Her Highland Protector (Iron 0f The Highlands Series Book 2)

by Emilia Ferguson

  “I reckon I could see if I can spot some tansy, when I head out.”

  “You’ll be heading out today?” the healer looked skeptical. “Not with this rain, which is like as not to settle in all afternoon!”

  “I have a feeling it’ll clear,” Irmengarde said mildly. “It’s just a predictable shower.”

  “Shower is what it’s doing,” she nodded. “The lads will be giving my Brenna madness.”

  “Your grandsons?”

  “Aye! Pair of rogues.”

  She chuckled. “They must be growing fast.”

  “Och, aye, milady! Shooting up – taller than I am now, or like to be.”

  “I imagine so,” she nodded. “I might take a turn up past the cottage.”

  “I wouldnae, if I were you, milady! That pair will nae leave well alone.”

  Irmengarde smiled. She felt happiness for women who had children – her own lack of them was not something that hurt her. She was glad Clovis had no hostages. She found herself planning a long ride up past the cottages, when the rain stopped. The thought of it made her smile – she could see no reason why her husband would forbid her to go, not if the horse trainer went with her. He seemed a reliable sort.

  All she hoped was his ability to make a stir was less great than she was already suspecting.

  He’s already made an enemy of Miller. I wonder how long it will be before he angers everybody in the household?

  She looked out of the window, deliberately distracting herself. She wasn’t even going to contemplate the thought that he might make an enemy of Lord DeWarren.

  “It’ll be a mercy if the rain does stop today,” Mrs. McNeal observed. “I reckon it’s going to, though…. I think you’re right.”

  “Oh. Good,” Irmengarde nodded. “I think I’ll go out, later.” She didn’t mention she planned to go riding, since Mrs. McNeal would probably be worried about her safety, should she do that.

  “Well, I said ye had a chill,” Mrs. McNeal said slowly. “So I reckon it’ll all look alright.”

  “He was here?”

  “The baron? Aye. Reckon he was. I sent him away with something tae think about.”

  Irmengarde bit back her smile at the woman’s angry comment. She was deeply touched by her devotion, especially the fact that she loathed Lord DeWarren openly, refusing to call him anything but “the baron”.

  She didn’t think she would call anybody her master.

  “So. If you go out, mind you wrap up warm. Though it’s wise to do it anyway…the winter’s around the corner and that chill out there’s like to freeze the ballocks…excuse me, milady.”

  Irmengarde laughed, finding it impossible not to. She was glad she’d come to spend time in the still room. “I will ensure I wrap up warm,” she nodded. She peered out of the window, hoping that the rain would stop soon.

  Mrs. McNeal left, heading down to the kitchens. She stayed where she was, working on the preparation, her mind lost in thought.

  He looked rather fine for a horse trainer. That wool cloak brought out the brown of his eyes. He is quite an attractive sort.

  She flushed at the thought. How could she even consider it? He was a servant in her household! She didn’t have any business to go thinking about him in such a way.

  All the same, she was looking forward to a ride.

  As soon as she heard the sound of dishes being cleared in the solar – meaning that his Lordship was in there, dining alone, she slipped swiftly down the stairs to the courtyard.

  “I’m going out, Keith,” she said to the guard. “Please tell his lordship I intend to be back within two hours, should he ask.”

  “Very good, milady.”

  That, she thought sorrowfully, would at least help to ensure that he wouldn’t come looking. Not for the next two hours, at least. It was a short ride, but so much better than nothing.

  “Hello?” she called as she walked into the stables. Her boots clicked on the stone floor of the place and she tried to walk carefully, so as not to startle the horses. Where were the stable hands? They must be somewhere. The saddle was heavy and cumbersome for her to lift onto her horse’s back alone.

  “Hello, lass,” she said, stroking Grayswift’s nose. She looked around, feeling surprisingly irritable. Why wasn’t he here? Where was everyone, and why weren’t they at their appointed place, doing their job?

  “She’s looking happier,” a voice said from behind her.

  She whipped round, in shock. She saw him standing there, and flushed, looking at the floor. “I thought you were occupied elsewhere,” she said tensely.

  “No, just finished for the day.” He shrugged, a grin twisting those thin, fine lips.

  “Well, then,” she said, finding her coolly composed tone. “I suppose you will have time to accompany me on a ride?”

  “It would be my pleasure.” He bowed.

  Irmengarde felt her heart leap with delight, but chose to ignore it. She couldn’t do much else. She sniffed. “Well, then. If you could saddle a horse for me?”

  He shrugged again. “Of course, milady.”

  While he headed to the tack room, Irmengarde talked to her horse. She would take Russet, one of the other hunt trained horse, for the ride instead – her husband had forbidden her from using her own.

  “I’m sorry, lass,” she murmured. She scratched behind the horse’s ears. “I hope he’s exercising you.”

  “She likes a fast canter, now and again,” Mr. Covell said as he appeared with the saddle held casually in his big arms as if it had no weight. Irmengarde forced herself to ignore the bulging biceps and the strange tingling feeling they elicited. She looked at his face.

  “Yes, she does,” she nodded. “She also likes a well mucked out stall. I trust you’re ensuring…”

  “All being cared for, milady.”

  She felt her brow rise in annoyance. He had interrupted her, which was utterly uncalled for. She stiffened.

  “I trust you know your place, Mr. Covell?”

  “I know my job, milady. And, yes, I ken my place.” He grinned and hauled the saddle across the fence. He seemed to take no offense at anything she said, which was, after all, part of his place – to obey her without taking offense. All the same, she found it unreasonably irritating, from him especially.

  “I will ride Russet,” she said, indicating the stall further away from them.

  “Not the lass?”

  “My husband’s orders.”

  “Och, that’s terrible,” he muttered. She knew he hadn’t meant her to hear it, but she did. She felt a flare of light in her heart, even though she knew it was utterly unthinkable that a servant would gainsay his master in such away, especially in her presence!

  “What was that?” she asked.

  “Nothing, milady,” he said. “Just saying oh, my back.” He rubbed the aforementioned part of his anatomy, his face a picture of calm.

  “That’s all very well,” she said, and strode down the barn towards where he was working, tightening the girth with seeming effortlessness.

  While she watched, she couldn’t help noticing how strong and capable his shoulders were, his legs well-planted to bear the weight. They were corded with muscle – she could see the bulge of it through the tight hose he wore.

  “There’s a rain coming, milady,” he commented. “We’d best not stay out or go far.”

  “I suggest we don’t stray further than an hour’s ride hence.”

  “Very good idea, milady.”

  Irmengarde felt herself flush pink as he praised her. His eyes held her gaze, and she could see affection in their stare. She looked away.

  Who does he think he is, to show interest?

  “We’ll go across the plains,” she said. “Or, a little way. It much depends on how long it takes to get through the woods.”

  “You know the paths well,” he said. It was a statement.

  “I enjoy riding.”

  “I see, milady.”

  He turned away, with that cryp
tic utterance, and led her horse out of the stall. Irmengarde took the bridle from him and led her slowly out into the courtyard. She stood there, the wind starting to flurry around her, the chill and fresh scent of rain lifting her spirit.

  “Ready to mount up, milady?”

  She turned. “That was fast.”

  “I’m used to tacking up, milady,” he said. This time, she could see the spark of pride in his eyes.

  “I’m not remotely surprised,” she said. “You have worked with horses all your life, not so?”

  “Mostly, aye,” he nodded. He watched her lead her horse to the mounting place. She stepped up on the block, seeing with annoyance that he was coming to take the reins, to hold the horse steady. She slid her leg over and sat up straight, looking down at him with a challenging stare.

  “You’re very fast, milady.”

  “I’m used to mounting up, Covell.”

  He turned away swiftly, but she thought she saw a grin cross his face. She bit back her smile.

  Together, they rode away from the stables and towards the gates.

  “We’ll go out through the rear gate,” she said swiftly. “The route into the forest is faster from there.”

  He raised a brow. “I didn’t know it joined the road.”

  He looked impressed, and she had to fight against the little spark of happiness that made her feel. What should it matter to her, what he thought? He was a servant!

  “It leads onto a path that joins the forest path way after three minutes’ walking.”

  He shrugged. “There’s much I need to learn about this place.”

  “There’s a lot you need to learn, more generally,” she said archly, and jinked her horse in ahead of his, speeding through the gate. “Like not leaving such an inviting gap to ride into, if you truly want to lead the cavalcade.”

  She tried to resist the urge to turn around. She had seen enough of his face in passing to know he looked astonished. She giggled, and spurred ahead so that he didn’t hear her.

  She heard him speeding up and felt her soul soar. Her hair streamed back from her face, tied in a neat braid but straggling loose already. She could feel the pace of her horse increasing under her and let it carry her onward, the steady roll of it growing to a thumping rumble as he gained on her.

  She felt her horse start to strain, just as the leaves blurred into a thick line of green and the forest moved past shockingly fast. She slowed down.

  “So,” she called, as he rode up behind her. “Did you find something out?”

  “That you’re fast.”

  She bit back a grin. “Besides that. Russet is a fast horse, yes.”

  “You ride well, milady – it takes grand skills to sit a horse at such a speed.”

  “Thank you,” she said, one brow raised mildly. “What I meant was, if I was someone you were meant to keep an eye on, like a prisoner, you’d be long gone.”

  “You’re not a prisoner, milady.”

  “Truly not?” she said with a wintry stare. She turned away. “We should take the next mile or so more slowly. We want to exercise our horses on the moorlands.”

  “Yes, milady.”

  Irmengarde rode ahead, and she noticed that he didn’t suggest she rode beside him, which was a pleasure in itself. She liked the fact that he trusted her to take the lead, that he – at least – did not see her as a prisoner.

  “It’s quite wet on the path way,” she commented, riding along slowly. She glanced at him over one shoulder. His hair had come loose around his face, a reddish cloud that hung to his shoulders, curling in the damp air.

  “It is,” he observed. “It’s no’ easy going for horses, here on this sloping piece.”

  “No, it’s not,” she agreed. “It’s just as well we won’t be going down this section on the way back. There’s a faster route round from the moors – it joins the main road.”

  “I see,” he said again. “You have much to teach me.”

  “You have much to learn.”

  They laughed. Irmengarde flushed, as her eyes met his. It was so comfortable, so easy, talking to him! His dark eyes sparked in a way that made her feel something in the pit of her belly. She swallowed hard and looked swiftly away.

  “I do wish to be back before an hour is out.”

  “Very good, milady.”

  They rode on in silence. The road widened, and she found herself falling in step with him. He rode Blackburne, a sturdy destrier who had been with the castle since Irmengarde’s arrival. She raised a brow, noticing the excellent pose Mr. Covell kept on his back.

  “You have ridden since childhood?” she asked.

  “Since before I could walk.” He grinned. “How’d ye guess, milady?”

  “You have an air of competence about you, when you ride,” she said calmly. She wasn’t about to tell him it was because she admired his stance. That would be a step too far outside what propriety would allow. Besides, she didn’t want him getting ahead of himself.

  He nodded. “Thank you, milady. I reckon I feel at ease up here. More so than on the land, sometimes, as it were.”

  “You are on land,” she shot back. She raised a brow at him.

  He inclined his head. “Point taken. Yes, I am.”

  She turned away from him, feeling that strange annoyance returning to her. He was far too at ease with her, too self-assured.

  “You are very quick with your opinions.”

  “I am. My father always said it was because I had a mouth like a stable door in a high wind.”

  She laughed, the image far too irresistible not to do so. “I am inclined to wish I’d met your father. He seemed a sensible man.”

  “He is,” he nodded. “Taught me well, and still hale and farming a piece of land out in Dumfries.”

  “Your parents are farming sorts?”

  He cast her a glance. “Reckon so,” he nodded. “My great-grandfather was granted land by the laird thereabouts, for services to his forces.”

  “Was he a horse trainer, too?”

  Mr. Covell grinned. “I don’t know, milady. Probably was. That’s a long time hence.”

  She nodded. Inwardly, she couldn’t help but recall the fact that her family’s story was recorded on a tapestry in the great hall. Her father was Baron Donwell, and she knew the family’s history as far back as two hundred years before.

  “So. Care for a canter?”

  “Wait until we reach flatter terrain.”

  She hadn’t meant it as a challenge, but his eyes lit and she felt her own heart thump. He was challenging her to a race! She grinned and turned away.

  “We’ll see how a good seat on a horse holds up at speed.”

  She wasn’t sure if he’d heard her, but she thought she heard a laugh and resisted the temptation to spur ahead. She heard him following her and reined in, keeping to a seemly pace.

  When they reached the moors, her heart soared.

  “Are you ready?” she asked him.

  He lifted a shoulder. “I reckon, milady.”

  “Well, then,” she said, turning her horse away. “Shall we race?”

  “You can go first,” he said.

  She shot him a glare. “Are you suggesting…”

  “I want to try something,” he said.

  Irmengarde bit back a sharp retort. How dare he suggest that she need a head start? She’d show him.

  Patting her horse’s neck, she whispered to him swiftly. “Let’s show him, eh?”

  Together, as if in tacit agreement, they shot off towards the skyline. Irmengarde held the reins loosely, gripping with her knees, feeling as the roar of her horse’s hoofs thundered across the moorlands.

  She heard hoof beats behind her and turned around. She was shocked to see how well the horse trainer was seated yet, and his insane speed.

  She let her own horse slow, as he came up alongside. He grinned.

  “So?” she asked. He was panting, leaning on his horse’s neck, cheeks red with effort. She tried not to let satisfac
tion show on her face – he was at least looking worse for the speed.

  “So, that was fast.” He chuckled.

  “What did you find out?” she asked with some reservation in her voice.

  He sat up and shrugged, his face slightly less flushed than it was. “I found out that Blackburne likes racing,” he said. “I reckoned if I gave Russet a head start, his nature would make it hard to resist closing the gap as fast as he could.”

  She nodded in approval. “You are good at your trade,” she said.

  “I try my best,” he acknowledged, wiping his face with his shirt sleeve in a way that made her wince. His father might have taught him his trade, but nobody taught him his manners.

  “I am taken with your methods,” she added, as they rode back across the moors at a walk.

  “I am glad – I have my detractors, milady.”

  She bit back a smile. “I heard you and the head overseer have already had…some conflict.”

  “I told him what to do with himself, milady. Yes.”

  Irmengarde bit her cheeks to keep the smile from betraying her approval. “I understand so,” she said.

  “That man’s a butcher,” he said firmly. “Which reminds me, milady?”

  “Yes?” Her heart thumped, they had reached the tree line again. They had to ride closer now and she felt a need to lower her voice, though she knew nobody could hear. It was the silence of the forest – it seemed almost profligate to disturb it.

  “I still do not ken why your husband assigned me to this horse,” he said. “There’s naught wrong with her.”

  “Grayswift?” Irmengarde swallowed hard. “He wanted to break her spirit.”

  “Why’d he go doing a think like that! Sorry, milady.” He looked down, shaking his head. “He’s me liege-lord and I have no place tae question him…it’s not my place.”

  Irmengarde cleared her throat. “The horse is mine,” she said. “And she means a great deal.”

  She turned away before she could see the expression on that long-haired, handsome face. She knew he would be as unbelieving as she was. She couldn’t afford to let him see her own contempt and loathing for Lord DeWarren. She didn’t want him to think he could disrespect the man, on her account. Also, she thought to herself more openly, she didn’t want him to see how afraid she was of him.