by Gill, Tamara
“Can ye ride?” he asked, stopping to stare at her.
Sophie frowned, not liking his tone or the fact that just because they had been poor did not mean they could not ride a horse. Which, in truth, neither she nor Stephen could when Louise had first married the marquess, but Luke had put an end to that and taught them both very well.
“The marquess taught me. I’m sure I’ll be able to keep up.” She raised her brow at him and he turned his back to her, yelling out orders to a nearby stable hand to saddle her mount.
Sophie stepped back and kept out of everyone’s way as they readied the horses. Her mare was a pretty brown and had the sweetest eyes. She glanced at the laird, watching as he busied himself with his horse, the corded muscles on his arms visible even under his shirt. He wasn’t wearing his kilt today. Instead he was wearing a shirt, greatcoat, tan trews and boots.
Heat prickled her skin as her eyes took their fill of him. She’d never seen such a handsome man before, certainly in London the gentlemen whom Louise had introduced her to were nothing like this Scottish one.
The men in London seemed like boys compared to this man.
“Are ye ready, lass?”
She jumped at his curt question, meeting his gaze. One eyebrow was raised and she nodded, trying to ignore the fact that he’d caught her staring at his person.
“Of course.” A stableman led her mare up to her and, using the mounting block beside the stall door, hoisted herself up into the leather saddle.
The laird didn’t wait for her, simply pushed his horse into a trot, leaving her to scramble behind to catch up. It was little use, as soon as his larger, more powerful mount made it outside, he pushed him into a canter and Sophie pulled up her mare, watching him.
What was he doing? Was he taking her for a ride to see some tenant farms or being a total ass and leaving her behind to get lost?
She pushed her mount into a walk. If he did not want her to come with him he only need say. Did the man have no manners? She rode for a few minutes on the grounds near the estate and never far enough that she could not see the house through the trees.
The sound of thumping hooves echoed in the woods and she continued on, wanting to ignore the Scottish buffoon since he found it so very easy to ignore her.
He appeared through the trees, his brow furrowed in a deep scowl. “What are ye doing, lass? Ye’re supposed to be following me.”
Sophie walked her mare over to his, stopping before him. “You took off so fast that I wasn’t quick enough to see where you went. If you did not wish for me to accompany you, you only had to say. I would’ve been quite content to stay at the house.”
He rubbed his jaw, the action bringing her attention to his mouth. Damn it, she didn’t need to see how very lovely his mouth was, even when pulled into a disapproving frown.
“Ye said you could ride. Are ye a liar?”
Sophie sighed. “Oh no, I can ride, but I will not chase you like a little puppy. A gentleman would wait for his partner before taking off ahead of her as if the devil himself was on his heels.”
He looked away from her, mumbling something she could not make out. Although the word devil and was chasing him she did hear. “I never said I was a gentleman.” His eyes snapped to hers. She swallowed, his penetrating stare doing odd things to her belly.
“I have other obligations today other than the tenant farms. I dinna need to be held up by an Englishwoman who canna ride.”
Sophie glared. How dare he? “I think I shall return to the house. I do not wish to intrude on your time and be a burden.” She swallowed hard the lump in her throat at his rudeness. What was wrong with the man? That he didn’t like her was obvious and the thought of staying another night under his roof wasn’t to be borne.
He pointed into the trees. “The house is that way. Good day to ye, Miss Grant.”
She didn’t bother to reply, simply turned her horse back toward the house and left. On her return to the stables she spied her coachman. “Peter, any word on the wheel and when it will be ready? I do wish to leave here as soon as possible.”
Her coachman doffed his cap. “Yes, Miss Grant. The wheel will be no more than five days away. We’ll be on our way soon enough.”
“Thank you,” she said, starting back toward the house. She made her room, slumping onto her bed. Gretel came in, bustling toward her.
“What are you doing back so soon? I thought you were out on a ride with the laird?”
The reminder made her fist her hands and punch the bed on either side of her. “The man is an oaf. He left me behind and then tried to say that I couldn’t ride and keep up.” She sat up, staring at nothing in particular. “We cannot leave soon enough. I fear our appearance here at his house is not what he wished.”
Gretel came and stood before her, taking her hand. “It’ll be alright, Miss Sophie. You know that Miss Mackintosh welcomes you here, and so you are her guest. Just ignore the laird. Like you said,” Gretel remarked, going over to the fire and throwing on a couple of peat logs on to burn. “We’ll be gone soon and all of the time here will be quickly forgotten.”
If only he were that easy to forget. With his striking profile, his muscular frame and a face that would make even Lord Byron jealous it would not be an easy feat. To ignore his barbs and not react, a trait she was known to do, would not be the easiest thing in the world.
Sophie had always gotten along well with most people, so for the laird to be so very prickly left her discombobulated. “I think I’m going to have to talk to the laird to ensure our stay here is not against his will. It’s his home, after all. I would hate to intrude.”
“I’m sure he’ll be back from the tenant farms soon. He spends most of the afternoons in the study downstairs.”
Sophie glanced at Gretel, who busied herself cleaning up her combs and brushes on her dressing table. “How do you know that about the laird?” Something akin to jealousy shot through her at the thought of her friend knowing more about the man than she did. Why it would bother her so? She had not one clue and she didn’t want to delve into those particulars right at this moment.
“Oh, the housekeeper Mrs. Kenny said. Like clockwork apparently the laird arrives at his study and doesn’t leave until late in the afternoon, just in time to prepare for dinner.”
Relief flowed through her that Gretel wasn’t watching his every move. She shuffled off the bed, disgusted at her own thoughts. Gretel may be her servant, but she was also her friend. “I’m going to go for a walk about the house. Explore a little. I shall not be long.”
Sophie walked into the corridor and started toward the passageway that led to the staircase. The house was enormous and she couldn’t help but wonder that when the laird’s sister married and left, what he would do with all this space.
But then she supposed, he too would be married and possibly filling the rooms with children.
She strolled through the smaller drawing room and into a little antechamber that overlooked the front yard. The sound of horses’ hooves pulled her gaze to the window and she watched as the laird jumped down from his mount, handing his horse to a waiting stableman.
His long, purposeful strides to the house kept her attention on him and heat pricked her skin at the sight. She lifted her gaze to look out over the grounds, vexed at her own stupidity.
She was attracted to him. That was what was wrong with her. Even with his coarseness and overpowering ways, there was something about him that drew her to him.
Sophie had not thought she was the type of woman who enjoyed rakes, but here she was…enjoying this one quite a lot. Or at least, enjoying the view of him, not so much when he opened his mouth.
Moving away from the window, she made her way through an upstairs sitting room, past a stairway that went up in the tower that sat central to the home. She passed another staircase leading downstairs and then came to a long passage. The walls were lined with family portraits and there was a long Aubusson runner that ran the length of the parquetry fl
oor.
Sophie strolled slowly, looking at each of the family portraits of the laird’s ancestors. All of them looked stern, but there was something about their eyes that was kind. The children always appeared happy and carefree and she couldn’t help but wonder if any of them were of the current Laird Mackintosh.
At the end of the passage stood another window and Sophie glanced outdoors, seeing that this vista was simply too perfect for words.
“What are ye doing in this part of the house?”
Sophie let out a little squeak at the stern question. She’d not heard him join her. She turned, glancing up at the highlander who embodied everything that every young debutante in London dreamed of.
Herself included. His hair was mussed from his ride, his clothing mud-splattered and damp, and she’d never seen a more handsome gentleman even when at the finest balls in London.
“I was looking around, my lord. I promise I won’t steal anything,” she said, a little more sternly that what was required. She pushed past him. She didn’t have to stay in this part of the house. There were still many places left to explore, including the tower. The laird could keep his little secluded wing all to himself.
He clasped her arm and then dropped it just as quickly. “I dinna mean to offend ye, lass. But ye shouldn’t be in this part of the house. ’Tis not seemly.”
She scoffed at his use of the word as she tried to stifle a smile. “Seemly?” At the voicing of the word she chuckled. “I do apologize. I shall leave. I would hate for your reputation to be ruined.”
“Are ye laughing at me?” he asked, stepping toward her.
The urge to flee rode hard on her heels, but she didn’t move. Something told her that if she did he would follow close on her heels. Not an unwelcome thought, unfortunately. Maybe she ought to run.
“A little, but I promise my amusement is only limited to your words, not anything else.”
“So ye dinna find me amusing? I thought after our morning that ye would think me nothing but an ass.”
Sophie did chuckle then, taking a breath and relaxing a little. “Oh, I did find you one of those, but if you show me about your tower I may forgive you your ungentlemanly manners.”
He stared at her a moment, and his dark, hooded eyes that ran over her person sent a delicious shiver across her skin. Sophie fought not to fidget at his inspection of her. Instead she held his gaze, not willing to let him know just how very nervous he made her.
“Very well, I’ll show ye the tower. Come,” he said, striding past her and back toward the staircase. Sophie took in his back, her gaze sliding over his bottom. Trews really were lovely fitting pants for men.
She hastened after him, his steps long and quick, eating up the distance to where the tower door sat open. He made the entrance and she followed. The tower was of stone construction and smelled a little musty. Goosebumps pricked on her skin at the temperature change and she followed him up the stone stairs that were worn down by hundreds of years of footsteps.
“How amazing to know that your ancestors all walked these very rooms, each and every step that we walk on they too have placed their feet.”
He nodded. “I know, it has always been a fascination with me too. The house is old, with many stories to tell.”
“If only it would speak,” she said, meeting his gaze.
He smiled, the first one she’d seen and the first one she had pulled forth. She sighed. How was the man more handsome than anyone she’d ever met before? And why did he have to live so very far away from her home in London? Far away from her family?
“Come, the view from the top is remarkable.”
The view from where Sophie stood was pretty impressive as well, she mused.
Chapter 5
Brice counted each stone step leading up to the top of the tower. Anything to keep himself distracted from the woman who followed him.
Miss Grant was a diversion that he didn’t need to endure right at the moment, not when he was on the cusp of offering marriage to Elspeth. A union between the Mackintosh and Brodie clans had been long desired—both their parents, may his rest in peace, had wanted the union. He could not ignore his father’s last dying wish.
Determined to ignore the unearthly pull he had toward the lass, he turned his mind onto his responsibilities for tomorrow. He had planned to go hunting, possibly even stay out at the lodge for a night or two. The idea of being away from home no longer tempted him as much as it should.
He could guess as to why.
“Just a few more steps and we’ll be at the top.” He cast a glance over his shoulder and her eyes flicked up to meet his. His step faltered and he cursed himself a fool for not concentrating. He’d break his neck soon and then where would he be?
“I’m glad. I do not think that I’ve climbed up a tower this steep before or with this many steps. How many are there?”
“One hundred and eighty if ye’re counting from the first floor up. The steepness of them makes it feel like there are more than there are.”
She chuckled and his skin prickled. He liked the sound of her genuine, throaty laugh. He’d like to hear it more often.
“I suppose it would.”
He came to a door at the top of the stairs and, pushing it, held it open for Miss Grant. She stepped past him, and he took the opportunity to admire her up close. He really needed to get a command on himself. She was not for him. She was for some London fop who lived in England and within an easy distance to her siblings. No English lass wanted to move to the highlands of Scotland. No sane one anyway.
The wind was strong this afternoon and a small smile played about his lips as he watched her battle with her hair and try to take in the view before them at the same time. It was a pointless exercise as the wind had already won this war.
Her golden locks whipped about her shoulders and face, giving her the air of country lass, without care or vanity. He liked what he saw.
“’Tis beautiful is it not?”
She glanced at him, nodding once. “It is the most beautiful country and I’m looking forward to seeing more of it.”
He looked out over the grounds, forcing himself to glance away from Sophie. “I suppose ye’re referring to yer friend ye’re visiting in the highlands. Where does she reside?”
“Jean resides near the Isle of Skye. I’ve not been there before, but she writes that it has the most delightful walks if one enjoys the sea and forest.”
“I’ve been to Skye. Ye’ll enjoy yer time there if it’s one of a recreational kind.” To live there and earn a living from farming was not an easy occupation. The life was hard, fickle, and the seasons, harsher farther north, made farming difficult. “Is Miss Jean in service?”
She frowned, stepping up to the turret and looking out over the courtyard below. “She works as a tutor, but her mother has been ill and so she’s been home for several months. Jean and I became friends at school in Sandbach.” Sophie turned to him, smiling. “She reminds me of you actually.”
He raised his brow, surprised at such a thing. “How so?” he found himself asking, wanting to know more about her and her life. And more importantly how a woman could be similar to him.
“First and foremost I suppose it’s the Scottish burr and then the hair, although yours is a darker shade of red, more burnt copper, Jean has fiery-red locks.” She stepped closer to him, reaching up to touch a strand, running it through her fingers.
He stared at her, having never been touched by a woman he hardly knew, at least in such a forward manner. Whether she knew what she was doing was improper or not, her touch caused his heart to beat loudly in his ears. There was little chance he’d remind her of her inappropriateness and have her move away.
An overwhelming urge to reach out and clasp her about her small waist and hoist her hard up against his body assailed him and he clamped his hands firmly at his sides. He would not allow temptation to sway him from what both the Mackintosh and Brodie clans desired. Elspeth would suit him well enough. Give
him the bairns both families needed to ensure the family lines continued. Keep everyone happy.
All except for him…
He pushed the thought aside. He would be happy enough, especially when he had a son or daughter. To hold his own bairns would make a marriage to a woman he respected and liked, but did not love, endurable.
She let go of his hair, dismissing him and walking toward the other side of the tower. “I’ve always been very jealous of people who have unusual hair colors. My hair is plain and common.”
“There is nothing common about ye.” The moment the words left his mouth he wanted to rip them back. And the delight that crossed her features at his words made him realize his mistake. He didn’t need to flatter her. He only ever need be polite. She would never be anything to him. His fate was sealed. That her sister had married into nobility also sealed her fate to a point. Even if she did not know it, her sister would expect her to marry well. Into the London sphere in which they circulated and to a man of equal standing to that of the marquess. She would not want her sister to marry beneath her.
“Thank you, my lord. How very nice of you to say.” She looked at him as if she could see his statement left him uneasy and found this amusing.
He gestured toward the view, wanting to change the subject. “If ye look here ye can see Loch Moy through the trees. We swim there when the weather permits.”
“I’ve not swam in years,” she said, her disappointed tone pulling at something behind his ribs. “Not since I was a child at least.”
He didn’t like the idea of her missing out on the simple things that made life worth living. Swimming, laughing, playing. All of those things that he’d adored as a child, and still partook in at times as an adult. “’Tis spring, mayhap we’ll get a day while ye’re here that’ll permit me to take ye down to the loch.”
“Really?” Her eyes brightened and she smiled. “I’d like that very much,” she said as she continued to take in the view. “Although I have nothing to wear.”
He cleared his throat, the imagery of her wearing very little or nothing at all while swimming tortured his mind. Miss Grant was a beautiful woman, with a body that would make Venus jealous. God save him, but a part of him had offered just so he could enjoy seeing her wet and at his mercy.
