danger. Not that she’d ever heard of footpads on this road before. Not so near to the castle. ‘I would have been fine if my horse had not picked up a stone in her hoof.’
The look in his green-flecked brown eyes said he didn’t believe it.
Infuriating man. The fact that he was right only made her feel more angry. At herself. She was lucky he had come to her rescue. But it galled her to say so. ‘I thank you, sir, for your help. I do not believe I have seen you in these parts before.’
His frown deepened. ‘Niall Gilvry, at your service.’ He gestured to the horse. ‘Which hoof?’
‘Right front.’
He bent and lifted the horse’s leg. ‘Ah. Do you have a pick?’
She handed him the one still clenched in her fist. ‘It’s stuck fast, poor beastie.’
Gilvry gave a quick twist and the stone flicked out on to the road. He gently probed, looking for more debris. ‘You’ll have to walk, I’m thinking. It will be a while before she heals.’
He really must think her hen-witted if he thought she would ride the poor creature after it had suffered so, but what was the point of trying to disabuse him of the notion. She would likely never see him again. And when she recalled the thrills his kiss had sent racing through her body, it was probably just as well. ‘If you think it best to walk, I shall certainly do so.’
He gathered her mount’s reins. ‘I will walk with you,’ he said, without waiting for her agreement, ‘in case yon fellows change their minds.’
She shuddered at the thought. Although, truth be told, his scowl—black brows drawn down across the bridge of a hawkish nose—was almost as frightening as the ruffians. Some woman might consider such rugged unshaven features handsome, but his height accompanied by his grim expression felt more than a little overpowering. Only his sculpted lips offered any hint of softness. A shiver trickled down her spine as her lips tingled with the memory of the feel of his mouth against her own.
It wasn’t her first kiss. She’d encountered the odd amorous young gentleman who had caught her in a youthful game of blind man’s buff. Awkward mashings of lips against teeth. Nothing so hot and so dark as his mouth had felt. None of them had set her ablaze, or made her forget what she was doing. Not for an instant.
Kissing him had been madness—now she had time to think. The very idea made her turn hot and cold by turns. But it was the only distraction that had come to her mind. Rushing in where angels feared to tread, her father had been wont to call such reckless actions. Embarrassing to boot.
‘Lead on, then,’ she said briskly. She had no wish to tarry because she had been telling the truth when she said a search party might be on its way. The folk at the castle might have missed the horse by now, though it was used so often by all and sundry they might not have, so long as Mrs Preston hadn’t noticed her absence.
And now she would have to think of another excuse to go to the market. As they walked along side by side, she glanced at her rescuer from the corner of her eye. Tall and lean, he towered over her. This one had risked his life to protect her like a perfect Highland gentleman. A poor one, judging by his clothes. Not the sort of man she should be kissing no matter how good it felt.
Heat rose into her face at such wanton thoughts. She prayed he wouldn’t notice.
‘Where is your home?’ he asked.
His voice made her jump guiltily. ‘Carrick Castle. Lord Carrick is my guardian.’
A thunderstruck expression passed over his face. Or perhaps it was horror. She could not be sure, for his face quickly became a blank mask.
‘Is there some problem with where I live?’ she asked stiffly.
‘I wonder at his lordship, then, letting you ride out without a groom.’
So would Lord Carrick.
‘Or kissing strangers,’ he added, and for an instant she thought there was a wicked gleam in the depths of his gaze. A challenge, like the one he had issued to the footpads. It faded too fast to be sure and his expression returned to its forbidding lines.
Had he really been so averse to her kiss? She was sure she had felt his breathing quicken against her skin in those few seconds of contact. ‘I only did it as a distraction to get to my pistol,’ she said, feeling the need to make it clear she was not completely wanton.
‘I wouldn’t advise such a method in future,’ he said drily.
Because she was a poor kisser, no doubt. She really did not have much experience. Warmth suffused her body and crawled up her cheeks and she wished he would just go away so she could suffer her embarrassment alone. ‘I will keep your advice in mind.’
He gave her a look of disapproval.
Drat the man. Who did he think he was to judge her? She gave him a haughty stare. ‘I don’t see how it is any of your business.’
It ought to be someone’s business, Niall thought grimly. He still could not believe that the woman at his side—a lady from her dress, and an extraordinarily lovely one at that—was roaming the roads alone. All right, so his brother’s wife, Lady Selina, hadn’t been any less foolhardy. But she, too, could have been killed.
And that kiss. He still felt hot under the collar and elsewhere since she’d pressed her lips to his. Oh, he’d had better kisses from more experienced ladies, but none sweeter. And none that had left him so instantly mindless that he’d responded with such enthusiasm.
They were lucky he’d been able to turn and face those damned Sassenach criminals after she’d pressed her innocent body against him, because he hadn’t wanted to let her go. And now he learned she was the ward of the man whose employ he was about to enter. A woman so far above him she should be ashamed to be seen in his company if she had even a wee bit of sense.
The sooner he stopped thinking about that kiss the better or he’d be out on his ear before he could turn around. He’d been lucky to get this position. Lucky to find any kind of paid employment here in the Highlands.
As Carrick’s distant relative and a member of a sept that owed him its loyalty, his application had been accepted without question. Which didn’t mean he would get to keep it, if Carrick wasn’t pleased.
It was bad enough that Ian had asked him to secretly seek out information about Carrick’s erstwhile steward Tearny, who had almost killed Ian’s wife and had died by Ian’s hand, without him getting tangled up with his employer’s ward. If he wasn’t careful he’d find himself scuttling back to Dunross with his tail between his legs and no chance for advancement. Or income. Back relying on his brother for his food and lodging.
His shoulders tightened at the thought.
Oh, he’d always made himself useful to Ian and the clan, taken on any task required of him, because it was his duty as brother to the laird. And he’d enjoyed teaching the clan’s children at the tiny school in Dunross village. But if he faced the truth, it was hardly a challenge. And as Molly’s father had been quick to point out when Niall had invited her to walk out with him, a man with no income or property was hardly a good prospect for a husband.
A blow to his pride, to be sure.
Even
