grabbed his arm.
“I’m fine,” he said. “Please just get the blasted horse.”
Repressing a sigh, she went to fetch the horse. Although Demetrius was a massive animal, he had beautiful manners. He patiently waited while she ran a quick hand over his flanks and checked his legs for obvious injuries. Finding none, she took the reins and led him to his master.
“He seems quite fit,” she said.
“Thank God for that, at least.”
Royal still looked dreadful. His complexion remained ashen and perspiration trickled down his temples, despite the cool breeze off the river. His normally clear eyes were hazed with pain, and she could only hope he didn’t keel over before she got him home.
“Royal, I’m so sorry you hurt yourself because of me.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine, Ainsley. Stop worrying.”
His stubborn refusal to even acknowledge that he needed help stirred her irritation. “You’re not fine. I’m sending for the surgeon as soon as we get home.”
“We’ll see.”
“Royal, this is not—”
“Would you please just help me check Demetrius? I’m not riding him until I’m sure he’s uninjured.”
“Your horse is not injured.”
“I need to check.”
Ainsley mentally gave her husband a good shake before taking his arm, supporting him as he limped his way around the horse. He ran his hands carefully over the animal’s legs and examined the hooves. By the time he finished, he truly looked ready to keel over.
The Highlander Who Protected Me (Clan Kendrick #1) Page 25
