“No,” he hedged, then looked as if he was about to say something and changed his mind. He started walking. She fell into step beside him.
“What?” she prodded.
“Leave it.”
For a second, Lyssa couldn’t believe he’d spoken to her that way. Again, she wanted to lash out…and where would that get her?
Instead, she lifted her chin and, swinging her arms, charged forward, determined to leave him behind…and to prove to both him and herself that she could take on the world.
Ian watched her squared shoulders and tight back and knew she was fuming. That was just all right with him. Making her angry was the only way he knew to stave off the growing attraction between them. He didn’t know if he actuallylikedMiss Harrell, but he was certainlycaptivatedby her. He found himself deliberately annoying her for no other reason than to see sparks spring to life in her green eyes.
Whether she realized it or not, they were on perilous ground. Necessity forced them to be together. However, he would not let himself take advantage of it, especially since, in spite of her age, Miss Harrell wasn’t truly knowledgeable in the ways of men. She thought she was, but she was no practiced flirt.
Still, she was curious. He’d caught a glimpse of the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn’t watching, and he couldn’t afford a mis-step. More dangerous, he’d always been a easy dupe for idealism. The combination of idealism and red hair could prove fatal.
Fortunately, their class differences kept a wall between them. Her passion and her willingness to live life fully were qualities he admired. She was also the first woman to charge to his rescue. When he recalled the sight of her wielding the ironstone pitcher, he had to chuckle.
She was still a snob and too much her father’s little girl for any man’s comfort. But he had to agree with her on one point—marriage to Viscount Grossett would be deadly dull, especially for someone as vibrant as herself.
The going grew tough. Miss Harrell was forced to slow her pace and he allowed himself to catch up with her. This time, she didn’t bother to initiate conversation, and kept her out-of-joint nose in the air.
The road wound up over a high hill. Beyond the trees, Ian could see the purple tops of mountains in the distance. That was the direction they were heading in and he hoped Amleth Hall was on this side of them.
They’d not met any other travelers. However, as they reached the crest of the hill, they heard a man shouting and the offended, exhausted snorts of horses.
Ian extended his arm in front of Miss Harrell, silently ordering her to stay put while he investigated.
Of course, she didn’t.
Fortunately there was no danger. At the bottom of the hill, a farmer’s wagon, heavily loaded with milled lumber, was mired in deep mud. The back wheels were buried to the axle.
Ian offered assistance. “Can I be of help?”
The farmer, who’d been too busy rebuking his horses to notice their approach, looked up. “These animals are mules. They weren’t watching where they were going and we went off the road. Before I knew it, I was done up…”
His voice trailed off as he caught sight of Miss Harrell. He pulled off his low brimmed hat and smiled as if she were Venus personified.
To her credit, Miss Harrell appeared embarrassed by the sudden attention. Ian was merely annoyed.
“I’ve experience with this kind of situation,” he said, drawing the farmer’s attention back to him. “In the army, sometimes the cannon would get stuck. Here, let me push two boards under the wheels and I’ll lift while you push the horses on. It should work.”
“I hope it does,” the farmer said fervently. “I promised my wife I’d be home well before nightfall. My uncle died and they are waking him tonight. It’s going to be a fineceilidhif ever there was one, because there wasn’t a person in the village that could stand him. And I don’t want to miss it.”
At the mention of the word “wife,” Ian didn’t know whether to be relieved or alarmed. The farmer was a handsome man with sandy blond hair, a short nose, and strong shoulders and his gaze kept straying to Miss Harrell.
However, she didn’t seem to hear what he wanted her to hear. Instead, she looked to Ian. “Ceilidh?”
“Dance,” he translated.
“For a wake?” she asked, surprised.
“Aye, and it will be a bonnie good time, too,” the farmer added, giving Miss Harrell a wink.
Ian stepped in his line of sight. “Are you ready to move the wagon?”
The farmer grinned, unrepentant. He knew Ian considered him a threat. “Aye.”
Following Ian’s instructions, they had the wheels out of the mud in a thrice. The farmer held out his hand. “I’m Angus Anderson. I thank you for your help. Are you traveling this road for long?”
