the sky. High clouds like brushstrokes of white across pale blue suggested the day ahead would be fine. At scarcely nine in the morning, the sun wasn’t high enough to chase the shadows from the high-walled courtyard. The upper windows in the towers glinted gold amid grey stone walls.
Towers. He shuddered and thanked God he’d not been located in one of those upper rooms. The sound of metal striking stone brought his attention to Lady Jenna already mounted. Not the horse of the day he’d met her on the road. A high-spirited strawberry roan circled around and around as she waited to be off. She sat gracefully in the saddle in the middle of the hustle and bustle of servants about their business, controlling her skittish beast without apparent effort.
She had no need of sunlight to dazzle the beholder. Auburn curls peeking from beneath a blue and gold hat styled to look like a shako were flame-bright. The military-styled riding habit, also blue with gold trim, fitted her slender body so closely he could see the swell of her breasts and the deep curve of her waist—not something he should be noticing. Fortunately for him, her legs were well covered by her skirts.
Another horse was being led into the yard, saddled and ready to go. A magnificent black gelding, but from the way it rolled its eyes and snorted, it looked only half-broken. He glanced over at the gates and saw to his satisfaction that they were closed.
He sauntered across the cobbles to the stable-hand struggling to hold the animal beside the mounting block. ‘This horse is for me?’
‘He’s a bit fresh, sir.’ The young man grunted with the effort of holding the creature. ‘Hasna’ been out of the stall in a week. Normally he’s no so wild.’
The black-haired blue-eyed Peter Campbell, Carrick’s head groom and Niall’s friend from school, emerged from the stables behind the lad. He hurried over. ‘I’m sorry, Niall. I told her to have one of the others saddled, but she insisted on Midnight. She said if you were going to stand in Carrick’s place, you might as well ride his horse.’ Peter sent him a quizzical look that Niall pretended not to notice.
He sighed. So that was how it was to be. He glanced over at the Lady Jenna, who had dismounted and was now talking to one of the maids from the kitchens. Both women glanced his way and the Lady Jenna’s laugh reached him. If she thought those kinds of feminine games could put a man who had taught schoolgirls out of countenance, she would be disappointed.
The horse was another matter. ‘How is Midnight when he’s not so fresh?’ he asked Peter. They’d remained correspondents over the years, but until now their paths hadn’t crossed.
Peter winced. ‘He needs a strong hand. It’s why he doesn’t get out much. None of the lads can ride him when he’s fresh and I rarely have the time. I get him out on the leading rein when I can.’
Niall studied the gelding. A beautiful specimen. Glossy black coat. Heavily muscled. He ran a hand down its nose and patted its neck. The animal didn’t flinch or start and nor were there any signs of malice, just high spirits. Fortunately, while Ian was the only one of the Gilvrys who owned a horse, he’d been generous in sharing Beau as needed.
Niall took advantage of the mounting block and eased into the saddle. The feel of the animal beneath him and through his gloves, the trembling eagerness, warned him to be ready for anything. No doubt the Lady Jenna had hoped he would be thrown so she could look down her haughty wee nose at him.
‘Let him go,’ he said to the groom.
Midnight sprang forwards. Niall held the horse under tight control, guiding him to the gates. He signalled to the gatekeeper to open them. As they slid up, the animal tossed its head and fought him. Then finally they were passing under the arch and out beyond the bailey. The road wasn’t empty, but there was room. He urged the animal into a controlled trot then a slow canter, feeling his gait, the way he responded to commands, the strength and the power. The animal was truly magnificent. Lady Jenna should never have ordered up such a fine beast as this without knowing his skill level. Not unless she wanted him to fall.
He was surprised she would be so petty. Still angry with him about Carrick hearing about the footpads, no doubt.
He let the animal have its head, let him run for a good few minutes in the direction of town, then brought him to a halt and glanced around. The countryside was spectacular. He never ceased to feel awed by this country of his. The green hills. The mountains, faint smudges on the horizon. The streamers of mist rising up from the dense trees, sucked up by the sun. He frowned. One of those curling, twisting ribbons looked darker, more like … smoke from a fire.
The hairs on his nape rose to attention. He scanned the road behind him for his charge. She was coming towards him at a ladylike trot. She halted as he drew close and wheeled his horse to stand beside hers.
She slanted a glance at him from beneath the jaunty hat. ‘I’m glad you finally managed to get him in hand.’
Unfair criticism. But three brothers made him immune to such jibes. ‘Forgive me, my lady, but you will not be riding out today.’
Her eyes widened in surprise ‘Why ever not?’
‘I have changed my mind.’
She frowned at him. ‘But I had an appointment.’
‘You mentioned nothing of an appointment to me, my lady. Where is this appointment? With whom?’
She hesitated a fraction too long. ‘With the seamstress. I have a riding habit on order.’
It was his turn to be surprised. And annoyed. ‘What were you thinking? An unmarried woman of quality cannot go to a seamstress with a gentleman. Not if she values her reputation.’
He had visions of sitting in the dressmaker’s front parlour while the Lady Jenna removed her clothing in a nearby changing room. He envisaged the seamstress taking her measurements, exposing her delectable curves, passing strings around her waist and breast and a plump little bottom he’d very recently cupped in his palm.
His blood thickened and heated and headed south. He shifted in the saddle to ease the discomfort. He caught a quirk of her mouth, a small secretive smile that had him wondering if she’d read his mind.
She cast him an arch look from beneath her lashes. ‘I had not planned that you would accompany me inside. You were to wait for me.’
‘On the pavement, like a lackey.’ He couldn’t think why the idea annoyed him so much, but it did. ‘I am no a fool, my lady. You should have invited your chaperon to go along.’
‘Mrs Preston isn’t well this morning.’
‘Well, then, you cannot go.’
‘Oh, but—’
‘No buts, Lady Jenna.’ To make sure she understood, he grabbed her horse’s reins and turned it around, heading back for the castle. He scanned the surrounding moors and the distant trees, but saw no reason for concern, so released her bridle and gestured for her to go ahead of him.
‘Mr Gilvry, the seamstress is expecting me. I must have the final fitting today.’
How many riding habits did a woman need? The one she was wearing looked perfectly adequate to him. More than adequate. It fit her luscious figure like a second skin, hinting at the curves that he knew lay beneath it. He glanced at her face as she leaned towards him and saw genuine concern in her eyes. ‘Please, Mr Gilvry.’
And
