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Safe? With him? Had she banged her head when she fell?
The Gilvrys were wild and unruly. The last time she had seen him he’d ganged up on her with his brothers, calling her Sassenach and thief. And he now was their leader. A man who would do anything to be rid of her father from land he considered his. While she could not refuse his help, she must not trust his motives.
At the bottom of the hill they came across a winding cart track. His steps lengthened as he followed the deep wheel ruts round a sweeping corner to where a long narrow loch glistened like beaten steel in the weak sun. Beside it lay a collection of rough stone buildings.
The old water mill. It looked different—not so derelict—and the pagoda-looking chimney at one end looked new. ‘I didn’t think you Gilvrys worked the mill any more.’
‘My father didn’t. I do.’
‘And added a chimney?’
‘Aye.’
Talk about taciturn. ‘Why does the mill need a chimney?’
He hesitated, his expression becoming carefully neutral. ‘To keep the miller warm in the winter.’
A lie. Though it sounded logical enough. What did it matter that he didn’t care to tell her the truth? She didn’t care what the Gilvrys did with their old falling-down mill.
He carried her into the barn and set her down on a hay bale. Immediately, she felt the loss of the strength around her body, and his seductive warmth, whereas he looked glad to be rid of her. Had she not a smidgeon of pride?
Apparently some part of her did not. The childish naïve part that had admired him from the first moment she saw him. The part of her she’d long ago buried.
Silently, he tied Topaz to a post, while Gilly curled up at her feet.
Her thigh wasn’t hurting nearly as much as before. She’d given it a jolt and the bones that had knit badly had decided to protest the rough treatment. But even though the ache had subsided, she doubted she had the strength to manage her horse. She would have to settle for his alternative mode of transport.
The only occupant of the barn was a small dun-coloured pony, which he led from its stall and proceeded to hitch to a flat-bedded wagon.
‘Your chariot awaits, my lady,’ he said wryly.
She rose to her feet, but he gave her no chance to walk, simply scooping her up and depositing her on some empty sacks he’d laid across the bare boards.
He was unbelievably strong, so unlike most of the gentlemen of the ton who defined themselves by their clothes, not their manly attributes. So unlike the elegant Dunstan.
Oh, now that really was being disloyal.
She shifted until her back was supported against the wooden boards along the side. The smell of barley wafted up. A sweet dusty smell.
He frowned. ‘There are no blankets, but I can give you my coat.’
No. She would not go home wrapped in his coat. It was bad enough she had to suffer his help. Wasn’t it?
‘This will do.’ She picked up a couple of the sacks and covered her legs with one and put the other around her shoulders. She flashed a smile and fluttered her lashes in parody. ‘How do I look?’
‘Like a tinker’s wife,’ he said, a twinkle appearing in the depths of his eyes, making him look more attractive than ever. A twinkle she knew better than to trust.
She kept her voice light and breathy, her smile bright. ‘The first stare of tinker fashion, though, surely?’
The corner of his mouth tipped up as if it wanted to smile more than was seemly. ‘Top of the trees, my lady.’
Something about his bantering tone made her feel warm and her smile softened.
They grinned at each other the way they had on those long-ago summer afternoons, before he had turned his back on her so cruelly.
His gaze dropped to her mouth.
Her heart lurched. Her breath caught. Many men had looked at her with heat since her come out. Not once in that time had her heart tumbled over in such a ridiculous fashion. She broke hearts. Men did not touch hers. Ever. That was the way to get hurt.
And besides, she was as good as betrothed to a very worthy man who was utterly besotted.
She turned her face away. ‘We should go.’
‘Aye. I’ll tie your horse on behind.’
She swallowed against the feeling of loss as he walked away, trying to blot out her stupid reactions to his smile by thinking about Father and his reaction when he learned she’d been carted home by a man he despised. Father would not be pleased.
Horse dealt with, Ian leapt easily into the driver’s seat with such agility, he made her feel more clumsy and awkward than she usually did these days.
He half turned in the seat, one foot resting against the footboard, his plaid falling away to reveal his knee and the start of a firm muscled calf dusted with dark hair before it disappeared in his sock. So very male. So very intriguing. So very out of bounds. She forced her gaze away.
‘The track is rough,’ he said. ‘I will take it as easy as I can.’
‘I’m not an invalid.’
‘I never said you were.’ He clicked his tongue and the pony started walking. Gilly jumped up over the side of the cart and landed beside her. He lay against her legs.
‘Off,’ Ian said.
The dog flattened his ears, but didn’t move.
‘Leave him,’ Selina said. ‘He’s keeping me warm.’
‘Lucky him,’ he muttered.
Her jaw dropped. Had he really said what she thought she heard? Or was he being sarcastic? He was staring morosely at the road ahead.
‘What happened to your leg?’ he asked. ‘I saw you walking at the ball.’
So much for her efforts to glide smoothly. ‘My carriage tipped over and fell on me.’
He winced. ‘I hope the idiot driver was suitably punished.’
‘I was. I broke my leg.’
His cheekbones flushed red. ‘Oh. I didna’ mean—’
‘The accident was my fault. I was driving too fast and not looking where I was going.’ Thinking about her recent male conquest if the truth be told. ‘I was lucky I was the only one hurt by my stupidity. It doesn’t hurt much any more, but the bones didn’t set quite right.’
‘I’m sorry.’ He sounded sorry. But then once he’d sounded as if he liked her, until his brothers caught them together.
Sassenach. Thief. The taunts danced in her head. The war between the Scots and the English might be over, but their families would battle until no one remained to swing a verbal sword.
The track had joined the main road where the jolts were less and their pace improved. Soon they were driving through Dunross village where a group of ragged boys were kicking a pig’s bladder back and forth across the lane. When they saw the cart, they came running over. ‘Laird, Laird,’ one of the boys shouted, then said something in Gaelic.
Ian replied in the same language. He half turned to her. ‘They want me to play with them.’
One of them spotted her in the cart and his eyes rounded in his grimy face. He pointed at her and yelled something. The boys all sniggered.
Ian grinned and replied, clearly in the negative.
She squared her shoulders, set her face in untroubled calm while inside she curled in a tight ball. ‘What did he say?’
Ian laughed. ‘Boys. They have one-track minds. They want to know if you are my woman. I told them, no, that you are a lady and to be treated with respect.’
She relaxed, looking back and seeing the boys had returned to their game. ‘Shouldn’t the children be in school?’
‘Aye.’
Could he not say more than one word at a time? ‘You call yourself Laird—why do you not convince their families to give them an education?’
He glanced back at her, his brows lowered, his eyes hard. ‘They call me Laird, because that is what I am. The nearest school is fifteen miles hence.’
‘Why not start a school in the village?’
‘Where?’ He sounded frustrated.
She subsided into silence. Father should be the one to open a school. He owned almost everything except the old mill and the Gilvrys’ farmland.
‘I will speak to my father about setting up a school. Perhaps in the church hall.’
Now he looked surprised, and heaven help her, pleased. ‘It would be a grand thing for the families hereabouts,’ he said. ‘There are children up in the glens who would come, too, when they weren’t needed for chores. It would give them a future.’
She cast him a sly smile. ‘And keep them out of mischief.’
He chuckled. ‘Perhaps, my lady. Me and my brothers got up to all sorts of mischief, despite having a tutor. But it is true that we had less time to get into trouble.’
A feeling of warmth stole through her, the feeling they had begun to talk like friends again, rather than enemies. She liked the way it felt.
As they approached the tavern in the centre of the village a youngish man sweeping the cobbles doffed his hat at their approach. He grinned at Ian. ‘Good day to you, Laird.’
Ian acknowledged the greeting with a nod.
Then the man’s gaze fell on Selina and all traces of good humour disappeared from his ruddy face. He spat on the ground. ‘That’s Albright’s get. You should be dropping her in the nearest peat bog and letting her drown, not driving her around the countryside. It would serve Albright well to see what it is like to lose something.’
‘Enough, Willy Gair,’ Ian said. ‘You know that is not the Highland way of it.’
The young man glared at him. ‘Highlanders look after their ane, not the English who have no business here. You are a traitor to your clan, Ian Gilvry, if you have aught to do with them up at the keep.’ He started towards them, giving Selina a look filled with such hatred that her mouth dried and her heart picked up speed.
‘I’ll speak to you later, Willy,’ Ian said grimly and urged the pony into a trot.
She bit her lip. Nothing had changed over the years. ‘Why is he so angry?’
‘He was evicted last month,’ Ian said flatly. ‘His family had been crofters on Dunross land for generations. When he couldn’t pay the rent, he had to leave. He is one of the lucky ones. His brother-in-law owns the inn and is able to give him a little work and a roof over his head.’
‘Father said nothing about evictions.’
His expression said how would she know what her father did.
‘Why would he?’
‘Sheep.’
Another one-word answer that was as clear as mud. Clearly he wasn’t going to say more. Well, she would just have to ask her father.
‘Almost there,’ Ian announced.
Beyond him, Dunross Keep jutted up into the blue sky.
The last time he’d carried her home he’d been nothing but a gangly boy, but to her he’d seemed like a knight in shining armour, and she his lady. Childish romantic nonsense.
He turned his head slightly, still looking ahead. ‘Angus McIver is heading this way on foot.’
She winced. ‘I said I’d be back in an hour.’ She raised herself up and peered over his shoulder. A severe-looking Angus with a knobby walking stick was striding towards them. She waved.
Ian’s lips pressed tight. He drew the cart up when he came abreast of the big Scot.
‘My Lady. Laird.’ Angus touched the bonnet perched on his head. ‘Thank ye for bringing the lassie home.’
Selina let go a breath. No yelling. No harsh words. A simple grim politeness, but then the Highlanders were known for their impeccable manners. Some of them.
Jaw set, Ian nodded. ‘I’ll drive her in.’
‘Best not. I’ll take her and the horse in through the gate.’
‘Angus,’ she gasped.
‘I’ve no wish to enter the keep,’ Ian said harshly. He clicked his tongue and the horse moved onwards. ‘Not while it belongs to another.’
The whip of his words caught her on the raw. She was wrong about him. He resented her just as much as he always had.
And there was something she’d been putting off saying. She’d forgotten until just now. She’d have to hurry if she didn’t want Angus to overhear.
‘I never thanked you for calling your brother Andrew home after I wrote to you.’
He stiffened, his face turning granite hard.
‘My friend, she is happily married now. It … it all turned out for the best.’
