She blinked at the view from the square little window, then shifted in the cramped seat and faced him. He couldn’t be serious. They had already driven for what seemed like forever in this tiny tin can. “I thought you said we entered the estate an hour ago. How big is it?”
“Fair steals yer breath, doesn’t it?” He heaved a contented sigh.
She climbed out of the car, stepped into the Highland wilderness, and immediately understood. Ancient pines surrounded them, their feathery tops swaying in the breeze. The clean, crisp tang of pinesap filled the air. Years of shed needles cushioned every step she took. The scent carried her straight back to Christmas and every Christmas tree she had ever decorated.
An ancient-looking stone stable curved around the base of the mountain. She blinked and studied it closer since it looked as though they had carved it from the side of the peak. A well-trodden paddock was fenced off with a gray split-railed fence. Living trees were the posts. As the trees grew and the rails shifted too high, scars in the bark revealed where workers had lowered the rails to keep the fence intact.
The area teemed with the calls of Highland creatures. She easily identified most of them. She shielded her eyes, craning her neck to search the brilliant blue sky for the golden eagle screaming overhead. A red squirrel chittered at her from behind a cluster of bright yellow Scottish primrose. The feeling of being watched made her turn and find a doe behind the scrub of fir saplings to her left. It pleased her todiscover her ability to understand animals spanned continents. Their thoughts came to her as clearly as the ones back home.
She pulled her light jacket closer, trying to keep from shivering, whether from excitement, nervousness or being chilled, she didn’t know. Or all the above. A strange energy crackled in the air. She lifted her head and sniffed. She couldn’t make out if it was a specific scent or just a different sort of density to the wind. Whatever it was, the air was different here. Excitement rippled gooseflesh across her. She stole a glance at Taggart and rubbed the tip of her nose, wondering if it was the land or the proximity to the man? Her emotions were too much of a mess to sort it out right now. Coming here may have been a mistake. She ached for the humdrum comfort and safety of good old Jasper Mills.
She shook herself free of the sensory overload and rubbed the eerie tingling from her arms. “So, the stables are part of the estate as well? Even though they’re so far from the keep?” She nodded at the structure wedged into the side of the mountain and the horses meandering around the corral.
With a proud smile, Taggart motioned for her to follow. “Aye, lass. We’ve been on Taroc Na Mor land for the past two hours. Were ye not listening to me while I was driving and pointing out the sights?”
“Two hours?I thought you said an hour.” She stared at the back of his head, willing him to turn around. He ignored her. Still. He had done that a lot lately. A fresh horse chip in the middle of the path was almost more temptation than she could resist. She glanced at the steaming patty and gauged the distance to Taggart’s back as he sauntered toward the stable. From this distance, she could easily peg him right between the shoulders. She forced herself to behave and stepped around the dung pile.
“I didn’t realize I owned the entire tip of Scotland.” She kicked a stone out of her path, but it didn’t rid her of the nagging uneasiness. She rolled her shoulders. Maybe it was all the travel. Fresh air and a good stretch of her legs would help. At least they were finally out of that car. The way poor Taggart had folded his massive frame to drive, it was a wonder he wasn’t too stiff to walk.
“’Tis about time ye arrived!" A gnome of a man with an unruly shock of white hair sticking straight up and a stained leather apron around his barrel waist waddled out of the weathered stable doors. He held a horseshoe in one hand and a hammer in the other, but neither prevented him from shaking a stubby finger in Taggart’s face. "I have had the horses packed for nigh’ on thirty minutes and they grow over restless with the waiting. Ye need to reach Gearlach’s Pass before the sun sets or ye willna have a proper place to make camp for the evening. How many times do I have to remind ye of the importance of maintaining a proper schedule for animals?”
“Gothgar!” Taggart brought the man up short with a quick jerk of his head in her direction.
“Oh, beg pardon, m’lady.” Gothgar shot Taggart an irritated scowl, then turned to her with a respectful bow. “Gothgar McWinders, chief of yer stables. Welcome to the glorious Taroc Na Mor.”
“It is good to meet you, Mr. McWinders?—”
“Oh lordy, no, m’lady. Beggin’ yer pardon, but please do me the honor of calling me Gothgar. If ye call out to Mr. McWinders, I’ll be a thinkin’ ye’re callin’ back me father’s contrary ghost.” Gothgar wheezed and snorted, slapping his leg at what he obviously considered his very humorous joke.
“Thank you, Gothgar. Again, it’s good to meet you.” The man made her smile. He reminded her of old Mr. Henry back at Jasper Mills. “Now, what were you saying about us making camp this evening? Does that mean there’s no way we can make it to the castle tonight?”
“Oh, lordy no, m’lady. ’Tis much too far a ride to make it this late in the day. Yerself and Taggart will have to camp on the ledge at Gearlach’s Pass. But dinna fash yerself. There’s a fine fresh spring and a fair bit a clearing there. This time of year should be quite a pleasant evening. I’ve packed enough blankets and provisions, and Taggart here will build ye a fine fire. The night air should nay be too cold for ye to bear.” The stable master turned and hobbled his way back through the wide double doors, glancing over his hairy shoulder and waving for them to follow.
Hannah remained rooted to the spot. After a deep breath, she closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. They expected her to spend her first night camped out on a rock in the wilderness of the Scottish Highlands. The flight and the endless ride in a car the size of a tuna can had exhausted her. She wanted a shower, a nice hot meal, and a relatively firm bed.
“Hannah! Come on, lass. We must get moving. Gothgar is right. We must reach Gearlach’s Pass before dark.” Taggart stood just inside the doorway, grinning like a schoolboy just freed for summer vacation.
Apparently, she had no choice. She entered the stable, kicking up dust until she found herself nose to nose with a chestnut mare. Her heart melted at the horse’s warm, reassuring touch and its soft whinny as it nudged her with its velvety nose. She wrapped her arms around its neck, relaxed against its side, and drew from its calming strength.
“I knew ye would love dear, sweet Lisbet. She is older but has the courage of a warhorse and will love ye true. Ye will find no better friend, Lady Guardian. My wee Lisbet will take good care of ye on yer journey.” Gothgar patted the horse on the rump and waggled a scruffy brow.
“Lady Guardian?” she whispered as she snagged Taggart by the sleeve. “Why did he call meLady Guardian?”
His jaw tightened and flexed as he shot Gothgar a withering look. He turned to double-check the supplies in the saddlebags. “’Tis a title of respect and is always given to the owner of Taroc Na Mor. Since ye are the new owner of the estate, ye are now considered its Guardian.”
“I see.” That seemed all right. She rested her cheek against Lisbet’s satiny neck as she watched him double-check all the straps. “And why didn’t you tell me we were going to have to camp out in the wilderness tonight?”
With a wicked grin, Taggart gave her a wink before turning to double check his own horse. “Because I didna want to listen to the sting of yer tongue for the two-hour drive to the stables.”
The only thinggood about following Taggart down this narrow, twisting trail was the perfect view of his nicely shaped behind and those fine, chiseled shoulders. If Millie was here, she would be drooling. Most males didn’t realize how much a woman appreciated a man’s well-shaped derriere. She tilted her head and studied him from another angle. His rear was symmetrical. It curved tight and filled out every line of his jeans as though the denim was spray-painted across those muscular cheeks. To have a shape like that, he must work out. She would love to work him out. That thought shocked her. “Stop it,” she ordered herself under her breath.
She shifted in the saddle and fanned her shirt to get a little air. No more thoughts like that, she silently repeated in a stern tone that sounded a great deal like Granny’s voice. She had no business getting involved with the likes of Taggart de Gaelson.
What he said back at the stables came back to her.Didn’t want to listen to the sting of my tongue?She glared holes through the center of his muscular back. She tightened her squint and visualized several pinecones flying down from the trees and hitting his head. Hard. And with the pointy ends hitting first.
“That is not verra nice, Hannah,” Taggart called out. Then he chuckled, filling the air with his amused rumbling. It echoed through the deep gully beside them.
She squirmed in the saddle again and loosened the neckline of her shirt. “What on earth are you talking about?” She twitched the reins between her fingers. He couldn’t read her mind. Heaven help her, she hoped not. Especially since she had been analyzing his anatomy.
