Page 32 of Lady Len and the Mysterious Mac

“Catch the damn horse!”

“—the doctor, milord?”

“—breathing—”

“Go at once.”

When her lungs finally filled again, she gasped fast and shallow, but she seemed to float outside her body, puffing breaths down onto herself from above.

More hands, gentle ones, swept tangled hair off her face and grazed her cheek. Finally, Ellen wrenched her eyes open to see the MacKenzie’s face mere inches from her own, panting hard as relief and concern crashed against each other inside his warm, tempestuous eyes.

“Forgive me,” he pleaded, resting his forehead against her own.

She’d never known such a yearning in her life, but Ellen was overcome with a desire to kiss him. To be kissed by him.

Even yesterday when he pressed her finger to his lips, even last night when he unexpectedly left her to her own devices—when she had been moved by these new and unusual stirrings—she had never thought about his lips, about the soft curve of them, about what they would feel like against her sensitive skin, about what they would taste like after his breakfast of parritch and jam.

The fall must have jangled her thinking.

Silas MacKenzie was far more dangerous than the horse.

Without concern for possible injuries, she skittered backwards, away from him, and though she ached all over, finding that everything appeared to be in working order, she pulled herself up on the paddock fence, ducked between its slats, and took off running as fast as she could towards Leod.

Chapter Ten

When Buttercup reared back, Si was certain he’d become a widow on the first full day of his marriage, beating out his father’s own record of having made it a full year. With a rider leaning so far back, the mare could’ve easily flipped supine, pinning the lass under a ton of writhing horse flesh. But then Ellen had lost her seat and fallen off the horse completely, and Buttercup managed an odd little twist, landing mere feet from where the lass had tucked herself into a protective ball and rolled away.

It was a miracle neither horse nor rider had a broken neck.

And it was his fault such a miracle had been required.

He never should have put the lass on a horse with so little instruction. Her family had warned him she was delicate. She should be wrapped up in cotton wool and waited on like a proper lady, not coaxed into dangerous situations.

After the fall, she’d taken one look at him and fled, undoubtedly furious. She hadn’t wanted to ride or even enter the stable. It had all been a terrible mistake. She was right to be angry with him, and though he wanted nothing so much as to scan every inch of her, prove to himself she was unharmed, he let her go.

Gawyn saw her running and turned back to tend the horse, presuming the physician was no longer required, but Si couldn’t face him. He just kept staring at the place where she’d fallen, at the shallow impressions in the soft mud where she could have easily gasped her final breath.

He was reminded of a day, long ago, when he’d been playing with children from the village in a different muddy paddock. A little girl called Tara had brought along a toy her uncle made. Si was fascinated by the intricate gears, for one had but to turn a crank and tiny figures danced around a disk. He’d been curious to see whether they could go backwards as well as forwards. Only the gears jammed, and when Si tried to turn it, the delicate crank snapped off and fell into the mud.

Young Tara had screamed at him in fury, snatching the ruined toy away from his over-sized hands. “Och, Silas MacKenzie,” she railed, “You break everything you touch!”

Her words had come back to him many times over the decades, and they rang in his ears even now. Och, Silas MacKenzie, you break everything you touch. Why would he have expected a fragile little wife to be any different?

Though he was in no hurry to face her and feared any apology would be rebuffed, he needed to see her, to convince himself she was all right.

He expected to find her locked up tight inside her chamber, but the door was not barred and the lass not inside. Nor was she reading in his library or visiting the larder, and he began to worry she hadn’t returned to the castle at all but had in fact run to the village or all the way back home to Inverness.

“Young love,” Mrs. Kynoch said in an exasperated tone after taking one look at him and shaking her head. “What’ve ye done?” she demanded.

Love? Sure and how could it be, when they were nearly strangers? And what had he done—where to start?

Si shook his head, unable to speak. The words, Nothing, only nearly killed her, got stuck in his throat like week old bread.

Then the cook’s face softened. “Sit down, laddie. I’ll fix you something to eat.”

“Thank you, no.”

She turned away, trying not to look affronted, but Si realized his mistake at once.