Isobel couldn’t take her eyes off him. He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. She wondered if her betrothed was as handsome.
When he turned back to her his expression had smoothed, was gentle almost. “Come,” he said, tilting his head toward the horses. “We must be on our way.”
Isobel nodded and followed him, her palms damp inside her gloves. She longed to take them off and decided she would once they were riding again. They stopped at her horse, a cream-colored mare her father had brought as a gift on his last visit. Philip looked around. Fergus examined his horse’s hooves, but Stephen was nowhere in sight.
Philip stroked her horse. “We’ll rest the horses here.”
Not knowing what else to do, Isobel removed her gloves and began eating her bread. Philip had grown quiet, his hand absentlyresting on Jinny’s withers. He stared at her hands.
She stopped eating, her heart leaping fearfully. Why would he stare at her hands so intently? She tried to remind herself that he had no reason to think her hands were any different than anyone else’s, but the intensity of his gaze was almost a physical thing, as if he held them again, as he had last night, stroking at her wrist…
“Your burn is better?” he asked.
“Yes. I’d forgotten about it.”
“I noticed yesterday—you wear gloves inside, but not outside.”
“I’ve been wearing them outside all morning. I only took them off to eat.”
“I’m not talking about today.”
Irritated, she said, “My hands were cold.”
“It was warmer inside Attmore Manor than outside—something you won’t often find in Scotland, mind you.”
Rather than address his question, she asked, “Why is that?”
“It’s verra cold in the Highlands. The best you can hope for is to get out of the wet wind.”
Isobel smiled. “Good, I love cold weather.”
“It snows, too.”
“How exciting! I think a snow-covered landscape is beautiful, don’t you agree? And it’s been years since I’ve engaged in a real snowball fight. The Attmores’ sons and daughters were such mealymouthed boobs—too good to play anything fun.”
The sides of his mouth twitched as if he were holding back asmile.
“Why, Sir Philip, I believe you think I’m not suited to your harsh Highland climate.”
He turned his gaze on her, the corners of his mouth deepening into a smile. Her breath caught. Dimples dented both his cheeks. A smile transformed his whole face. “I think you’ll do just fine, Mistress MacDonell.”
“If we’re to travel together, you must call me Isobel.”
“I’d rather not. It’s unseemly that you travel alone with us. I’ll find a lass to tend you in the next village.”
“I can tend myself, thank you. No need to waste any coin.”
“Mistress MacDonell—”
“Prithee,” Isobel said, an edge of irritation to her voice. The last thing she needed was a servant to reveal her secret. The men at least would keep an appropriate distance. “Call me Isobel. And I don’t want a servant. My father trusts you with my life—he wouldn’t do that if you weren’t worthy.”
He focused on her horse again, stroking it silently. She gazed at his profile, so strong and masculine, and asked, “What happened to your sister?”
He stiffened, his hand dropping from her horse. “Mount up.”
Without sparing her another glance, he strode away from her, yelling at Stephen to get his arse back there posthaste.
Isobel sighed and stared down at her bare hands. Should she try to discover what she could of him? It ate at her, her curiosity about this man. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d desired to know so much about another. Her hands curled into fists. She could not. Her mother had frowned on probing others withouttheir knowledge.
