by Maura Seger
Her natural sympathy for the lambs did not quite extinguish her admiration for the wolf. She could not still the treacherous hope that he would somehow manage to escape.
The mare she selected was a gentle mount singularly lacking in ambition. Katlin was confident she would have no trouble containing her. She would have enjoyed a good gallop on such a day, but under the circumstances would gladly do without it.
Mounted and ready, she bid farewell to John, declined his suggestion that he ought to accompany her and set off along the shore road to Wyndham. The last time she had made the journey had been under less than ideal conditions. Now she could more fully appreciate the wild beauty of the land as it rushed down to meet the sea.
Between the two, sited on a white-chalked hill, stood Wyndham. It was even larger and more beautiful than she remembered with its hundred windows glistening in the sun. The servants were out in force to greet the hunting party with plates of sustenance and large, fluted goblets of rum punch or, for the more daring, Holland gin.
Katlin declined both, preferring to keep a clear head in order to keep a good seat. She looked around for Charles, only to find him mounted, a goblet in his hand, laughing at some sally from Melissa. She had, as promised, dressed more sensibly, if one dismissed the necessity of breathing. The jacket of her riding habit looked far too snugly fitted to allow for that function. Her waist was so thin it appeared liable to snap in a fair wind, and her complexion was fashionably, not to say inevitably, pale.
Katlin, who was slender by nature, felt stocky in comparison. She pushed that aside, knowing it was absurd, and turned to study the rest of the company.
And so she would have had not her eye fallen on their host. Angus came around from the stable yard on his favorite black stallion, who pranced and pawed the ground with undisguised eagerness. The other horses, recognizing his dominance, shied away. Steam blew from the stallion's nostrils as he tossed his silky mane. Angus bent over slightly and said a word that seemed to settle him somewhat. That done, he smiled at his guests.
"A fair day," he said.
"Best of its kind," Puck agreed. He was mounted on an eager roan whom the stallion eyed with unconcealed contempt. Sensibly, the roan kept his distance.
A servant approached with a tray but Angus waved it off. His eyes were on Katlin.
"I am glad you came," he said quietly.
To her credit, the gentle mare stood her ground at the stallion's approach. She trusted her mistress to keep her from harm.
"It would have been rude not to," Katlin said honestly. Black again, she thought, with no concessions at all to the increasingly popular hunting garb. His burnished skin gleamed in the sunlight. Beneath the dark, slashing brows, his blue eyes swept over her.
On an impulse, she asked, "Do you never wear the tartan?"
"Only on ceremonial occasions," he replied.
It was then that her eye fell to the gleaming silver scabbard hanging from his saddle. It was very old, she could tell that at a glance, and both shorter and wider than the fashionable foil dueling would require.
"A dirk?" she asked.
He nodded. "Both traditional and practical."
"You really do mean to kill him." She could not keep the sorrow from her voice.
Angus looked at her strangely. "If I happen to find him," he said as he turned his horse away and rode over to have a word with his hounds keeper.
Katlin followed him with her eyes. What had he meant by that? If he happened to find the wolf? But that was the whole purpose of the exercise. Surely, he didn't expect to fail.
If he did, the thought didn't seem to trouble him. He looked relaxed and in good humor as he bent to speak with the ruddy-complexioned fellow who held the leads for a dozen yapping, snapping dogs, all lusting to be on their way.
Katlin could not hear what was said. If she had been able to, she would have been more puzzled than ever.
"You're sure about this, sir?" the hounds keeper asked.
Angus smiled. "You don't think it's a good idea, Jonah?"
The older man shrugged. "Give the dogs a run, that's always sensible. But after the wolf? He comes down from the north every year, makes off with a few of the flock, and we don't see him again until the next winter. You've never felt the need to hunt him before. Why now?"
Angus was not at all surprised to be questioned by his servant. He had known Jonah all his life and respected his acumen above that of many a man of supposedly higher station. Still, there were times when discretion was called for.
"Let's just say I need the exercise," he replied. "Did you lay the drag?"
Jonah nodded. The wolf's winter den had been found not long before and a burlap sack left in it for several days. It was then removed and dragged over the ground to lay a trail the dogs would follow. But follow to what? Jonah would have liked to know. A drag was fine if the object was a merry chase and nothing more. It rarely yielded a kill.
"Fine," Angus said, "let's be off."
Jonah obligingly raised the horn that hung from a tasseled cord at his waist and gave a long blast. The horses, familiar with die sound, lifted their ears as the yapping of the dogs increased to a feverish pitch.
Several of the young lads in Jonah's employ hurried forward. The animals were led from the stable yard. When they were well away, the leads were released and they raced on ahead, nostrils distended as they fought to catch the scent Jonah had rubbed their muzzles in not long before.
They found it quickly enough and circled, tails wagging frantically, before the leader found the direction and darted off. The rest of the pack followed with the horses in quick pursuit.
"Tallyho!" Charles shouted as he dug his spurs into his mount and urged him forward. He was determined to take the lead but had presumed his host would make that difficult. Inexplicably, from the baron's point of view, Angus did not contest him for that honor. Instead he kept a firm hand on the stallion's reins and prevented him from getting too far ahead.
Never would it have occurred to Charles—or to any of the rest of the party—that the laird's behavior had a simple explanation: they were hunting the wolf. Angus Wyndham had another quarry in mind.
And there she was, just as he had suspected she would be, talking soothingly to the mare while holding her well back from the fray.
Angus smiled. He headed the stallion into a copse of trees out of sight of his guests. They surged ahead, oblivious to anything but their own blood lust. Within minutes, Katlin was left alone.
That suited her fine. She could enjoy a peaceful ride and join the others later with suitable apologies for her lack of skill. By the time she did, the whole bloody mess would be over and done with. Or better yet, the wolf would have escaped.
Feeling more cheerful than she had all morning, she guided the mare toward a narrow path that led westward, away from Wyndham. The path skirted a deep-fingered fjord that washed into the sea. A bank of white fluffy clouds was reflected in the clear blue water. The path tracked between stands of pine trees that scented the air. As she emerged into a sunlit clearing, Katlin halted the mare and breathed a deep sigh of contentment.
So far removed from London and the life she had always known, she felt deeply happy, as though some part of herself that she had ignored for many years was at last being nurtured. Alone with only the mare for company, she was not in the least lonely.
And yet, she thought, as she gazed at the blissful scene, she wouldn't have minded having someone to share such loveliness with. An image of Charles flitted through her mind. Without thought, she rejected it. But then another image surfaced, one she could not dismiss, and her heart beat more quickly.
Angus, kissing her on the cliffs in the early dawn's light and again, even more daringly, in the stone passageway beneath the towers that had stood proud sentinels over Wyndham land for generations. He had awakened her to knowledge of herself that she still didn't fully comprehend. When she thought of him, she felt weak, uncertain, taken out of herself and made part of
something far greater.
Charles never made her feel like that. Until she met Angus, she wouldn't have believed that any man could do so.
But she wasn't going to think about that now, absolutely not. She was going to enjoy herself. The mare whinnied her approval. Together, they continued toward the far side of the fjord.
There a small spring ran into a secluded pool. Katlin stopped to let the mare drink and looked around. The day had grown warm. Her riding habit felt heavier than usual, and oppressive. On an impulse, she slid from the mare's back and knelt to dip her hand in the water. It was tantalizingly cool.
Proper Miss Katlin Sinclair would never have considered what happened next. But propriety was going by the board as Katlin struggled to make Innishffarin her own. She might never have another opportunity like this. Once she was married to Charles—her stomach tightened at the thought—she would have to be the soul of decorum.
But for this brief, stolen time she could give free rein to the woman she felt stirring in her soul.
Hastily, before she could reconsider, Katlin stripped off her riding habit. In a camisole and drawers, both of thin muslin, she waded into the water. Great-aunt Margaret had, quite sensibly, insisted that Katlin learn to swim as a child. The skill had not deserted her. After the initial shock passed, she gave herself up to half-forgotten pleasures.
Floating on her back, she gazed up at the crystalline sky dotted with clouds. A smile curved her mouth as she remembered a childhood game. One of the clouds looked like a castle, she decided, and another could be thought to resemble a fish. She laughed at her own whimsy as she turned over again and dived cleanly under the water. For a time, she splashed happily, swimming across the pool. When she tired, she relaxed and floated. Her camisole and drawers were soaked through, making them diaphanous, but she didn't notice. There was no thought in her mind except the beautiful gift of the day.
Until she happened to glance toward the bank and realized she was no longer alone.
Shock roared through her. Straightening abruptly, she swallowed water and coughed. Sputtering, she stared at the man sitting at his ease, arms propped on his knees, watching her with unabashed enjoyment.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded.
Angus's smile was slow and lazy as he answered succinctly. "Hunting."
The one-word reply hung between them, redolent with meaning. Katlin closed her eyes for an instant, telling herself not to be a ninny, he had simply gotten separated from the rest of the party. She would make her apologies for going off on her own and explain that she did not require any assistance. He, in turn, would graciously leave.
Well, no, perhaps he wouldn't. If the look in his eyes was anything to judge by, he intended to stay. He shifted slightly, making himself more comfortable. His smile deepened.
Damn the man! He knew how he was making her feel and he went on doing it anyway. Moreover, he seemed to be enjoying every moment. It was unfair. Had she come upon him in similar circumstances, she would have removed herself forthwith. But even if she hadn't, he would have felt no embarrassment at being seen nearly nude. Or, she thought caustically, in the laird's case, probably entirely so.
Yet she was supposed to be confused, flustered and self-conscious, which described her first reaction perfectly. But now that she took full measure of the situation, other emotions were making themselves felt. Chief among them was anger matched by stubborn pride.
What had she to be ashamed about? She had done nothing wrong except perhaps a small slight of etiquette. It was perfectly respectable to enjoy herself with a swim in a secluded pond when she thought her privacy would be assured. But it was not, he was violating it, and she did not appreciate that for a moment.
"Go away," she said.
He laughed and shook his head. "I'm hot. I thought I'd go for a swim."
Angus was being very provocative and he knew it. The surprise of finding her in such a situation had not worn off. He still wasn't quite sure what to do about it, a difficult admission for a man to whom self-assurance was as much a part of his nature as breathing. Yet he was not without conscience.
What he was doing was wrong, he knew that. The problem was that he couldn't seem to stop himself. She was so damned beautiful, standing there dripping wet with her arms crossed protectively over her chest. But more than beauty was the spirit he saw in her eyes-proud, strong, indomitable, not so very different from himself.
A shock of recognition tore through him. Was that what lay behind his seeming uncontrollable desire for her? That she seemed to be the other part of himself, missing all these years without actually being missed until suddenly, without warning, he came face-to-face with the delectable Miss Katlin Sinclair?
To walk away from her, as propriety demanded, was to walk away from air and light, from the surge of blood within his veins and the very sense of life itself.
Impossible.
Instead, he reached down and, before he could think too clearly about what he was doing, yanked off his riding boots. Barefoot, he stood and removed his jacket. His shirt followed. Clad only in his breeches, he strode toward the water.
Katlin's eyes widened to the point where each ray of gold could be clearly seen. "What are you doing?" she demanded.
He shot her a glance of mock amazement. "Swimming. What does it look as if I'm doing?" Suiting his actions to his words, he dived cleanly into the pool.
Katlin could not take her eyes from him, although to her credit, she did try. He was so magnificently beautiful, lean and perfectly formed, his skin burnished, a fine dusting of dark hair trailing across his chest and down in a line to disappear below the waistband of his breeches. He-She broke off, shocked by the direction of her thoughts. She was supposed to be impressed by the cut of a man's frock coat, not by the way his powerful shoulders flexed and arched as he cut through the water. A man's ability at small talk was supposed to matter more than the tensile strength of ribbed muscles across his flat belly. Her response to him was primitive and stunningly powerful.
Deep within her, a portion of her body she had scarcely known she possessed suddenly flexed. She flushed and tore her gaze away, but it was too late; the image of his powerful body remained imprinted on her imagination. Too easily, she could picture him holding her, touching her, easing the damp muslin from her shoulders and breasts, and—
Enough! She would go mad if she continued to think this way. Swiftly, she turned toward the bank, intending to take advantage of his preoccupation while she still could. She would gather her clothes and leave. Later, when she was well away, she could find a secluded place to dress. But for the moment, there was no time to waste.
In point of fact, there was no time at all. It had ceased to exist the moment Katlin dipped the first toe into the pool, but she hadn't quite realized that yet. Which explained why she was so surprised when, just as she was about to leave the water, a hand closed gently but firmly around her ankle and drew her back in.
Chapter Fourteen
"Don't go," Angus said pleasantly. He tossed his head back to clear the slick ebony hair from his eyes. Showers of water struck her. He laughed and let go of her ankle but remained floating beside her. His smile was frank, his gaze steady. They might have been two friends who happened to encounter one another while strolling in the park.
The disparity between that and the reality of their circumstances struck Katlin. She did not even think to pull back when Angus reached out a hand, his fingers lightly brushing her arm, and said, "Unlike you, I prefer company."
Katlin stared at him. There was an endearingly boyish quality about him she had not seen before; it made him all the more dangerous.
"I can't," she said, her voice choked.
He seemed genuinely puzzled. "Why not?"
"Why not?" she repeated. "You know why not. This is... improper."
He sighed and looked at her regretfully. "Oh, that. No one will know except the two of us, and I promise I won't tell if you won't."
Tell wha
t? That was the question. It shone in her eyes.
"Just a swim," Angus said. He meant it. At that moment, he would have agreed to anything to keep her with him.
Katlin hesitated still, but the water was so tantalizing, not to mention the man, that after a moment she agreed. Cautiously, she slipped away from the bank. Angus followed.
Water sparkled in the sunlight as they swam. Slowly, Katlin's concerns slipped away. Angus kept a judicious distance between them and set himself to be charming with devastating effect. Before she realized it, she was laughing and smiling at him.
Abruptly, she stopped. Their eyes met. A gust of wind blew over the pool, rippling the smooth surface.
He came nearer, treading water as he gazed at her. Her eyes were wide and luminous. There, in the secluded, rock-carved pool surrounded by tall pines, they were apart from all the rest of the world. Nothing mattered, not Innishffarin or the Sinclairs or any other consideration.
"Sweetling," he murmured on a breath of sound as his large, bronzed hand reached out and tenderly cupped the back of her head. His fingers tangled in the honey-blond curls. She pressed back, resisting slightly, but even that slight rebellion faded as his legs twined with hers beneath the water.
Breath rushed from her. She raised her hands and placed them on his slick shoulders. Despite the cool water, his skin was luxuriantly warm. She trailed her fingertips over it, feeling the strength of bone and muscle beneath, the restrained power that emanated from him. Her body grew softer, more languorous as the reasons for resistance—sensible though they undoubtedly were—became lost in the clamoring passion that submerged all else.
How she wanted him. The need consumed her. He released her and she tilted her head back until she was gazing at the sky. It seemed a great distance away, as though she hovered at the very center of the world while all around her vast forces whirled and danced.
His hand slid around her waist. Gently, he drew her into the protective circle of his arms. At the same time, he bent his head and slowly, delicately licked a trail of water from her cheek.
