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She snatched her fingers from his loose hold. “Why do you always have to take his side? It’sincrediblyannoying.”
“I don’t always take his side.” Royal was incredulous at how quickly the situation was spinning out of control. “But, to be fair, you did just call him an old goat, which isn’t very nice.”
The flash of hurt in her gaze told him that he’d just firmly inserted his own foot into his mouth.
“Men. You always stick together,” she said in a low, quivering voice. She then rushed from the room, slamming the door behind her.
Royal pressed a hard palm to his forehead, like his head was about to explode. He’d cocked that up as thoroughly as one possibly could.
“Dicked in the nob, that one is,” Angus said in a pious tone. “Let’s hope it skips a generation.”
“Ainsley is right,” he snapped. “Sometimes youarea grubby old goat.”
He plucked Tira from the old man’s arms and stalked after his wife.
Chapter Sixteen
Her horse trotted beside the stream that tumbled its way through the brushy glen and down to the loch. Ainsley gave the dainty beauty her head, since there was not a remote possibility of getting lost. The trail was clearly used on a regular basis and led straight back to the castle.
At the moment, though, getting lost seemed rather a good idea.
She closed her weary eyes against a hot wave of shame. What a ninny she’d been to act like a tragedy queen. If her husband didn’t cast her off after yet another episode of stupid family drama, it would be a miracle.
Ainsley’s eyes flew open when a grouse exploded from the underbrush with a squawk, spooking her horse. She corrected her seat and encouraged the animal forward with a bit of leg pressure. Within seconds, the mare settled back into a steady trot.
“Sorry, old girl.” She patted the animal’s neck. “I’ll send myself into the stream if I’m not careful.”
The stable master had been reluctant to let Ainsley ride out without a groom, skeptical of both her abilities and state of mind. She couldn’t blame poor Brody, since she’d rushed into the stables like an escapee from Bedlam, demanding he saddle a mount for her.
After she’d stormed away from that ridiculous scene in the drawing room, she’d gone straight to her bedroom, where she’d struggled into her riding boots and yanked a pelisse out of the tallboy. Grabbing the first pair of gloves that came to hand—kid dinner gloves, for God’s sake—she’d pelted down the back stairs and slipped out through the gardens to the stables. She had to avoid Royal, who would seek her out to either gently scold or even more gently appease her. The man had the patience of a saint. Sometimes it tempted her to dump a teapot over his head simply to make him lose his sangfroid.
She deserved that he lose his temper with her. Perhaps if he did, she could stop feeling so guilty, and finally come to terms with the overwhelming sense of failure that was her daily companion.
Once clear of the castle gatehouse, she’d sprung the horse into a gallop. For a few glorious minutes, the rush of speed had blasted away the fatigue, the fear, and the frustration that kept her awake, night after bloody night.
But even the speed and the bracing Highland air couldn’t keep the emotions at bay. As soon as she’d slowed to a canter her demons had all come rushing back. Fear that she was failing as a mother, fear that her secrets would be discovered, and fear that the entire edifice of her fragile, spun-glass life would come crashing down around her ears.
And then there was the awful sense of shame that she was utterly failing as a wife. Bad enough that she’d ruined her own life; she couldn’t ruin Royal’s, too. She was driving a wedge between him and much of his family, especially his grandfather, so it was no wonder most of the Kendricks disliked her. Most days, she didn’t like herself very much either.
“It’s my punishment for all those years I was a terrible snob,” she said to the mare as they plodded by the stream. “Fate has a way of throwing one’s mistakes in one’s face, doesn’t it?”
Her biggest challenge was Angus. Ainsley could almost hear the gods laughing over that. But as a Kendrick wife, she was now stuck with the old goat. She knew she had to find a way to make it work, since Royal and Tira loved him, and he loved them back with equal devotion.
“If it came down to it,” she said, “they’d probably pick Angus over me, and I’m not sure I could blame them. Although Iama great deal prettier, so there’s that in my favor.”
The horse snorted and flicked her ears, as if amused by Ainsley’s nonsense.
If she wasn’t so bloody tired, she might be amused herself. It had perhaps not been the best idea to spend the last two nights on a cot in the nursery. Everyone had thought she was silly, and they were probably right. Tira was fine. She was always fine, whether her mother was with her or not.
You should have spent those nights with Royal. Then you would have slept.
To be snuggled against his strong, sheltering body in a lovely warm bed . . . she wanted that so much. She wanted to be with him, but the very idea of conjugal relations frightened the wits out of her too.
“Face it, you’re a confounded mess,” she said as she nudged the mare toward a large outcropping of rocks.
The animal whickered, as if to comment.
“I’m glad someone around here agrees with me.”
