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And, yes, she was muttering to herself. It was an old habit she’d picked up as a young girl who’d spent a great deal of time alone in the schoolroom, reading books or working on puzzles. The habit always helped sort things out when she was confused or worried, or just plain lonely.
She used one of the flat-topped rocks to assist her dismount, and then tied the mare to a sturdy bush before looking for a comfortable place to sit. A springy cushion of moss and grass on the slope of the stream did the trick, since it was a sheltered spot in the full warmth of the sun. Ainsley wrapped her skirts around her legs and settled onto moss that was surprisingly thick and almost as well padded as a cushion.
Sighing, she turned her face up to the gentle September sun. The quiet of the place settled over her, broken only by an occasional splash of the water and the call of a passing eagle. The water was quite low this time of year, meandering by her on its way to the loch. According to Royal, it ran fast and high in the spring, gorged with snowmelt off the Highland peaks. He’d delivered quite a lecture about the dangers of the stream, giving her strict orders to stay well back on the bank and to never go wading without him. He’d then promised to take her fishing at some point, although apparently now was not the best season to do so.
The poor man had been so earnest that Ainsley had refrained from telling him she’d rather eat haggis than splash about in icy cold water, much less go fishing, which required the handling of slimy worms and other nasty things.
But today, the stream was like a genial, self-effacing neighbor, the sort who tipped his hat with a smile and never made a fuss. And the vista before her was so dramatically beautiful, the craggy Highland peaks topped with a diamond-bright blue sky and some powder-puff clouds. If she were a different sort of person, she might have pulled off her boots and gone wading. Perhaps she and Tira could do that someday, when Royal was there to hold their daughter’s chubby little hands and keep her safe. Ainsley couldn’t help but smile at the image of a laughing toddler with dark, tumbled curls and a violet gaze, watched over by loving parents who had not a care in the world but for their child.
Ainsley finally gave in to the fatigue dragging at her bones and stretched out on the mossy bank. Her maid would scold to see her lying on the ground, but the rippling stream sounded like a lullaby and the sun was so warm on her face. She’d just close her eyes for a few moments and . . .
She jerked awake at the sound of a galloping horse, the ground vibrating beneath her with the pounding of hooves. When she heard a muffled shout, Ainsley stumbled clumsily to her feet in time to see a fast-approaching rider.
And to see her husband then sail over his stallion’s head and hit the ground with a horrifying thud.
“Royal,” she shrieked.
Ainsley pelted around the rocks, tripping over her skirts as she ran along the trail to reach him. Royal lay flat on his back, his gaze wide and blank. Was he even breathing? Her fear was now sheer panic.
“Oh, God,” she gasped, dropping to her knees. Tears flooded her eyes, making it almost impossible to see.
Impatiently, she swiped them away and pressed a hand to his chest. “Oh, God,” she blurted again. “Royal, can you hear me? Please be alive!”
When he sucked in a huge breath under her hand, she almost collapsed with relief.
“It hurts too much to be dead,” he managed in a tight voice.
“I thought you’d killed yourself.” She kept patting him on the chest, as if that would help, but she felt too dazed and shaky to think rationally.
Please, please don’t be injured.
He lay there for what seemed forever, staring straight up at the sky. His face was ghostly pale.
“I thought the same about you,” he finally replied. “When I saw you lying on the ground.”
When he turned his head to look at her, she realized that he was furious, his gaze glittering and sharp-edged, like shards of green glass.
“Why would you think that?” she asked.
“Because you were lying flat out on the ground like a corpse?”
“I was just taking a little nap.”
“On the ground? By the blasted river?”
She couldn’t help bristling at his tone. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Everything,” he snapped. “And how the devil was I supposed to know you were napping? You’re hardly the sort of person to lounge about in the dirt. Hell and damnation, Ainsley, I thought your horse had thrown you.”
“Royal, I’m truly sorry I gave you that impression, but did you not notice that my horse was tied to that bush? That would hardly be the case if she’d thrown me.”
He blinked a few times, then went back to glaring at her. “Why the hell did you ride off without a groom? I told youneverto come down to the river by yourself. It’s too dangerous.”
By the time he finished, he was all but shouting. Under normal circumstances, she’d have shouted right back, but Royal’s fury obviously sprang from fear. And not just the garden-variety fear, either.
“I’m sorry I frightened you,” she said contritely. “But as you can see, I’m absolutely fine. My horse is fine, the river is fine—we’re all fine.”
“That’s not the point,” he ground out. “You shouldn’t be racketing about Arnprior lands by yourself. Anything could happen.”
