He turned. "Nay, that horse could hurt you. He knows you're afraid of him. How long since you've ridden?"
Straightening her shoulders, she hesitated. "I know not exactly."
"Years?"
"Aye." Sheepishly, she glanced up at him beneath her long elegant lashes.
He had to do something quickly before that enticing look could bewitch and ensnare him.
"I'll help you mount." Without waiting for her response, he lifted her onto Goliath's back, then leapt on in front. "Hold fast."
"Aye, Chief." Elspeth mimicked a warrior clansman.
Lifting a brow, Cyrus glanced over his shoulder and gave her an unreadable look. Was he amused or annoyed? 'Twas difficult to tell, for his expression rarely shifted from stern. Although she had been pleasantly shocked by his smiles and laughter while he'd been dancing the previous night.
Having never ridden behind a man before, much less a tall Highlander on a massive horse, Elspeth had no inkling what to do. He'd saidhold fast, aye, but hadn't explained how exactly. What was she supposed to grasp onto? She placed her hands tentatively at his trim waist on his thick metal-studded leather belt.
"Hang on with both hands, lest you be tossed to the ground." He dragged one of her hands farther around his waist.
Saints, but he was bossy and brusque!
She drew in courage, along with a deep breath of cool air and Cyrus's masculine scent, then clasped her hands in front, above his belt and scabbards. In the baldric, his sheathed, basket-hilt broadsword thumped gently against her thigh.
As they galloped forward, her heartbeat sped along faster than the hoof-beats around her. What was racing through her blood? Although she told herself it could be fear, she well knew 'twas excitement. She had never been on such an adventure.
She was unsure how she felt about the gorgeous Highlander riding in front of her… between her legs. Nay, she could not think such scandalous thoughts. Her face heated. How unladylike of her. Well, she was a fallen woman, but even so, she had never felt as wicked as she did at this moment.
Being a maker of clothing—or even if she hadn't been—she could not help but notice his belted plaid and bare knees once again. Clearly, he was proud of his heritage. Despite being an earl, he hadn't yet started dressing like his Lowland peers. As well, Cyrus's brothers and friends, including the Earl of Rebbinglen, also wore belted plaids.
Grey had dressed in Lowland trousers, as had Alexander, the Earl of Dalacroy. But she was quickly growing to appreciate these Highlanders' plaids. The vibrant colors inspired her creativity in dressmaking. What would Cyrus say if he knew she was imagining her own designs with plaid petticoats and bodices? Most of all, she was not opposed to seeing muscular calves all about her. And even a shocking glimpse or two of brawny thighs as the men mounted or dismounted.
Heavens, when had she started thinking like Rose? Mayhap the lick on the head had done it.
Slipping her hand inside her cowl, she ran her fingers over the sore lump. It was a bit more swollen than it had been earlier, but 'twas not terrible.
In addition, she could feel that her hair was a bedraggled mess of tangles. She'd hated for Cyrus to see it in such a state, but what did it matter? She was not interested in impressing him.
She looked upward at the somber clouds gathering thicker and lower overhead, while a misty rain hissed through the cool air. Cyrus did not seem to notice. She pulled her cowl tighter over her head to keep the light rain off her face. She prayed there would be no downpours and that they could reach her home before gloaming.
A sudden realization occurred to her. Since it would be late evening when they arrived, the men would have to stay the night at her manor house and return to Castle Rebbinglen in the morn.
No nobleman had graced her door since Alexander. Even before his death, it had been many months since he'd last visited. Darby Hall was no grand castle, but she loved her home and found it very comfortable. She did not care whether Cyrus was impressed by it or not. Her housekeeper and maids were meticulous. She was certain everything would be tidy and in order, despite the break-in and burglary. Most likely, the bedchambers Cyrus and Fraser would use were already clean. But she was certainly not accustomed to noblemen spending the night. She hoped Fraser didn't get any more ideas about seducing her.
∞∞∞
When next they stopped to water the horses, Cyrus helped Elspeth to the ground and gave her a drink from his wineskin. He took note of her lush lips and slender throat as she swallowed. Her cheeks were pink from the brisk wind. Hellfire, how was it possible for her to grow more appealing each time he glanced at her? Maybe he truly should've allowed her to ride with Fraser. That way, he couldn't have felt her enticing, womanly curves against his back the entire journey.
Accepting the wineskin from her, he corked it. "Did you break your fast this morn?"
She licked a droplet of red wine off her lower lip. "Nay. I had no time for that."
He forced his gaze away from the tempting sight. "You must be starving. I'll see if Fraser or the men have any dried venison."
"'Tis not necessary. I'll be fine until I reach home."
"Nonsense. Let me see if I can find something." Cyrus strode away.
An amused gleam in his blue eyes, Fraser observed him as he approached.
