by Tracy Fobes
Colin turned to her. “Have you ever ridden sidesaddle?”
She assessed the fancy saddle atop the mare, with its red velvet seat and ornate tooling of birds and flowers on the leather skirts. Both stirrups hung down on one side.
“Nay, this is my first time.”
“Have you ever ridden atop a horse?”
“Of course,” she answered indignantly, stretching the truth only a little. Occasionally she’d brought her patients to her croft for overnight care, and ridden them home once they’d regained their health. “I’m nae that ignorant.”
“How did you ride, then?”
“With one leg on either side of the horse’s back.”
“In a saddle?”
“I didn’t have time for a saddle.”
“You’ll have to use a sidesaddle from now on. Ladies never ride bareback. It’s considered very indelicate.”
“Why?”
“I suspect some medieval prude declared it so,” he murmured softly. “I won’t go into any further details; they’re too scandalous for your sensitive ears.”
Intrigued, she wondered what could possibly be considered scandalous about riding atop a horse’s bare back. She hadn’t even a guess, but didn’t have much time to think about it, either. Colin smoothly continued his riding lesson.
“Today, you will learn to ride sidesaddle. I’ll show you how to mount first.” He led her over to the mare, who shook her dark brown mane at their approach.
“Now, here is the mounting block,” he said, pointing to a rectangular, roughhewn log about two feet high that sat on the ground. “Generally, you’ll stand on the block, position your left leg in the stirrup, and pull yourself atop the saddle.”
“Before we begin, may I acquaint myself with the horses?”
A bemused smile crossed his face. “Please do.”
She left his side and walked across the packed earth until she stood face-to-face with the mare, who scratched a few times on the ground, then neighed softly. Sarah translated with a touch of disbelief. The horse wanted a pastry, and a blueberry one, at that. What a difference wealth made. Many of the people in Beannach could afford pastries only rarely.
The mare blew air out of its nostrils, and leaned close to fill its nose with Sarah’s scent.
“What is this mare’s name?” she asked the groom, smiling now.
“Sunlight.”
“Blueberry is a better name for her. In any case, I have a question for ye. Have ye noticed any animals getting intae the feed at night?”
“Aye, we’ve had some thievery,” the groom said. “Rats. Skunks. Raccoons. Anything that likes oats has had a go at the storage bin.”
“Did ye ever see a . . . white horse come here at night?”
“Can’t say that I have. Why? Is someone missing a horse?”
“I thought I saw a white horse out my window last night,” she invented. She should have known the unicorn wouldn’t prove that easy to find. “If ye see it, please send word tae the castle. We should try to catch it. It must be lost.”
“Aye, my lady.”
She sighed. “I didn’t think tae bring a treat for Sunlight. Do ye have something I could give her?”
“How about this, my lady?” The groom pulled an apple from his pocket.
Nodding her thanks, Sarah took the apple and handed it to Sunlight. While the mare chewed, she filed away her penchant for blueberry pastries. The next time she rode, she would bring one for the mare.
“Still looking for your unicorn?” Colin asked, brow quirked.
Rather than answer, Sarah glanced at the other horse, a large, chestnut-colored thoroughbred, and gauged its angry hoof stomping. “How long has it been since ye’ve ridden yer horse?”
He shrugged. “Almost ten years, I suppose.”
She nodded sagely, finally understanding the meaning behind all of that angry bluster. The horse thought Colin had abandoned him, and was also bragging about having unseated Colin so many times that Colin couldn’t get the dirt out of his pants anymore. “I guess he’s thrown ye a fair share of times.”
“How do you know that?”
“Oh, he’s obviously spirited.”
“That fleabag has a penchant for low-hanging limbs,” Colin admitted.
Hiding a smile, Sarah didn’t bother to tell him that he’d likely find himself on his arse again today. The horse had promised vengeance against Colin with a determined hoofbeat. “When are ye going tae teach me tae ride?”
“Now.” He turned to the groom. “Please leave us.”
The groom offered them a bow, then walked across the courtyard and disappeared into a barn.
They were completely alone.
“Come over to the mounting block,” Colin urged.
She joined him by the block and examined the sidesaddle. It looked very uncomfortable. “Do I sit facing to the left?”
“No, you face front, your shoulders and hips in the same position as they would be if you were riding astride. Your right leg is draped around the pommel, here, at the top of the saddle, to steady your ride.”
She nodded. “All right. Go on.”
“Usually, a groom or a gentleman companion will assist you into your seat.”
“Assist me? How so?”
At her question, a teasing glint darkened his eyes. He hesitated, clearly thinking something over, then grinned at her, making her breath quicken with anticipation.
“Ladies need help settling into the saddle. However, you must be ready to retaliate against those who touch you in places not essential to the mounting process.”
“Retaliate?”
“Sometimes, a gentleman will allow his hands to linger too long. Such gestures deserve a sharp response.”
She swallowed. “Ye’ll have tae explain more fully.”
“When you mount, a gentleman will put his hands around your waist to help you into the saddle.” Mimicking his words, Colin put his hands around her waist, grasping her firmly.
She trembled, and fought to hide it, not wishing him to know how effortlessly he affected her. “Go on.”
“If his hands wander here, in a supposed effort to grasp your waist, then he has stepped over the line of decency.” He slipped firm palms down to her thighs for just an instant before returning them to her waist.
She gasped, the place he’d touched burning as though on fire.
Without warning, he picked her up and lifted her into the saddle, settling her down gently on the velvet seat. She felt the brush of his hair against her cheek, smelled the musky scent of him just as she settled into the saddle.
She grabbed at the mare’s neck, exquisite sensations running through her body.
“Lady Sarah, are you well?” he asked, his hand lingering on her waist.
She glanced at him. His blue eyes veiled, he watched her closely. At the same time, a tiny grin tugged at his lips, as if he knew exactly what he was doing to her and found a great deal of satisfaction in it.
Stiffening her spine, she forced herself to sit up. Beneath his amused stare, she regained control of her breathing. When she was finally able to look at him with a modicum of calm, she raised one eyebrow in what she hoped was an expression of cool disinterest. “Tell me, how do I punish men with bad manners?”
His grin growing to unabashed proportions, he handed her a small leather riding crop. “If he touches your waist too long, you should tap him lightly on the cheek with your crop to make your point. Should his hands wander to your hips, a more severe whack is in order, preferably to the shoulder. For the most flagrant violations, I would suggest two whacks, applied with significant force to any available part of him.”
Eyes narrowed, she drew herself up to her full height and lifted the riding crop. Determined to deliver at least one whack to his solid-looking buttocks, she lifted the riding crop. “Let me practice.”
With lightning reflexes, he grabbed the crop just as she flicked it downward. “Not on me.”
She allowed the cro
p to drop to her side. “Ye are quick.”
He laughed aloud. “Do you know what you remind me of? A kitten with her back up, spitting at me. A very adorable kitten, in fact. You have to learn to growl louder, kitten, and react more quickly. Such experiences are often a part of riding. Men will try to take advantage of you.”
“Men like you?”
“I’ll admit, I enjoy teasing you. But you needn’t fear me. Your London friend may have marked me as a heartless seducer, but the duke has protected you from me well. If I dare toy with your affections, he’ll see that I lose all. I’m simply trying to teach you what you may expect from men who wish to court you, and how to defend yourself from their advances.”
He mounted his own horse without explaining further and took her horse’s reins. Frowning, she put her leg around the pommel at the top of the saddle and faced forward, as he’d directed. They began to walk.
“Carry your weight on your right thigh and seat,” he said. “Move your center of gravity forward to encourage more speed, and sit back to slow the horse down.”
Heading down the gravel path, away from both the castle and the white barns, they walked into a field of dried grass that hadn’t been cut the previous year. Golden in the late afternoon sunshine, it made a soft rustling sound as the horses walked through it and gave up little bits of chaff that swirled in their wake.
Lifting her chin, she glanced off into the fields beyond a hedgerow. “What did you mean by saying you’d lose all if you toyed with my affections?”
He assessed her with a swift glance. “Let your left leg hang naturally in the stirrup, with your heel down. Sit straight in the saddle, your head held high, your back slightly hollowed.”
“Answer me, my lord,” she countered, after following his directions.
“The duke has vowed to see that I’m permanently ostracized from society if I so much as harm a hair on your head.”
“I know the duke thinks very highly of ye. Why doesn’t he trust ye?”
“He and I see things differently. In his time, men only bestowed attentions on women they considered marrying. He never entered society and learned otherwise.”
“And you attend to all women, and plan to marry none.”
He shrugged rather than answer her directly, then added, “Edward wants only the best for you. A love match, he says. He spent too many years feeling lonely and grieving for his wife to force you into a match with a man who didn’t love you.”
Intrigued by his evasiveness, she studied him. “Is there someone ye wish tae marry, Colin?”
After a small hesitation, he said, “I believe in marriages of convenience. In fact, a match between you and I would make eminent sense.”
Her eyes widened at the thought of being married to Colin, of sharing his days and his bed. To her surprise, she didn’t find the notion at all horrible despite his supposedly wicked ways. In fact, heat filled her cheeks at the thought of them sharing intimacies and she shivered as a powerful yearning unexpectedly assailed her.
They passed through a hedgerow choked with fir trees, birches, and vines, and started into a vast new field. Near the end of the field, perhaps a mile away, she noticed stone cottages. Smoke curled from the chimneys of a few of them, mingling with the cool spring air and scent from the firs to form a fragrant aroma.
“But the duke has forbidden a match between us,” she reminded him.
Colin’s brow lowered and his mouth grew tight. He looked like he’d just felt a pain. “He cannot believe that I could ever love anyone, and assumes that if I pursued you, my sole reason for doing so would be to regain my inheritance through marriage. He protected you by threatening me with consequences he knew I couldn’t live with.”
“And sae I’m quite safe from ye.”
“Yes. You are. He plans to marry you off to the man of your choice, once you’ve debuted in society.”
“Then if nothing can ever exist between us, why do ye . . . tease me sae?”
“Because I simply can’t help myself, kitten,” he told her, his voice low. “There’s something about you that pulls at me.”
She assessed his sincerity and decided he came up short. “How many women have heard that confession?”
“None other than you.”
They both fell silent. Sarah glanced his way. Brow lowered, he didn’t acknowledge her regard, instead staring out across the fields. She’d expected a teasing smile from him, but this cool solemnity forced her to reassess his sincerity.
“Would you like to meet some of the duke’s tenants?” Colin asked abruptly, breaking into her thoughts.
Remembering Mrs. Fitzbottom’s admonition to do just that, Sarah nodded. With luck, the tenants would shine even more light onto Colin’s character. Even more importantly, those stone crofts in the distance appeared very similar to her own home. Suddenly she wanted to be among simple folk who understood and accepted her. She needed to be among those who lived rich lives despite their empty pockets.
“When you talk to the tenants, please try very hard to speak as Phineas taught you,” he reminded her. “Otherwise, your accent will reveal your humbler origins, which the duke wishes to avoid at all costs.”
A little ache tightened near her heart. “I have nae quarrel with my humbler origins. I wish the duke felt the same way.”
“The duke is trying to protect you. The less that’s known about your past, the easier you’ll be accepted by society.”
“I dinna care a bit about yer society,” she informed him grudgingly, “but I’ll go along with ye for the duke’s sake.”
“Good.”
As the afternoon sunshine started to lose its strength, they continued to walk through fields and hedgerows until, at length, Colin stopped his horse and scanned the countryside. Sarah stopped, too, and when Colin apparently made up his mind about the direction they should take, they both headed off toward the south.
“Where exactly are we going?” she asked in the deepening silence between them.
“A farmer I once knew, by the name of McKay, used to reside in a little croft near the loch. I’d like to visit him and see what has changed. Indeed, I don’t even know if he still lives.”
“How did ye make his acquaintance?”
“He and I worked together to improve the duke’s lands several years ago.”
He spurred his horse to a trot. Sarah also began to trot, her backside thumping against the saddle as she slipped around. Certain she would fall off, she tightened her right leg around the pommel, her lips pressed together in a grim, panicked line. Just as she opened her mouth to plead with him to slow down, they stopped before an old byre house.
Slate formed its roof, and moss covered its gray stone walls, which had begun to crumble. Perched on top of the stable, the house had unusually narrow window openings that suggested it might have once been a garrison. Pigs rooted around in the farmyard out front, where manure, mud, and the stink of rotting vegetables reigned. Oxen lowed from the byre below the farmhouse, and a plow sat rusting near a trough of muck-ridden water.
Colin had fixed his attention on the front porch. “I’m still expecting to see old Chiswick,” he murmured mysteriously. Then he dismounted and walked to her side.
She eyed him suspiciously. “Who’s Chiswick?”
“Nobody important,” he insisted, shrugging elaborately.
Unconvinced, she dismounted from her horse with his assistance. As soon as her feet touched the ground, though, she discovered that her legs no longer worked. Unaccustomed to riding, they’d grown weak with the effort to keep her steady on the saddle. She sagged against him, needing his support, and after a brief hesitation he offered it, putting an arm around her shoulder.
He felt so strong, and safe, and warm, that compulsively she moved closer to him and turned slightly to face him. She hadn’t planned this, and almost couldn’t believe she was acting so recklessly, but she wanted his heat and strength for her own. These last two days had been awful and she needed someone to l
ean against.
He drew in a quick breath, and slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her even closer. She risked a glance at his face and saw that his eyebrows had drawn together in an expression resembling pain. He buried his nose in her hair and whispered softly, something she couldn’t quite hear.
Trembling now, she turned to face him fully, like a flower turning toward the sun. Her gaze dropped to his full, sensuous lips, and she noticed the white lines around his mouth, lines of strain. He held her even tighter, his own attention fastened on her mouth, and she felt him shaking ever so slightly against her, as though he were trying to resist some wild impulse.
And yet, she knew he couldn’t resist. Neither could she. As his mouth descended to hers, she could see dark rim around the lighter blue of his eyes. They were so close, she thought, almost as one, but not yet. Her heart pounding, she recognized that there was still time to stop this madness.
Treacherously her arms slipped around his broad shoulders almost of their own accord. She parted her lips and closed her eyes, praying that he would kiss her, and praying equally as hard that he would release her and allow her to remain innocent.
A tortured moan escaped him. Ever so gently, he leaned forward and kissed her mouth.
The pressure of his lips against hers, and the intimacy of it, shocked her. She stood absolutely still. Sensations assaulted her: the smell of his shaving lotion, the firmness of his lips against her much softer mouth, the hard body pressed against hers, the feel of his stubbled chin rubbing against hers.
Heat curled through her thighs and belly. Involuntarily her hips moved against his. A longing was building in her, though for what, she didn’t know.
At her movement, he groaned again, low in his throat, and pulled his mouth from hers. Breathing hard, his hair mussed, he turned toward the byre house. “I never meant to kiss you, Sarah. Please forgive me.”
Sarah looked away, her lips tingling. Her own breath coming fast, she ran her hands over her skirt, as if by smoothing them she was hiding the marks of his kiss. “Why did ye kiss me?”
He swore softly, then turned her until she faced him. “You’re like a fire in my blood. I can’t think of anyone or anything else.” He punched his thigh lightly with a closed fist. “God help me for following my impulses this afternoon. We both risk ruin because of it.”