by Tarah Scott
“Shall we start, then?” she asked.
“We?”
“She is my horse.” Her lashes dipped.
She inched closer, head tipped back slightly. Was that an invitation for a kiss? God, if only he could kiss her. If only she wasn’t Lord Dunn’s spoiled, scheming daughter.
Liam inhaled and stepped back.
Mackenzie’s brows furrowed. Damnation, but the way her plump lips pouted when she frowned only served to fan the flames of temptation. His cock pulsed.
“I must be off.” Liam stepped back.
She was quick to follow. “Must you?” She placed a hand on his arm.
The lass was temptation personified. He cleared his throat, struggling to remind himself she was Lord Dunn’s daughter and therefore, untouchable—a point about which his cock disagreed.
“Tomorrow. I will return,” he clipped his goodbye.
He was striding away when she called after him, “Early, then.”
Liam swung into the saddle and turned his horse toward Blackstone.
For the first time since they’d arrived at Blackstone Abbey, he regretted his decision to make the abbey his home. He’d come for the solitude, the peace of mind. While the abbey lay only an hour ride from Inverness, here, they were very much in the wilds. He’d never considered the possibility he might meet a woman of breeding, one who found him attractive. He’d considered nothing more than the occasional milkmaid who might want a tumble in the barn.
Liam grimaced. He hadn’t planned on Lady Mackenzie. She was bold. Intriguing. Only three years past, before the army—before Almeida—he would have pressed his advantage, stolen at least a kiss or two, if she proved to be a woman of the world. If she was a virgin, as he highly suspected, he would have delighted in teaching her the ways between men and women.
A mental picture rose of her standing before him in all her naked glory.
His cock further hardened.
“No more of that, you fool,” he muttered.
Perhaps it was time to find a willing milkmaid in need of a man. He broke from his reverie, glanced at the darkening sky and grimaced. It would be just his luck to get a good drenching before he reached home, but then, a cold dousing might be exactly what he needed. Wind whipped his hair as he kicked his horse into a gallop.
Minutes later, the spire of Blackstone Abbey came into view just beyond the trees. Unexpected warmth rippled through him. If anyone had told him a year ago that he’d ever call anywhere home again, he would have named that person a fool. The oddity of such a place being an abbey was somehow fitting. He’d thought to find solace, peace…and solitude. Certainly not a wife. After all, how could he afford one?
A drop of rain landed on his nose, portending greater things to come. With another kick, he urged his horse faster and, minutes later, rode through the abbey gates. Once inside the courtyard, he slowed his horse to a walk and dismounted once in the stables.
“Good afternoon, laird,” the stable lad, Gavin, greeted as he dropped from the hay loft.
“The same to you, lad.” He handed Gavin the reins.
Liam stretched. Then, as the lad led the horse away, he spied the corner of his sketchpad peeping from the saddlebag.
“By God,” he cursed.
The boy froze and glanced back. “Is something wrong, laird?”
Liam scowled, covered the distance that separated them in three long strides and grabbed the sketchbook.
“Nae,” he told the boy. Nothing was wrong except that he’d been so distracted by Lady Mackenzie that he’d forgotten to deliver the drawings to Lord Dunn.
Irritated, he left the stables and headed for the abbey proper. As he strode down the arcade walkway, he caught sight of Rhys standing at the second-floor dormitory window on the west side of the grounds.
Liam slowed. Would ever a day pass where the dark memories of the past didn’t haunt them? Liam had seen too many grim things. What soldier hadn’t? But Rhys had seen the unthinkable: the destruction of the men under his command. Ewan had found some peace through the love of a good woman, and Liam, at least a smidgeon from his sketches, but for Rhys? Was any measure of peace even possible?
With a shudder, Liam shoved open the door of the oblong-shaped chapter house and descended the dozen stairs to the main floor. Although, he’d never admit the truth to his brother, the chapter house had become his favorite place in the abbey since Kyla had given the abbey a woman’s touch. She’d furnished the room with several card tables, chairs, a divan, and a pianoforte. Even without the low fire that often burned in the hearth, they gathered here in the evenings to hear her play.
Liam stalked toward his favorite chair. There was something to be said about having a woman around—a woman, not a flirtatious girl who had no idea how to deal with a real man. Halfway across the room, he became aware of a murmur of voices. Curious, he detoured through the archway and down another hall to one of the abbey’s many entrances. There, near the door, stood Ewan and—God help him—Mister Pettigrew.
Liam stared. How had Pettigrew managed to speak with Lord Dunn’s man and get here so quickly? Even more, did Dunn know Pettigrew had ridden to the abbey? Had he sent him? Liam strode forward.
“You’re saying you know nothing concerning the matter of MacAlpin’s missing cow?” Mister Pettigrew asked.
“Nae,” Ewan replied curtly. “I have already told you.”
Mister Pettigrew flushed as Liam stopped beside his bother.
“And I care not that the tracks led you this way,” Ewan continued, his voice calm yet cold. With an air of finality, he added, “Unless you can show me where they lead through our gates, we are finished.”
Mister Pettigrew shot Liam a pleading look. The audacity of the man. Did he really expect Liam to help?
“Did Dunn send you?” Liam asked.
The little man squirmed. “His lordship put me in charge of investigating his cattle, to assure they weren’t gone a missing. Missing cattle are missing cattle.”
Liam snorted. “As you know, I just came from Newborne. The viscount gave no indication he believed Blackstone to be involved. When you spoke to Mack, did you discover any cattle missing?”
“Well, no.” Pettigrew fidgeted. “But that is of no consequence in as serious a matter as this.”
“Then I suggest you speak with the constable,” Liam cut him short. “It is his duty—and his alone—to find the thieves.”
“The nearest constable is five miles away,” Mister Pettigrew protested.
“A mere half hour ride,” Ewan said. “You had best hurry if you want to reach him before dark.”
Pettigrew scowled, but still asked, “None of your cattle are missing, I imagine?”
Locking his gaze on Pettigrew, Liam addressed his brother, “Ewan, I think Mister Pettigrew is implying since our cattle haven’t been stolen, we are the thieves.”
“Nae,” Ewan replied evenly. “For such accusations would demand a challenge.”
Pettigrew paled. “D-dueling is illegal,” he stuttered.
Ewan stepped forward. “Then, I suppose you’d better make haste to Constable Hamilton and inform him I threatened you.”
Mister Pettigrew’s mouth opened and closed without producing a sound.
Ewan opened the door.
“I will not be bullied,” Pettigrew gasped in a surprising burst of determination.
Liam chuckled and clapped the man on the back. “That’s the spirit, man. Better to die with courage.”
Pettigrew’s head snapped in his direction. “What do you mean? I am a fair shot, I’ll have you know.”
“Good, good. But you should know, Ewan was a sharpshooter in the army. One of the best. We were all members of the 3rd Foot Guard, you know, but Ewan was a Green Jacket.”
Pettigrew’s eyes widened. “It’s rumored they can take the tassel off a man’s bonnet at a hundred yards.”
Liam shrugged. “Oh, aye. That’s true—except for Ewan. He can shoot a fly off the tassel from three h
undred yards.”
“That is not possible,” Pettigrew blurted.
Liam laughed. “For anyone but Ewan, aye.”
Pettigrew stared.
“On my honor,” Liam added with a grin.
“I-I must be going.” Pettigrew whirled and lunged through the door.
Liam nearly laughed as Pettigrew broke into a run.
“I believe ye frightened the rabbit,” Ewan said.
They watched him disappear around the side of the building.
“I wouldn’t have thought him capable of running at all, much less that fast,” Liam murmured. He closed the door and faced his brother.
Ewan cocked a brow. “A fly off the tassel of a bonnet at three hundred yards?”
Liam shrugged. “You willnae brag, but I’m allowed.” At his brother’s grunt, he asked, “What do you make of the cattle rustling?”
Ewan started down the hallway. “I would say someone wants the Beasts of Blackstone Abbey gone,” he replied as Liam fell in alongside him.
“Someone in Brodrick’s old smuggling ring?”
Ewan gave a slow nod.
“Are you thinking who I’m thinking?” Liam asked.
“Mallatratt.”
Chapter Four
At five minutes before two in the afternoon, Mackenzie pushed aside the gold brocade drapes and peered out her bedchamber window. Liam had sent a note that morning, promising to arrive at two. She’d been watching the drive since noon.
Would he be late? Lord, she hoped not. She scrutinized the road for any hint of the man.
The clock ticked.
She forced herself to breathe, calmly, slowly.
After what felt like ages, the clock chimed twice.
Still no sign of him. She frowned, surprised just how much the pang of disappointment hurt.
A rider emerged from the bend in the road. Her pulse skipped a beat. Liam. He sat straight in the saddle—he would, of course. After all, he was a soldier, and a more handsome one had never walked the earth. He sat with such ease, his lean hips moving in rhythm with the horse. Every line of his body bespoke power.
She leaned against the window and smiled. He must have been fearsome in battle. Her heart tugged. War changed men. She’d often heard that. Just how had Liam been affected?
Once, she’d seen the body of a man carried from a burned cottage. He’d died from the smoke, not the flames. Aside from smudges of soot on his face, he’d appeared to be sleeping. When the villagers laid him on the ground, the man’s wife screamed and threw herself onto her husband’s body. Mackenzie had watched, horrified. She’d half expected the man’s eyelids to flutter open, for him to rise and take his wife in his arms, to kiss her, hold her close, and assure her all was well.
But he hadn’t. Finally, the villagers had pulled the woman aside and carried the man away. For the following week, Mackenzie had lain awake at night, consumed with thoughts that the man might wake up buried in a wooden box, six feet beneath the ground.
She shivered. How much worse were the things that Liam Fraser had seen?
Her eyes snapped back to the road. Liam hadn’t stopped at the front door, as she’d expected, but continued around the side of the house. As she watched, his head suddenly angled toward her window.
Quickly, she stepped back. Her hands flew to her cheeks. Had he seen her? How foolish she’d been. So lost in thought, she’d been staring straight at him. He’d clearly noticed and probably thought her a silly buffoon of a lass. Was he still looking her way? She bit her lip and waited, then finally leaned forward and, with one finger, eased the curtain aside a sliver.
He was gone.
Mackenzie stepped back. He must have gone to the paddock. Did he expect her to meet him there? Nae, no gentleman would expect a lady to arrive on her own. A proper gentleman would escort her to their destination. She scowled. That meant, he mustn’t be coming, that he didn’t intend to include her in the training of her own horse. Or…was he avoiding her? Surely not.
“There’s a misunderstanding,” she murmured.
That left her only one course of action. She hurried toward the door, but on the way, caught her reflection in the mirror near the armoire and stopped. She turned from side to side, studying her appearance. The corset her maid had tied that morning had molded her figure into a perfect hourglass. She smoothed a hand down her side and turned a critical gaze to the light blue riding jacket that hugged her breasts. Yes, quite delightful. Clearly, she was no ‘girl,’ but a woman grown, ready to learn the ways of love—within the confines of marriage, of course—and with the right man, she amended with a prim smile.
A light tap sounded on the door and the maid, Jesse, entered. “The tea is ready in your mother’s antechamber, miss. She sent me to tell you…” Her voice trailed as her eyes locked onto Mackenzie’s waist. “Oh dear. We tied your stays too tight.” She frowned and hurried to Mackenzie’s side. “Your waist is so small. How can ye breathe?” She reached for the buttons on Mackenzie’s jacket.
Mackenzie slapped her hands aside. “I am perfectly fine, Jesse. Now, inform my mother I will not be joining her. I am going riding.”
Ten minutes later, Mackenzie approached the paddock. As suspected, Liam was already there with her Arabian, Freya, leading her in a circle. Her horse was a beauty, but nothing like the man at her side.
“Easy, lass,” he crooned. “That’s right, bonny one. Easy. Trust me.”
Freya snorted and snapped her head, but as Liam continued his gentle words, she stilled and allowed him to flatten a palm on her neck. Slowly, he stroked her back and walked around her rump, palm gliding along her body as the horse twisted her head to watch.
Mackenzie sighed. If only Liam touched her that way. Was it improper to be jealous of one’s horse? Liam turned away to lead the horse across the paddock, and Mackenzie rested her arms atop the fence and inspected the man, pleased with the set of his shoulders and his lean hips. She shivered, secretly shocked at the pleasure to be found in staring at a man’s strong buttocks.
Please, Freya, please be the densest horse in all Scotland. The thought that Liam might work his magic and train her quickly was depressing. Watching Liam was the best birthday present she’d ever received.
As for marriage material? The man was of the highest quality, that was certain. There was little to stand in her way. Doubtless, Lord Ewan Fraser would want his brother happily wed, and as the daughter of an earl, she was a perfect match for a viscount’s brother. Why the Frasers lived as commoners at Blackstone Abbey was a mystery, though she’d heard rumors of their father losing his property through gambling. While rumors were seldom reliable, still, where there was smoke, a fire usually burned. Such hardships, however, wouldn’t stand in her way. Her father was rich, and she, the heiress.
Liam wheeled Freya around. The horse followed. Liam had a true way with horses, a gift that went well beyond just ‘having a way.’ Already, Freya was well on her way to trusting him.
“Aye, bonny one. There’s a sweet lass, now.” Liam chuckled.
Liam looked away from the horse and his eyes locked with Mackenzie’s. He angled his head in acknowledgement.
“Good afternoon.” Mackenzie smiled.
“Good afternoon, my lady. I see you are dressed for riding.”
She smiled, pleased he’d noticed.
He strolled past her, leading the horse. “I know you do no’ mean to ride this mare today.”
Mackenzie’s smile vanished. Indeed, she had planned on riding Freya, but suddenly, she realized how foolish a notion that had been. The horse wasn’t at all ready.
“Of course not,” she fibbed. “I plan to ride one of the chestnuts.”
“Very wise.” He slowed and allowed Freya to walk close enough to sniff his shoulder.
“Wise?” Mackenzie repeated. He spoke as one would to a child.
Liam walked a little faster and the horse increased her pace to keep up with him without the lead going taut. “Aye, chestnuts tend to run tam
e,” he said in even tones.
“Tame?” Mackenzie repeated. “Have you forgotten I am a skilled horsewoman.”
“Of course,” he agreed in an indulgent tone.
Mackenzie’s temper flared. The man was patronizing her. Well, she would show him. She whirled and stalked to the stables.
“Joseph? Joseph?” she called.
A freckle-faced young man with a shock of red hair emerged from a nearby stall. “Lady Mackenzie?”
“I would like to go riding this morning. Saddle Archangel,” she ordered.
“Archangel, my lady?” Joseph was clearly taken aback. “Are ye sure? Your father’s horse?”
Must every man treat her like a child? “I am quite sure,” she said in a crisp voice. “Please, be quick. Oh, and not a sidesaddle.” She would break her neck riding sidesaddle on the spirited Friesian.
“No sidesaddle?” His mouth dropped open.
“Do I need to clean out your ears?” Mackenzie demanded. When he hesitated, she blew out a frustrated breath. “Step aside, then. I will saddle him myself.”
Joseph’s eyes widened. “Nae, Miss. I cannot allow that. I’ll be right quick.”
He spun and raced to the tack room to return a moment later, saddle in hands. At the third stall on the right, he dropped the saddle beside the stall, lifted the latch, then disappeared inside. Mackenzie walked to the stall as Joseph led Archangel out. The stunning Friesian was a powerful, nimble beast of pure black.
As Joseph busied himself with the saddle, Mackenzie patted the horse on the withers. He nickered and snuffled her hair.
“Ready, my lady,” Joseph finally said. He linked his hands together and waited.
Mackenzie stepped into his hands, swung her leg over the animal’s rump and settled in the saddle.
“Do you wish me to ride with ye, my lady?” the young man asked as he handed her the reins.
“Whatever for?” She dug her heels into the horse’s ribs.
Archangel sprang forward. An instant later, they broke from the stables. At the last possible second, she spied Liam in the paddock with Freya. He started to turn her way. Mackenzie snapped her head forward and hunkered down in the saddle.