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Beauty notwithstanding, while alone in his chambers, he determined to keep his distance.
Aye, right.
Here he stood with the design of accompanying her to luncheon. Preferably up that damned hill.
Talk about self-discipline.
He had none where she was concerned, he should sadly admit. And he did not even know if he wanted to gain it.
“Shall we go for luncheon?” he asked.
Dark eyes snapped to him; that alone shook any resolve he had ever had in his life. But when her teeth worried her plump lower lip, the resolve morphed into rushing fire in his blood.
“I—thank you.” That sweet tongue of hers darted to moisten her lips. The hunger to feel such tongue and those lips on him, on all of him, nearly undid his ragged control. “Mrs Thompson invited me so I wouldn’t eat alone.”
It was an excuse, of course it was. One that said she had reached the same conclusion as he: to put this whole mess in perspective and do the right thing.
“Fine,” he answered. What else should he say? She deserved applause for being stronger than he. “Enjoy your meal,” he wished and turned to the stables with a mind of finding icy water somewhere to abate this wretched starvation for her.
“He’s ready for the bridle.” Catriona watched as Fingal led Fiadhaich around the stockyard. So far, the horse had been using a simple rope tied loosely around his neck.
The laird clasped his luminous eyes to her, and the inevitable flush of heat cut through her insides as it had done for the past three days.
Three. Torturous. Days.
Three normal days, an outsider would say. With even a little rain, despite the continuing of the warmth. Such an outsider would not want to be inside her skin. Feverish skin, that is.
“I’ll go get it,” he volunteered to walk to an adjoining shed where he kept part of the riding gear.
As he left in that large, purposeful stride of his, she inhaled a relieved gulp of air. For hours they had been working with the stallion, and tension vibrated in the air as if another person was present. Or as if they stood enclosed in a dome full of lightning. Pure lightning fizzed whenever they must look at each other.
Too shortly he came back. Extending her hand, she motioned to take the bridle to fit it on the horse herself, since the darling beast was weary of men.
“Better if I do it,” he countered, nearing the horse.
For three long days, they had been avoiding disagreement like one avoided putting their fingers in the fire. Any quarrel might ignite a conflagration, and neither risked it.
“Not very sensible,” she argued for the horse’s sake. “He’s more accepting of me.”
He presented her with a crumpled forehead. “What if he becomes aggressive?”
“He won’t,” she answered, even though she could not be certain.
Peeved air escaped forcefully through his nostrils, but he nodded curtly.
Slowly, with the utmost care, Catriona approached the Arab beauty, speaking softly. The horse did not move, but she sensed the sight of the bridle ruffled him. He kept quiet, too quiet, while she talked and fitted the riding gear to his head.
No sooner had she finished and taken her hands off his neck than he sprinted across the dusty place, shaking his head furiously, reins flying in the air. Angry snorts signalled his opinion about the novelty.
“Emily!” Fingal yelled as he charged towards her, laced her by the waist with one arm, and ran with her out of the gate. Catriona had no choice other than to hold his muscled shoulders so as not to fall. His being clad in his white shirt made nothing easier. The impact of his steel-hot frame against her seemed to be a disaster more serious than a spitting-fire stallion. And instead of fear, completely different and absurd feelings took her by assault.
Normally, the stable area swarmed with activity as stable lads with water buckets, brushes, oat boxes, or riding gear treaded back and forth at their busy tasks. But at that time, it was strangely deserted.
Once outside, Fingal quickly closed the gate, letting her slide down his taut body with deliberate slowness. The sedate movement bellied the swift rush of bushfire coursing through her veins.
The strong arm around her did not loosen.
And she did not step back.
