Page 37 of The Highland Ghost’s Virgin

They rode down from the castle side by side, the track narrow enough in places that conversation came in fits and starts, broken up by the need to mind footing on loose stone or duck beneath a low branch overhanging the path.

"That's Herston land, all the way to the burn," Alpin said, nodding toward the sweep of pasture falling away to their left, dotted with black cattle grazing unbothered by the wind. "Been Herston land longer than anyone kens for certain. Me grandfather used to say his own grandfather couldnae remember a time it belonged to anyone else."

"It's beautiful."

"It's mostly rock and heather and sheep that daenae ken their own good sense."

"That's the same thing as beautiful." Grisselle sat easier in the saddle than she had the first week, he noticed, her seat settling into the horse's gait without the stiffness she'd arrived with. "Everything in London was hedged and measured and owned twelve times over before anyone got near it. This just…" she gestured at the sweep of empty land, the grey sky pressing low over the hills, "—is."

"It's harder land than it looks. Ye'll want to remember that come winter, before ye go romanticizing it further."

"I'm allowed to admire something and know it's difficult at the same time. The two aren't opposites." Grisselle glanced sideways at him, the corner of her mouth going crooked. "I'd have thought you'd understand that better than most, being both yourself."

"I'm nae difficult."

"You're the most difficult thing I've encountered north of London, and I include the sheep in that comparison."

His mouth twitched, and he looked away toward the pasture like the cattle had suddenly demanded his full attention.

"Aye, well. Most folk who admire it havenae had to survive a February in it."

"Most folk who survive things stop admiring anything at all. I'd rather not become most folk." She looked over at him, something testing in the look. "Did your grandfather love it? The land, I mean. Or did he live on it because that's what was expected of him?"

Alpin considered the question.

"He loved it. Talked about it the way some men talk about a woman, if I'm honest, like it had moods he understood better than anyone else could, like it forgave him things it wouldnae forgive another. I never kent, growing up, whether he loved the land or the sea more. I suspect he never quite decided either."

"And you?"

"I daenae get the luxury of deciding. It's mine to hold, whatever I feel about it."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I've got today." He nudged his horse forward as the track widened, ending the conversation before it could press further into ground he wasn't ready to walk on. Grisselle let it go, though he caught her glancing at him once more before the village came into view below.

Grey stone cottages clustered along the curve of the shore, smoke rising thin and steady from a dozen chimneys, fishing boats drawn up along the strand, nets spread out to dry across the rocks like something woven by giant spiders.

Grisselle slowed her horse without seeming to notice she'd done it, taking the whole scene in.

"It's busier than I expected."

"Did ye expect empty cottages and starving dogs?"

"I expected something smaller." She watched a group of children chase something — a dog, or each other, it was hard to tell — along the strand, their shouts carrying faintly on the wind. "This looks like people who are actually living, not simply enduring."

"They work hard for the privilege."

"That's true of most places worth living in, I think." She nudged her horse forward again, down the last stretch toward the first cottages, and Alpin followed, watching her take in the smoke and the nets and the noise of it with an attention that unsettled him slightly, though he couldn't have said why.

The first person to spot them was old Mairi, hanging washing outside her door, who dropped a wet shirt clean into the mud at the sight of Grisselle.

"So it's true, then," Mairi called out, crossing the yard, wiping her hands on her apron. "The lass from London, come to see us proper at last, Lady Herston that will be."

"Grisselle," Grisselle said, already dismounting, holding out her hand before Alpin could offer any introduction of his own. "Not Lady anything yet, so you needn't trouble yourself over titles."

"Mairi." The old woman took her hand, studying her face with open curiosity. "Ye've a firm grip, for a London lass."

"I've been told I have a firm opinion on most things as well."