AnchorandStorm (5 page)

“It’s all right, Angus,” the earl said. “She has not had an easy time of it. Certainly not as bad as you, but bad enough for a laird’s daughter, I suppose.”

“Aye,” Angus said, “I suppose so. Will ye give her my apology, milord?”

“Oh I think you can do that yourself,” the earl said, getting slowly to his feet. “When she is rested from our trip and feeling more like herself, she’ll be back and you can help her choose a horse to ride.”

“Verra well, sir. I’ll, um, I’ll just get on with my chores then. Good day to ye, milord.”

“Good day, Angus.”

As he walked back to the house, Edgar pondered the scene that had just taken place. It did not go as smoothly as he had hoped…but time would tell.

* * * * *

Jock Sinclair’s girl. What were the chances?

Angus lay in his bed that night and gazed out at the stars he could see from his window.
Damn ye, Jock, ye old buzzard
, he thought.
Ye told me she was a sweet lass, but ye never told me how bonny she was.

Emily Sinclair, now Lady Callander.
Em.
Although he could never call her that to her face, that is what he would call her in his mind. It is how he had thought of her for six months on the battlefields, three months in prison and the almost four years since.

Chapter Four

She was going, only because Edgar had insisted she go. She had no desire whatsoever to face Mr. MacNeill again. She could have had him punished—severely—for what he had said to her. But try as she might, she still could not bring herself to enforce her position with the staff.

There was really no need to do so, when she stopped and thought about it. All of the servants seemed eager to do her bidding and they did their jobs well, leaving nothing for her to complain about. The only exceptions were Weston, who avoided her at every opportunity, just as he had done on their wedding trip…and Mr. MacNeill.

Now she was coming to choose a horse and there was really no way she could think of that MacNeill would not have to deal with her…nor she with him.

She stood for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the dim light in the stable, then began to walk slowly down the aisle between the stalls. Tar stuck his head over his stall door and snorted at her. She was a little afraid to approach him without Edgar beside her, so she said, “Good day, Tar. I’m sorry but you’re not a lady’s mount.” He snorted at her again, as if calling her a coward. She laughed and said, “How right you are, beautiful beast, how right you are.”

“Right about what?”

The voice behind her made her jump and spin around. “Oh Mr. MacNeill, you frightened me. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Sorry, milady. I heard ye talking and wondered if ye might need some help.”

“Aye, I do,” she said, marveling at the ease in which she slipped back into her native brogue with him. “Edgar sent me to choose a horse.”

“Do ye always do what Edgar tells ye?”

She could not have heard him correctly. “I beg your pardon?”

“Nothing, milady.”

She was not surprised that he did not have the courage to repeat such a slight.

“Will you show me some horses you think might be suitable, Mr. MacNeill?” she asked, finding it was not so difficult to act like a countess, after all.

His next words dissolved her newfound confidence. “Why do ye call me ‘Mr. MacNeill’? Are ye so formal with all yer servants?”

“No, I’m not. You just seemed to be the type of man who would prefer a more formal title.”

“Well, I’m not.”

She wondered if he was always this surly and if so, why Edgar tolerated it. “All right then, MacNeill. Now what about this horse?” She pointed to a bay mare in the stall next to Remus.

“Jezebel? She’s a good mount, but she gets skittish at times, especially when Tar is around. As I will be escorting ye on yer rides and since I’ll be riding him, I think we should choose another.”

“All right,” she said, a little miffed at his seeming underestimation of her skills as a horsewoman.

They moved down the row of stalls and Emily noticed that a lot of them were empty. As if reading her thoughts, MacNeill said, “Lord Callander sold off a lot of his herd after the accident, or so I was told.”

“You were not here when Tar threw him?”

“No, it was part of the reason he bought my indenture. He knew he would need help then.”

“How long have you been with Edgar?”

“Three and a half years. How long have you been with him?”

“Five months,” she answered. She took a few steps before she noticed that he had stopped. She turned and looked at him. He regarded her with an expression that was almost akin to disgust. She made a conscious decision to ignore it. It seemed important to Edgar that she get along with MacNeill and for him, she would make the effort. Perhaps it would just take him longer than the rest of the staff to get used to her presence. After all, Edgar had been a bachelor for a long time.

Emily spied a sweet-looking dun mare in one of the last stalls. “What about her?”

“Ah, now that’s yer mount.” As soon as the horse heard his voice, she threw her head over the stall door and whinnied. MacNeill stood in front of the wooden barrier, his legs apart and his hips thrust out.

Suddenly, Emily had a vision of a man standing like that in front of a woman and both of them naked. Her mouth went dry and she had to look away as her face flooded with heat. She told herself the man was not MacNeill and the woman was not she and forced the image from her mind.

When she turned back, she was surprised to see Angus holding the horse’s harness and kissing her on the muzzle. “Ye’re a good lassie, are ye no’? Yes, ye are, my sweet buttercup.” His usually gruff manner of speaking was gone, replaced by a tenderness she had not thought possible in him.

Emily smiled. “Is that her name?”

“Aye, this is Buttercup. She’s most often docile, but she’ll give ye a good ride, if ye show her it’s what ye want from her.”

She stepped closer and stroked the horse’s neck. “Well, she certainly seems to like you. Will you saddle her for me, please?”

Without a word, he turned and picked up a sidesaddle from a nearby rack. “No,” Emily said, “a regular saddle.”

“I thought all
ladies
must ride sidesaddle.”

Again, she chose to ignore his slight. “I’m a Highland lass, remember? I have always ridden astride and I see no reason to change now.”

He nodded with what she took to be grudging admiration and chose another saddle. Then he led Buttercup from her stall and out into the warm sunshine. The horse’s pale yellow coat glowed like a faded blossom of her namesake flower.

“Wait and I’ll saddle Tar. He’s in need of a run too.”

Emily took the opportunity to get acquainted with Buttercup. “Hello, pretty girl. Let’s go for a ride, shall we?” She stroked the horse’s neck and her soft muzzle. Buttercup seemed to respond to her, but as soon as the mare heard MacNeill’s voice again, she started to walk toward him. Emily laughed and followed her to where he stood, holding Tar’s reins.

“Do ye conquer all women as easily as ye do mares, MacNeill?”

He stared at her for a moment. Out in the sunlight, she could see for the first time the color of his eyes. They looked like shards of dark blue marble—and just as cold and hard.

“Why do you ask?”

She felt her cheeks flush. Did he think she was flirting with him? She tried desperately to think of an answer that would not further such a ridiculous notion, but fortunately, Tar came to her rescue. The big stallion snorted and pawed the ground, as if eager to be off.

“Here,” MacNeill said, bending down next to the mare and cupping his hands, “I’ll give ye a lift up.”

Emily placed her left foot in his hands and swung her right leg over the saddle. He adjusted the stirrups for her and helped her slide her feet in.

Did his hand linger on her ankle, or was that just her imagination?

They started out slowly, until Angus was sure she could handle the horse. Then he said, “Shall we run?”

She smiled back at him and gently kicked Buttercup forward. He held Tar back, knowing that he could easily outdistance the little mare. If something went wrong and Em should fall off, he didn’t want to be half a mile ahead of her before he knew about it. Lord Callander would have his head for that, for sure.

At least, that is the reason he told himself as he followed behind her.

Despite the yards and yards of material that made up her skirt, by riding astride she afforded Angus an unavoidable view of her legs, up to the knees. And a lovely sight it was. Her stockings were a pale blue to match her riding outfit. For only a moment, Angus let himself imagine running his hand from her knee, under the hem of her dress to her thigh. He was sure it would be plump and soft just as the rest of her would be. He shook his head to clear such thoughts and reminded himself that Jock Sinclair’s girl had managed to catch herself an earl.

They had gone about three miles to the top of a high hill when Angus rode up beside her and beckoned her to halt. He pointed back behind them to the mansion in the distance. From this vantage point it looked like a child’s toy house.

Still breathing hard from the gallop, she said, “I didn’t realize we’d come so far. Perhaps we shouldn’t be here. Does the land we’re on belong to anyone?”

“You,” he said, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

She turned to face him. “You mean this is all Edgar’s land?”

“Aye.” He pointed off to the east. “And to that stand of trees.” Then he pointed west. “And to that loch. The northern border is that river right over there.”

She sat for a long moment, looking around her. Then in a small voice she said, “I hadn’t realized.”

He wanted to say,
Hadn’t you?
but held it back. She did seem a bit overwhelmed by it all.

She wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her gloved hand.

“There’s a wee glade just over there, near a stream. We can rest for a while and give the horses a drink.”

She nodded and he led the way. When they reached the spot he helped her off and led her down to the grassy bank. The water trickled softly over some rocks on its way to the distant river and swirled in a gentle eddy at their feet. Angus wet his handkerchief in the stream and offered it to her. She thanked him and wiped the dirt from her face and neck, all the while looking off into the distance. The faraway mountains were a pale blue line across the bluer sky.

“Do you miss the Highlands?” she asked.

“Aye. You?”

“Oh aye, every day of my life.”

“Then why did ye leave?”

“I had to. I could no’ find work there and none of my friends or relations was in any better position than I, so I left.” She seemed to hesitate. “I found work as a governess and then I met Edgar.”

He could hold back no longer. “Aye and now ye’re rollin’ in clover.”

“
What?
” She jumped up from the log and turned on him.

“Ye heard what I said. Why did ye do it, girl?”

Her mouth fell open as she stared at him. “Do what?”

“Marry a man old enough to be yer father. And a sickly one at that.”

She gasped. “I married him because I love him!”

“Ah, do ye now?” He shook his head and put his face closer to hers. “Yer own father would no’ be proud of you today. Ye couldna give up yer way of living, could ye? Ye couldna be a laird’s daughter again so ye set yer sights higher. And look at ye now—a countess, no less.”

She slapped him then. It put an end to his tirade and made him realize that once again, his temper had put him in a dangerous situation. Her next words confirmed his fears.

“How dare you speak so to me!” Her eyes, normally as blue as cornflowers, had now taken on a gray caste, like the sky before a storm. “Yes, I am a countess and you will use the proper respect when you address me. Ye’re quite aware of my station, but ye forget yer own. If it should happen again, I shall see that my
husband
takes the appropriate steps.”

She mounted Buttercup without his help and galloped away. It didn’t take him long to catch up with her. She had stopped at the crest of the hill and was looking around frantically. When he came alongside her, she bowed her head as if studying her gloved hands on the reins.

In a soft voice she said, “I-I seem to be lost, MacNeill.”

He wondered if he only imagined the double meaning of her words. “No, ye’re not, milady,” he answered, giving her the proper respect. “Ye’ve but taken the wrong path.” She looked up at him and he knew that she discerned his meaning too. He pointed to the left. “The house is that way.”

They rode back together in silence. When they reached the stable yard, she slid off Buttercup’s back and ran toward the house, without a word or a glance back at him.

Angus combed and fed the horses…and waited for the ax to fall.

* * * * *

She stormed into the front hall and threw her hat onto a side table. Edgar watched this from the sitting room as her image was reflected in the large mirror over the mantelpiece. He saw her pace around in circles, seemingly trying to get her breathing under control. Her fists clenched the material of her skirt until it was sure to be severely wrinkled. He knew that was a bad sign.