‘You are as bad as our mother, always worrying about the lad. You’ll make him worse.’
‘Our mother has lost one son.’ Because he’d let his fondness for a pretty face overrule good sense. ‘I don’t plan to let her lose another.’
‘Then perhaps you should think twice about smuggling.’
‘Now who’s worrying too much?’ Ian snatched the paper from Niall’s hand. ‘You can read this later.’
‘Give it back,’ Niall said, his voice dangerously low.
Ian tossed it to him with a grin. ‘Keep it in your pocket, then, and concentrate on what is going on around you for once.’
Niall grimaced, his eyes turning serious. ‘Make this trip to France the last one, brother, or we’ll all find ourselves at the end of a rope.’
Ian clapped his brother on the shoulder with a confidence that seemed to stick in the back of his throat. ‘It will be fine.’
Against his will, he looked back at the terrace, his gaze seeking the girl whose eyes spoke to him in unexpected ways. She was gone. Just as well. He had work to do.
Topaz needed no urging to canter. Selina guided her off the road and across open ground, exhilarated by the speed and the edge of chill on the breeze against her cheeks. At last she could breathe. And on horseback she could forget her incapacity.
The scent of heather filled her nostrils. Sweet, like the honey they made from the bees in this part of the country, yet earthy, too. She filled her gaze with the beauty of hills of smoky purple. Wild, unforgiving terrain, but so grand it made your heart ache.
She’d forgotten how easily the child in her had fallen in love with this place the first time she had seen it. Forgotten deliberately. Remembering only brought back the pain of loneliness and betrayal. Something she would never suffer again.
She smiled at herself. Such maudlin thoughts had no place in her mind on such a glorious day. Live for the now, plan for the future and let the past belong to the devil. Lord knew there were enough mistakes in her past well worth forgetting.
Thirty minutes later she was wishing she’d stayed on the track. After months of inactivity, her muscles were complaining at being forced to keep her steady in the saddle when as a girl she’d ridden the rough terrain astride, without effort. Riding astride was not an option for the woman she’d become. She rubbed at her thigh with a grimace at the reminder she was lucky to be riding at all. Lucky she hadn’t killed herself or someone else. She slowed the animal to a walk and turned him around.
A black-and-white collie flashed out of the heather. Barking, it snapped at Topaz’s heels. The horse reared. Off balance, Selina clung to his mane.
The animal landed with a thud on its forefeet, jolting her again. ‘Steady, boy,’ she cried out, fighting with the reins as he tossed his head and spun around, trying to watch the dog. He kicked out with a back hoof. Dislodged by the jolt, Selina had no choice but to free her foot and let herself slide to the ground.
She landed on her rump with a groan. ‘Blasted dog,’ she yelled. She stared up at the wild-eyed Topaz. Dash it. She’d never be able to mount him again. She’d have to lead him home. Her first chance to ride in months had ended in disaster.
She stretched out an arm to catch Topaz’s reins. ‘It’s all right, boy,’ she said softly. The nervous gelding tossed its head and pranced farther away.
Double blast.
Her thigh throbbed a protest. Surely she hadn’t broken it again? The thought made her stomach roil. No. She hadn’t heard that horrid snapping sound and it was her rear end that was bruised, and her pride, not her leg. Breathe. Calm down. All she had to do was get up and catch Topaz. It was a long walk home, but she could do it.
She forced herself to her knees.
‘Lady Selina! Is that you?’
Inwardly, she groaned. Of all the bad luck—it would have to be that well-remembered deep voice she heard. She looked up.
Kilted and wild-looking, his black hair ruffled by the breeze, Ian Gilvry looked completely at home among the heather-clad hills as he strode towards her. He always had.
To a girl of sixteen, he’d seemed heroic and romantic. Especially since the first time they met he’d carried her home and then kissed her, a shy fumbling thing when he set her down at the gate. Utterly besotted, she’d plotted every which way to meet up with him again. And again.
In her innocence, she’d assumed he liked her.
‘Are you hurt?’ he said when he came close, concern showing on his face, a large suntanned hand reaching out to pull her to her feet.
She ignored it and sank back down into the springy heather, primly covering her feet with her riding habit. ‘I’m fine.’
He drew back, putting his hands on lean hips, his head tilted. ‘You fell off your horse?’
She glanced at Topaz, who was now happily cropping at the grass just out of reach. ‘I dismounted rather more quickly than I expected. The horse was terrified of your dog.’
The smile on his finely drawn lips broadened. ‘What, an excellent horsewoman such as yourself put to grass by a wee dog?’
‘The dog should be leashed. The horse could have been injured and that would have cost you a pretty penny.’ What was she doing? She had no wish to enter into verbal sparring with the man. She should just get up and walk away.
His eyes, as blue as the sky above his head, narrowed. ‘Gill is still in training. I apologise if he upset your animal.’
Her jaw dropped. Gilvrys didn’t apologise to Albrights. It was a point of honour.
‘Apology accepted.’ She stared off into the distance, willing him to leave.
‘Allow me help you back on your horse,’ he said, his voice no more than a murmur.
Kind. Full of pity. Like everyone else. She gritted her teeth in frustration.
A year ago, it would have been easy to leap to her feet and let him toss her up in the saddle. Right now, getting back on that horse and trying to control him with her aching muscles was out of the question. She should not have ridden so far.
She gave him her brightest smile and had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes glaze a little. ‘I think I will stay here and enjoy the scenery for a while. No need to trouble yourself.’
Dark brows drew down. He muttered something under his breath in Gaelic. A curse, no doubt. She felt like cursing, too.
‘Then I bid you good day, Lady Selina. Come, Gilly.’ He gave her a stiff little bow and strode up the hill.
The dog lay down at her side.
‘Go,’ she said and gave it a push.
It stared at her with soft brown, laughing eyes.
Ian whistled without looking back. The dog remained where it was.
With
