They emerged from the wood, and Isobel immediately veered away from him. He tensed momentarily, ready to sprint after her, but relaxed as soon as he saw she didn’t mean to bolt. She walked more slowly through the grasses, so she could walk beside him, though a dozen feet separated them.
“How did you know where I was?” she asked.
Oddly, Philip found he could only hold her gaze for seconds. She had the most amazing eyes. Soft sage, surrounded by thick auburn lashes. But it was more than the combination of extraordinary colors. It was the way she looked at him. Direct and bold. As if she could discern secrets in a person’s eyes.
“You were there yesterday, hiding behind the curtain. I thought you might return.”
Her pale brow crinkled questioningly. Her fair skin was a vibrant contrast to the reddish blond of her brows and hair. He looked away again.
“But how did you know it wasme?”
He gestured to her feet. “Your shoes. I saw them beneath the curtains.” He waved toward her head. “That…lace thing you wore on your hair yesterday, I saw it on the hearth drying. And your hair…it’s an unusual color. I thought I saw it in the wood yesterday. You spooked my horse. And your shoes and skirts were covered with fresh mud—you’d raced us through the forest.”
She stared at him, her mouth curved up on one side in a little smile, a dimple denting her left cheek. “How very clever. You’re quite observant.”
Suddenly Philip felt ridiculous. He’d not been fishing for compliments, yet he felt as if he were—and he was inordinatelypleased that he’d gotten one. He cut his gaze away, fixing it on the manor in the distance.
“I wouldn’t be very good at what I do if I didn’t notice things.”
“What do you do?” She drifted closer; he could sense that without looking at her.
“I find people.”
“You find people? Whatever do you mean? Lost people?”
His chest tightened fractionally. He nodded. “Aye. Sometimes they’re lost, but usually they’ve run away.”
“Run away from what?”
Philip shrugged. “Criminals running from justice. Men running from their debts. Wives from their husbands…once even a husband from his wife.”
“I see. You’re some sort of seeker. Hmm…like a sleuth dog. It’s fitting, you being a Kilpatrick of Colquhoun.”
Philip narrowed his eyes at her and wished he hadn’t. She teased him. Her expression was lively, her mouth curved in a smile. She had very straight, white teeth.
He was not accustomed to being teased. At least, not by a woman.
“How do you know so much about Clan Colquhoun?”
Her smile widened. “You fostered with my father. You think I don’t remember you?”
Philip stopped, surprised. “You remember me?”
She walked a few more steps, then turned to face him, hands onher hips. “Aye. I didna at first—not until I’d thought aboot it. But clearly ye dinna remember me.”
Philip grunted at her put-on Scottish burr. “Even if I did, I wouldna recognize you anymore. You’re more English than Scots now.”
He started walking again, and she strode beside him, silent for a long moment. “Coming from you, I think that’s an insult.” When he didn’t respond, she said, “You don’t look like a Highlander. Where’s your tartan or trews?”
“I’m not fool enough to wear such things outside of the Highlands”
“Why?”
“No one likes Highlanders, and I have no desire to call unwanted attention to myself.”
Her brow creased, but she fell silent. He wondered what she was thinking but didn’t dare ask. She was far too forward for a lass—he shouldn’t encourage her.
“Do you know my betrothed, the earl of Kincreag?”
