The Laird Who Loved Me (10 page)

Shivering, she rubbed her arms. Alexander MacLean was a challenge; a delicious, delectable, and difficult challenge. But she was not the average society miss; she was much, much more. And she, more than anyone else, didn’t know the meaning of the word
quit
. She’d find a way to capture him. One way or another, he would be hers.

Chin high, she left the breakfast room.

When ye’ve a problem, lassies, ’twill do ye no good to pretend ’tis no’ there. Fer when ye turn t’ walk away, it’ll rear up and bite ye in the arse.

O
LD
W
OMAN
N
ORA FROM
L
OCH
L
OMOND TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD EVENING

An hour later, Caitlyn sat clinging to her horse with both hands, wondering how she’d found herself in this predicament.

Actually, she knew
exactly
how and it had to do with the six foot three inches of smirking masculinity who sat on a bold black gelding five feet behind her, laughing every time her mount—a prancing bay mare with a stubborn streak as wide as Caitlyn’s—decided to shy at some imaginary danger.

So far, Caitlyn had retained her seat, but only through sheer force of will. Clutching the reins, she jealously watched Sally, who sat prettily on a small, fat mare that had no inclination to do more than amble. As a consequence, Sally could make casual conversation with Lord Caithness anytime she wished, while Caitlyn could only smile tightly
at Lord Falkland, who’d planted himself at her side the second she’d stepped into the foyer. She barely dared to make a sound, for it took every ounce of her attention to keep her horse from bolting every time a leaf trembled.

“I say, is that a rabbit?” Falkland exclaimed, pointing with his whip toward a distant field.

Caitlyn’s horse—whom she’d begun to call Devil—shied at the sudden movement. Caitlyn convulsively clenched her knees, hunching down and yanking on the reins.

It was an amateurish move, but effective nonetheless. The horse fought her tooth and hoof, but the ploy had the desired effect of taking Devil’s attention off Falkland’s whip.

Damn it, why didn’t I tell the groom I needed an easy horse like Sally’s?
she asked herself for the umpteenth time. But she knew why; she’d refused to bow before the challenge she’d seen in MacLean’s eyes. He’d stood within earshot of the groom, looking as if he
expected
her to ask for an easier mount, so of course that was the last thing she’d do.
My pride will be the death of me someday. Perhaps even today.

She shot a resentful glare at MacLean. As usual, he seemed oblivious of her as he leaned over to catch something Lady Kinloss was saying. His face was in profile, and Caitlyn admired the firm line of his jaw, the sensual turn of his mouth, his black hair over his brow, his skin far darker than was normal for a gentleman of fashion. Compared to the pale and fashionable
Lord Dervishton, MacLean looked uncivilized, even a bit wild, as if his Scottish ancestors came from the battlefields and smithies, not a castle.

Yet a patrician fineness was in the straight cut of his chin, in his bold and well-defined nose. This was no common man, but a man of history and strength. A man who was fully at home at a long, burnished mahogany dining table in the largest, most ornate house Caitlyn had ever seen, yet who now, sitting astride a barely broken black gelding, seemed more like a highland marauder.

Even while dealing with a mount so difficult that it made hers seem merely impolite, he carried himself with an elegant grace that no other man could emulate.

Caitlyn stole a glance at Viscount Falkland, who was rambling on about the many horses he’d fallen from. His clothes were more fashionable with his high shirt points and exaggerated coat collar, frilled cuffs, and polished boots that positively shouted a desperate need for approbation. It was a bit of a pity, she decided, turning her gaze back to MacLean just as he looked her way, his deep green gaze burning into hers.

The second their eyes met, a jolt of pure longing raced through her, heating her from head to toe. Reflected in his face were the same reactions—desire and pure, hot lust.

Caitlyn had never wanted something more. He was so close, yet he couldn’t have been more distant. Their
time was over, and all that was left was his anger, and her deep, painful longing.

She forced herself to look away, though she was achingly aware of him. When she could speak, she announced, “I’m hungry.”

Falkland blinked, but recovered quickly. “Me, too. It has been”—he consulted his pocket watch—“two hours since breakfast.”

“I want tea,” Caitlyn said. If she ate her body weight in tea cakes, then perhaps one part of her would be satisfied.

“I could use some tea,” Sally agreed. She looked at Caithness. “Are you—”

“Parched beyond belief,” he answered stoutly.

As Sally smiled at the young earl, a pang riffled through Caitlyn. Suddenly restless, and wishing for the ride to be over, she turned to Lady Kinloss. “Are we near the Snaid?”

Lady Kinloss didn’t look pleased to be interrupted in her tête-à-tête with MacLean. “We’ve five more miles.”

Good God, I’ll starve before then.
“I don’t suppose there’s a shortcut?”

Lady Kinloss’s mouth pressed into a flat line, but her gaze flicked to the rocky field off to their right. “I suppose you could go through the field—”

“Excellent!” Caitlyn gathered her horse.

“Wait, you fool,” MacLean snapped, his dark green gaze assessing the field. “That field is filled with rocks, uneven patches, and rabbit holes, and at least two fences that I can see.”

Caitlyn’s grasp tightened convulsively on the reins. The rocky field didn’t worry her, and she was sure she could pick through any rabbit holes. But fences?

Lord Falkland turned his eager gaze her way. “If you wish to take the shorter way, I’ll go with you!”

Alexander watched as Caitlyn eyed the field with a considering gaze even as she fought to keep her horse under control.

Surely she wasn’t thinking of—

She gave Falkland a blinding smile that left him gaping in red-faced delight. “If you don’t mind, I think I’d like to take the shortcut. It’s not so very long and—”

“No.” Alexander edged his horse up. “You won’t.”

Caitlyn’s eyes sparked, her mouth thinned. “Why not?”

“Riding across such rough ground and trying to take fences on a horse you can barely control is foolhardy beyond belief! You’ll fall off and break your neck.”

Falkland frowned. “If Miss Hurst wishes to ride through the field, she should be allowed.”

Alexander eyed her grimly. “Have you ever taken a fence in your life?”

Her chin lifted and he could tell he’d managed to thoroughly goad her. “Of course I have,” she said.

Alexander scowled.
You fool! Of all the things to lie about—

“See? She knows what she’s doing.” Falkland looked at Caitlyn eagerly. “If you wish to take the fences, then
I will go with you. I can perhaps show you my technique, which is quite superior, if I say so myself.”

Alexander gave a short bark of laughter. “In order to teach Miss Hurst your technique, you’d have to have one yourself.”

Falkland stiffened. “Miss Hurst, I
personally
guarantee your safety!”

Alexander snapped, “Don’t be a fool. If she falls, there isn’t a damned thing you can do about it.”

Lady Kinloss tittered. “Falkland could throw his body beneath Miss Hurst’s to soften her landing.” She sent a sly look at Falkland. “Of course, that could be what he’s hoping for.”

The viscount’s face turned bright red. “You underestimate Miss Hurst’s skills.” He looked at Caitlyn and smiled, his expression softening. “But I appreciate them.”

Lady Kinloss smirked. “Miss Hurst, I have complete trust in your horsemanship as well. It’s your spirit I wonder at.”

Alexander saw the exact moment Caitlyn decided to abandon common sense. She stiffened, her eyes flashed, and her hands tightened on the reins, which caused her mount to edge forward nervously.

Good God, the woman was a danger to herself. One cross word and she instantly became determined to follow whatever course lay before her, regardless of the cost.

Her chin went up and she said in a cool voice, “Lady Kinloss, I appreciate your concern, but I believe I can
take the fences. They don’t appear that high from here.”

“Oh?” Lady Kinloss said politely, her disbelief plain upon her thin face.

Alexander could have throttled the woman. Caitlyn immediately turned her mount toward the field. The mare, seeing the wide-open spaces, gathered herself to bolt.

Before Alexander could grab her bridle, they were gone.

Lord Falkland blinked. “Goodness! I thought she’d—”

Alexander thundered after Caitlyn, who was bent low and gripped the reins and mane as if her life depended on it. And looking at the cruel outcropping of rocks that dotted the field, it probably did.

Good God, she’ll be killed if she lets go.

Teeth clenched, Alexander leaned closer, urging his horse abreast of hers. It’s eyes wild, Caitlyn’s mount veered away, turning from the wide field and plunging toward the thick woods that lined the clearing. Alexander had to drop back and follow, the trees too close to allow him to pull up beside her. “Hang on, damn you!” he muttered through clenched teeth.

Just ahead, Caitlyn clung desperately to the horse. Her hat was long gone, her blond hair falling from the pins. Alexander locked his gaze on her bright golden hair. “Just hold on!” he shouted hoarsely, unsure if she even heard his words.

The trees thinned and a low rock wall appeared out of nowhere, covered in moss and dead limbs. On the other side, a small creek rushed, the sound filling the silence between the thudding of the hooves and Alexander’s desperate breath.

If the horse took the wall, Caitlyn would fall. And it would be no soft landing, but a brutal throw into broken tree limbs and cold, slick rocks.

Alexander bent low, urging his horse to hurry.
Please,
he pleaded silently with the fates.
Please.

Slowly, his horse gained. Just within a few strides of the wall, he reached out and grabbed the reins of her runaway mount.

Alexander turned the animal at the last possible moment, the horse neighing loudly. For a few heartrending seconds he wasn’t sure if the horse would keep its footing, but after one huge slip when its head was dangerously lowered, it straightened and cantered beside him.

Caitlyn clung to the mane, her body hugged against the horse’s arched neck.

The second Alexander realized she was fine, a deep anger flared to life. The little fool could have been killed! What in
hell
was she doing on a horse like this? Yet even as he asked it, he knew the answer: it was because of his taunting. He’d pushed her, a woman who refused to be pushed, and this was the result.

Damn it all, I refuse to feel guilt for her poor judgment!

Alexander turned the horses down a short hill. The
bay yanked on the reins and pulled away, threatening to rear, but he held it steady. Finally he found a narrow clearing between some trees and he stopped, turning his horse around to face Caitlyn and her bay.

She had straightened, but her face was still pale. The afternoon light filtering through the trees was gray and uncertain, thanks to his barely contained temper, but it gleamed dimly on her golden hair. Her large eyes were even darker than usual. All around them, the woods grew misty and damp as the first drops of rain filtered between the few remaining leaves and sprinkled across them. The beads of water clung to Caitlyn’s hair like diamonds in a web of gold, and his throat tightened inexplicably. The image of her delicate body broken at the foot of a stone wall . . .

She slowly released her death grip on her horse’s mane and said in an unsteady voice, “Thank you for—” She closed her eyes and caught her breath before adding, “You may let go of my horse now.”

“If I do, it will just bolt again.”

“I won’t let it.”

“Damn it, must you argue with everything I say?” He was as furious with himself as with her, though he wouldn’t allow her to see that. “Your horse was headed right for that wall! Do you know how fortunate you are that I was here to stop it?”

Her chin shot up, her eyes blazed, as color once again warmed her cheeks. “Perhaps I could have taken the wall!”

“And broken your damn neck!” He was shouting
and he didn’t care. The wind whipped the trees overhead, rustling the branches as huge drops of water sprayed down upon them.

He’d had enough. He dismounted, looped the reins for his and Caitlyn’s mounts over a low branch, then pulled her down, slipped an arm about her waist, and set her hard upon her feet.

“
Oh!
I didn’t wish to get off my horse!”

“Too bad. This way, if it bolts, no one is in danger.”

Her hands fisted at her sides, her chin lifting another notch. “Look, MacLean, I—”

He scooped her up and kissed her. He’d had enough with useless words and meaningless gestures. He wanted to
show
her what he meant, let her
feel
his anger. But the second his lips touched hers, something changed. The anger left and in its place was a flood of passion so hot it threatened to consume them both.