“I don’t think I have many of my sensibilities left.”
He shifted slightly back on the seat of the saddle. “Then swing your leg over and shift back here. You’re so slight it won’t be much of a squeeze.”
Awkwardly, she lifted her leg to straddle the horse. She started to scoot back but ran into the pommel. He wrapped an arm around her and lifted her, setting her securely in front of him.
Her back went incredibly stiff against his chest, the tips of her shoulder blades digging into his lower chest. She didn’t know what to do with her hands, they went to the curve of the leather pommel, then to her belly, then to clutch the cloak along her chest, then back to the pommel.
She found this awkward and not at all proper.
A smile found its way to his lips. Her reaction was oddly comforting.
Comforting until they started to move.
The sway of his horse, the extra effort it took his steed to suck each hoof out of the muck of the road, sent her backside rubbing against him in a way he wasn’t prepared for.
His arms about her sides clenched.
She riled his body—and why shouldn’t she? She was beautiful—he’d seen that since the first. Hell, his first instinct in that garden sent him to kissing her. Beautiful, but a mouse. A mouse trying to escape a teeth-gnashing terrier.
Except she wasn’t a mouse.
He knew she wasn’t. And every step she’d taken from Wolfbridge Castle had set her shoulders higher, her voice more confident.
Proud. Stubborn. Every step had taken her further from the mouse he’d agreed to take to Scotland and closer to the type of women he was accustomed to. Women that held no reserve. Women that spoke their minds. Women that carried their own weight.
He’d witnessed the transformation in Evalyn, even if she didn’t realize what she’d become.
And if he couldn’t get his thoughts under control, she was about to grow even more awkwardly uncomfortable when she realized what this rock in his trousers was that jutted into her delicious backside.
Lachlan looked around, searching for something, anything to take his mind off the maddening scent of her auburn hair just below his nose. It smelled of tangerines. How, after days traveling on the roads, her hair still smelled like citrus, he’d like to know.
His gaze studied the mostly empty oak trees that lined the west side of the road. A few leaves held to the branches, but not many. Cold was quick to the land this year.
He glanced down and caught sight of her left toes peeking out from under the hem of her skirt. He stifled a sigh. Now her feet would not only be bloody, but cold as well. He should have taken more care in what size those boots were.
His horse stumbled a step in the mud and his arms clasped tight around her. For one fleeting moment, he liked the feel of her secure in his arms, the length of her body pressing into his—oddly right.
Quite the opposite, Evalyn stiffened to steel-like consistency.
Her breath quickened and her head started to dart about.
It took him several seconds to realize what had happened. She was trapped.
He shifted the reins into his left hand and removed his right arm from her body, settling his hand on his knee. In position to catch her should his horse stumble again, but giving her a clear path of escape.
It only took a moment for her breathing to slow and for her shoulders to relax.
Lachlan stared down at the crown of her head. He didn’t even think she was aware of how her body had just reacted.
They reached the trail of his men and Lachlan sent his horse to the front of the line, setting his stallion into step with Domnall.
Domnall gave one appraising glance at the two of them, his weathered eyes pausing for a long moment on Evalyn’s bloody foot hanging past her skirt. He looked to Evalyn. “That can’t be comfortable, lass. Why did ye not speak up?”
She shook her head. “I told Lachlan it was fine. I was just about to pull my boots back on when Lachlan arrived to gather me. And gather me he did.”
“Those dinnae look fine, lass.”
“Bearable, then. It was bearable,” she said.
“Those dinnae look bearable, lass.”
Lachlan cleared his throat. “You have a better saddle for two, Domnall. Would you mind taking her on your horse? She could ride behind you.” He looked down at her head. “I think that is what she would prefer—yes, Evalyn?”
She glanced up at him, her eyes slightly squinting as she nodded.
Domnall’s look lifted to Lachlan, his left eyebrow lifting and curiosity ablaze in his clear blue eyes. “Aye. There be ample room on my saddle.” He moved forward and patted the leather behind him, a grin on his face. “Just as ye dinnae mind being downwind of the stench this travel has put on me ole bones.”
Evalyn chuckled. “I fear it is nothing compared to the stench of my own body.”
“Then hop over, lass.”
They stopped their horses and Lachlan grabbed her about the waist, lifting her as she threaded her right leg behind Domnall.
Safely in place, her skirts arranged to hang over her legs the best they could and her fingers lightly clutching the sides of Domnall’s overcoat, and Lachlan set his horse forth once more.
Not even four strides of his horse and he could breathe freely again. He hadn’t been prepared for his body to react to her like it did.
Loss of control. Loss of his center.
For those few minutes that she was trapped against his body, he had been unmoored, the sensation of her muscles alongside his stirring not only his loins, but also something in his gut.
Something he’d been ignoring for days.
Mistress. He had to remember his original plan for her. She would work in his kitchens. Become his mistress, if she was amicable to the thought.
That would flush the feel of her from his blood. He could have her and then be done with her. And though he wished her no harm personally, taking her as his mistress would still carry the weight of revenge against her stepfather.
His tongue curled against the roof of his mouth. The thought didn’t sit as well with him as it had days ago when it was the sole purpose for allowing her on this journey.
Lachlan could feel the curious stares from his men behind him. Curious stares that he’d have to answer to eventually. They all hated Lord Falsted the same as he did.
Five minutes passed with Domnall peppering Evalyn about her blisters—how many she’d counted, which ones had burst open, the ratio of pus to blood.
The man loved to talk about blood and pus.
He’d just tuned out Domnall’s jabbering when the blasted man chuckled to himself.
“Lach tell ye ‘bout his betrothed?” The note of mirth in Domnall’s words cut through the rampant thoughts flying about in Lachlan’s mind.
His gaze whipped to Domnall, his glare shooting arrows at his friend.
“Betrothed?” Evalyn looked to Lachlan, a smile frozen on her face.
“I’m to marry in a month.” Lachlan’s gaze didn’t shift from Domnall. The ass was smirking.
“She’s a beautiful one, that lass,” Domnall said.
Lachlan exhaled a long sigh. “Yes, and as vapid as they come.”
“Vapid?” Evalyn’s eyebrows drew together.
“The girl can’t hold two thoughts in her head at once.”
Domnall scoffed. “Says the man that hasn’t said more than four words to her.”
Evalyn looked up to Domnall and then back to Lachlan. “Then why are you marrying her?”
“His grandfather, the marquess, deemed it so.” Domnall spoke up before Lachlan could answer. “And don’t listen to Lach on this one. Karta is a bonny lass from MacDougall lands. Fine Scottish bloodlines in her. And we need the union so we can expand our sheep stock.”
An odd smile breached her lips. “So you are to marry for sheep?”
Lachlan sighed, rubbing his hand across his eyes. He flung one more death glare at Domnall before looking to Evalyn.
“Much of the lands surrounding ours have been cleared away for grazing, and herders have been brought in from England to tend to the sheep flocks. It is where the funds to support the lands and the people currently are. Tenant farming is not enough to suffice any longer.”
Her look shifted to Domnall. “These are the clearings you were telling me about?”
“You told her about the Swallowford lands?” Lachlan’s words cut through the air.
Domnall met his look and then shrugged.
Lachlan’s look shifted to Evalyn. “Yes. The clearings. Some lands, like the ones north of ours, have been bought up by Englishmen and the farmers have been removed from their homes—entire glens hacked to barren wastelands.”
Her gold-green eyes softened. “Domnall said it has been harsh.”
“Yes. Cruel in some instances.” The muscles along his neck, across his jaw tightened into hard spasms. He had to take a breath to relax enough to continue. “But on Vinehill lands, we’re bringing the sheep and retraining our farmers into the trade so they can stay in place. We’re building factories for the processing of the wool. New roads for trade.”
Evalyn nodded. “So you need her family’s sheep?”
“We do. They have the finest sheep—Cheviot—in the land. If we can cross breed with their herds, improving our stock, the value of our flocks grows considerably. And the roads we are building lead to theirs and they can cut us off from the closest ports if they choose to. They also have investment funds for shared mills. A new one was to be built in the new year.”
“I understand.” A bright smile flashed across her face, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “That does make proper sense. It sounds like it will be a fruitful partnership for both families.”
“That is the thought behind it,” Lachlan said, unable to stifle the sigh that had welled in his chest. “Believe me, I’ve heard my grandfather laud the many ways it will behoove us.”
“But you are not happy with the match?”
He shrugged, looking ahead. “It was never supposed to be my responsibility to marry her.”
“No?” Her head tilted to the side. “Who—oh, your brother.”
His look snapped to her. “What do you know of my brother?”
“I…I…” Her eyes flickered to Domnall. Quick—so quick he almost missed it.
But he saw it.
“Bugger it, Domnall, can’t you keep your yapping trap shut, for devil’s sake?”
“It’s no secret, Lach, what happened to yer brother.” Domnall flicked his hand in the air. “The lass was due to find out soon enough.”
Lachlan’s lip sneered, his head shaking as he set his heels into his horse’s flanks. It sent him several strides in front of Domnall and Evalyn.
Exactly where he wanted to be.
Exactly where he needed to be.
{ Chapter 11 }
“You didn’t need to tell her every blasted last thing about me, Domnall.”
Lachlan shifted the reins in his hands as his horse stepped in place, but he didn’t bother to glance to his left where Domnall had sidled up to him, alone on his steed. He must have left Evalyn in camp.
The air clear and unusually cloudless, Lachlan kept his eyes forward, looking out from the ridge they were perched on to the rolling land unfurling before them for as far as the eye could see. Another day and they’d be past the Scottish border.
Domnall set his sights on the same vista, shifting his body on his saddle as he settled his left hand on his thigh. “We all lost Jacob, Lach. His death isn’t yers to own the suffering.”
That, Lachlan couldn’t deny. His brother had been the beacon that was going to lead the people, the Vinehill estate into the future. Vibrations of Jacob’s death still took the ground out from so many of the men and women of Vinehill lands.
“Aye.” He glared at Domnall out the corner of his eye. “But to tell her? You know who Evalyn is—who her stepfather is. Her of all people?”
A low chuckle fell from Domnall’s lips. “Ye still attempting to be hostile to the lass, Lach?”
“Shouldn’t we all be?”
“Ye tell me.” Domnall lifted his forefinger from his thigh and pointed it at Lachlan. “Ye were the one that picked her up when she trailed.”
“I’m not an ogre, Domnall.” Lachlan’s hand gripping his reins curled into a fist. “You’d have done the same after seeing her feet.”
“Aye. But I also would have owned the reason as to why I picked her up to help her.”
Lachlan twisted in his saddle, turning fully to Domnall. “Exactly what are you insinuating?”
Domnall shrugged. “Why’d ye want her to ride with me, Lach?”
“You saw how uncomfortable she was, did you not? She felt trapped with me. Aside from Rupe, she’s talked to you more than anyone in the camp so I thought her more comfortable with you.”
“I see.” Domnall nodded slowly, disbelief evident in the squint of his eyes. “Ye be concerned on her comfort now, do ye? And it widnae have anything to do with the fact that ye couldn’t take her body next to yers?”
Lachlan scoffed. “No.”
Domnall’s eyebrow cocked. “Yer trousers told a different tale when she moved away from ye and onto my horse.”
“I don’t know what you saw, Domnall, but you’d be wise to keep your hallucinations to yourself, lest we think you’ve gone mad.”
“Bugger it, Lach—ye think to talk out of an ass’s arse to me?”
Lachlan’s left hand flew up, palm to the sky. “What do you want me to say, Dom? Yes, her body was far too close to mine. Yes, I reacted in spite of myself. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a woman? Far, far too long. That is all that was. All you saw.”
Domnall’s wide frame lifted in a heavy sigh. “If ye say it’s so, it’s so.” He nodded, looking out to the rolling hills.
For long seconds, neither man moved, their focus on the distant land.
“Ye ken she don’t belong in either world, Lach?”
Lachlan’s gaze lifted to the branches of the trees above, then dropped to Domnall.
His friend’s focus stayed on the horizon. “She cannot go back to her kin. Yet she does not belong in the kitchens neither.” He looked at Lachlan. “Mrs. Fitzsimmons widnae let the lass in her domain for more than a day. And I don’t rightly ken if she’ll take to being yer mistress.”
Lachlan’s hand that had momentarily relaxed clutched back onto his reins. “What do you know of it?”
“I seen how ye look at her, Lach. I saw what I saw today. Ye been planning on bedding her since we left Wolfbridge.”
“So what of it?”
“A lass like that.” Domnall’s head shook. “T’would be sacrilege to let her fall for that course.”
“What are you telling me, Dom?”
“I’m just speaking the facts. She’s already ruined in the eyes of her kind. Leaving with us, the nights on the road did that.”
“So?”
“So from here on, she’ll be the one that suffers whatever happens next. Not her demon of a stepfather.”
“And?”
Domnall’s gaze shifted to his horse’s brown mane, then out to the landscape. “I’m telling ye that the men are already lining up to marry the lass, Lach.”
Lachlan’s head jerked back. “What?”
Domnall pinned him with assessing eyes. “Ye heard me.”
“Dom—”
“But her best chance is ye, Lach.”
“What bones are rattling about in your skull now, old man?”
“Her bones, cracked and broken if she doesna marry soon. Ye think a man like her father is going to let her just disappear?” Domnall shifted in his saddle, turning more fully to Lachlan. “No. A man like that sees the lass as his property. And I can guarantee that demon’s not the sort that lets his property be taken from him. It won’t be long ‘fore he puts together who she ran off with and he’ll be coming after her. He could already be on his way.”
; Lachlan nodded, taking Domnall’s assessment seriously. He’d had the exact same thought of Evalyn’s safety too many times over the last week.
But to marry her off?
The notion of it struck him, slicing through his chest with the precision of a Spanish Toledan steel rapier.
He tamped down the clenching of his gut and cleared his throat. “Any of the men would make Evalyn a fine husband.”
“Ye truly mean that?” Domnall leaned forward, setting himself in front of Lachlan’s gaze. “Ye can stand by and watch another man bed the lass? That be the real question, Lach.”
Lachlan’s head instantly started shaking, the thought of her naked under one of his men stinging even deeper. “I…I…”
Lachlan’s stuttered words of denial stopped, his head stilling.
How would it be to watch Evalyn walk off arm in arm with another man? To stand by as another man stripped off that impossibly long row of buttons along her spine?
Domnall snorted. “Yer lack of words tells volumes, Lach.” He looked out to the hills before them. “It sounds to my ear like ye’d best decide sooner rather than later what ye mean to do with the lass.”
“Your ear is made of tin, old man.”
Domnall smirked. “Not so old she wouldn’t make me a proper wife, as well.”
“You?”
He shrugged. “I’d put my hand in line, were she partial to it. She’s a bonny lass, strong for her thin bones, and the fire she gets in her eyes when we needle her would be particularly suited to the marital bed.”
Lachlan’s teeth clamped down, his molars grinding.
Damn that Domnall would make her a fine husband. Better than any other of the lot.
Better than him.
Domnall rubbed the long whiskers, some white, some brown, along his chin. “Above all that, yer grandfather won’t take kindly to Baron Falsted’s daughter on his land.”
“Stepdaughter.”
The Iron Earl Page 10
