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Horse hooves sounded on the grass. Lifting her head, she saw the devil himself approaching on a thoroughbred, luxuriant hair mussed by the wind, square jaw darkened with stubble, strong legs flanking the mount. The only thought that crossed her foggy head was that she wanted him to take her. Take her despite the consequences, regardless of respectability, propriety. Take her and ease this…this thing raging in her, demanding satisfaction, fulfilment.
She filled her lungs to full capacity, schooled her features, and waited. As he dismounted, her mind raced for something to say. But she lost her voice altogether. Everything died in her throat, because this near she saw him shirtless, with his tartan draped over one broad shoulder. The need to run her hands over the expanse of steel and power came so palpable it stung. Did he not know proper gentlemen always dressed adequately?
The overbearing man did not possess an ounce of gentlemanliness in him! And she could not care less. She had had enough of it in London for two lifetimes. Her eyes ate up the rugged beauty of him, unconsciously delighting in his half-dressed state.
If only I could pull that tartan off his waist, a malicious voice whispered in her.
The uncalled-for thought sent her into fits of—
“We seem to have got a breakthrough today,” he said in a rough voice as he strode to her but halted at a safe distance.
Better for him to keep far away, for he had no idea how close he might be from being ravished, she speculated with a pinch of self-mockery.
Though she hoped none of this showed on her face. “Tomorrow we try with Lachlan,” she blurted.
That chiselled face of his crumpled into a scowl. “Fiadhaich will train only with me!”
Her delicate brow pleated in confusion. “We agreed to get him familiar with the three of you.”
“I changed my mind.” He crossed his muscled arms, bunching his pectorals.
Her hands flew to her waist. “Why?”
“Don’t worry with the reason,” he commanded.
Her spine straightened. “I do worry. It is not good for your horse. It’s better if he becomes confident with those around him.”
“I’ll do that myself afterwards.” The rumble held finality to it. But she did not heed it.
“There must be a fundament for this sudden decision.” What she strove to hide was that quivering excitement mingled with fear for the fact that they would work alone all this time.
The prospect should be daunting at best. If she nearly melted to a puddle in one single morning, what strength would she need to resist him day after day after day? She would not, that’s the point. The presence of others might hinder her from doing anything crazy, risky or…delicious! Tremendously, sinfully delicious.
“It’s faster.” His two steps forward felt like ten, with his cinnamon eyes trained on her, their expression making her whole skin go alive.
The information took the wind from her sails. Faster, yes. Was it not what she had been musing just now? The shorter the time she stayed here, the safer she would be. Faster… The blasted laird wanted her gone as soon as it could be done. He did not want to be near her either. Of course not, you silly! He had signed a marriage agreement with her sister’s name on it.
“Oh, I see,” she managed in a small voice.
On the tail of that thought, another came rushing. He certainly did not live like a monk. She sensed this man’s appetites would be…healthy. He would have trysts before the actual tying of the knot—if he did not have one going right now. Probably even after it. Marriages of convenience were not particularly…monogamous. He was too powerful, too vital to tame. No, this laird did not hold the marriageable sign to his forehead. The woman who took him to husband would need to either be indifferent to him or keep in mind that he would stray.
Neither of which applied to her.
She would not be able to be anything less than conspicuously possessive where he was concerned. Jealous of the attentions he might bestow on others, zealous of what she would view as her territory. In short, this man spelt trouble. Utter, undiluted trouble. And sensible people kept away from any hint of complication. Only ‘sensible’ had nothing to do with her where he was concerned.
“No, you don’t.” Catriona struggled to realise he answered her comment. “I believe it’ll be less straining to Fiadhaich.”
His point of view seemed pertinent, she understood. Less people around the horse meant the poor beast would have more time to adjust to his new life.
“As you wish,” was the only reply that occurred to her.
His sculpted lips lifted on one side as he breathed a smirk. “If you knew what I wish, you would run to London without a backward glance.”
The taunt, delivered in a deep rumble, washed down her spine like boiling water, making every wrong spot light up in the most insidious way. The blush blooming on her cheeks had little or nothing to do with shame or indignation. Not even embarrassment.
The blasted laird!
Said laird did not give her time to reply, pivoting instead, to remount and ride away, leaving her to deal with the flames burning inside her.
