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She turned a wistful smile to him. “Thank you dearly, but I’m afraid it’s rather unfeasible.” Not only because of distance. It had to be the worst idea in all the geological eras. “I might be able to live in the country in the future.”
In a blink, his chiselled features crumpled, like a sunny day snapping into a storm. “You mean by marrying.”
“Who knows?” The vague answer intended to avoid the rough territory.
Fortunately, they neared the stables, which put an end to the muddy conversation.
CHAPTER SIX
“My lady.”
Catriona turned to see her maid coming in her direction. She had just finished training Fiadaich and was about to go up to the manor for luncheon. Fingal had already dashed off to whatever duties he held around the estate.
A tide of cold washed over her, with her heart scrambling to a race and nerves tensing. “Flora.” With difficulty, she made her hands hang by the side instead of letting them fidget in a show of extreme discomfort. All Flora had to do was tell the wrong people her real name. The information would rush throughout the Highlands like wildfire, simply razing her reputation to dust.
“I heard of a lass taming a devil horse,” she explained, her fingers twisting the ends of her wrap. “Something told me it be ye.”
Catriona forced a mild smile. “Yes, news spread of a temperamental horse, and I came to offer help.”
The girl breathed a relieved smile. “For a moment I thought, I dunno, some aught be amiss.”
“Nothing’s amiss, Flora.” Except for her own actions, that is. “You can rest assured of that.”
“I should keep ye company, my lady.” Her plain features assumed a worried tinge. “Laird McTavish would kill me if aught happened to ye.”
“Don’t worry. I’m simply helping the poor beast.” She hoped her voice and her stance did not contradict her. “You can continue spending time with your family.”
Her unease did not fade. “Aye, my lady. If there’s aught ye need, send fer me.”
“I will, Flora. Thanks for coming.” The girl curtsied and left.
“Who was that?” Fingal asked a few yards away.
Her head raised to him with a strange expression too close to apprehension.
“A girl from the village, apparently.” Lashes lowered, she did not look at him.
He had just ridden away when he thought he would invite her to luncheon and came back. “Looking for someone?” he probed.
She hesitated, her hands clasped in front of her, eyes still away. “A footman, I reckon.”
“I see,” he said distractedly.
That day in the hill had left a mark on him, unwanted and indelible. That furnace she fuelled threatened to reignite every time he remembered her responsiveness and the way she fairly smelted in his arms.
To make matters worse, she insisted on giving him so much pleasure it was a wonder he did not take her there and then. This desperate need to plunge in her and send everything to the devil assailed him as a physical agony. But then, she satisfied him so completely with that inexperience of hers that felt more like a potent aphrodisiac.
In the quiet hours of the night, though, his conscience came to nag at him. He would have to be a selfish bastard to go on allowing these moments to see the light of day when he had nothing to offer. Nothing but that primitive, undiluted passion that exploded between them.
There was something about her. Not her reluctance in talking about her life in England. Something that called to him, created cravings in him that only she would be capable of fulfilling. Cravings that seemed to go beyond the physical, though the physical manifested them. Put them into palpable terms. Connected the man in him to the w
oman in her.
So he decided to stop tempting destiny and keep his distance. Walk the line, consider her future and his. Her time here would end, she must leave, and he must attend to his duties to the clan.
She said she preferred the country and clearly she liked it here. For a miss used to the luxuries of the big city, it was unexpected, to say the least. It felt good, the way she fit into life at the manor. Early rising, riding, long walks, her love for horses. A soft heart where they were concerned. Her affection towards Fiadhaich was so moving he wanted to kiss her when he saw them together.
Rumour had it that Anna McTavish held a certain fondness for London. He remembered her very little, a vague image of a blonde girl with blue eyes and no more. Drostan heard she became a beautiful woman. No man in his right mind refused a comely future bride. But after his eyes had clashed with his Sassenach, any other woman disappeared simply because she must be the most dazzling lass on the planet. The most passionate and the most maddening, by the way.
