She eyed Heather. The girl had been awfully well-tempered. Winnifred sat up straighter, a lightness filling her chest. “Let’s.” And digging her heels into the horse’s flanks, she urged her into a smooth lope.
The desolate scenery streaming past in a muted blur. The craggy moors and rocky ravines were so different from the rolling green hills of an English landscape. There was a wildness to the land, a vulnerability that dug under her skin. Her new home was enchanting, untamed. It whispered to her, urging her to shed her inhibitions.
She clicked her tongue and slapped the reins, prodding Heather faster. Laughter tumbled from her lips as she bounced forwards. A wind whipped around her, and she shivered in delight.
“Easy,” Sin shouted from behind.
Easy? Why should she go easy when it felt like she was flying? Riding a horse was marvelous. It was—
“Yowww!” Pain exploded in her groin and she nearly toppled from her saddle. She landed on the saddle again – and onto the knots in her reins that had slipped between her legs.
Sin pulled even with her just as she pulled the reins out from under her. “Winnifred, are you all right?” He gripped her elbow as both horses slowed to a stop.
“Yes.” She bit back a wince.
“You yelled.” He examined her from her head to her boots and back again. “What was the problem?”
“Nothing.” She gave him a clenched smile, heat flooding her face. “Nothing’s wrong.” Good gad, but it burned. Bouncing up and down on a hard knot had been more painful than her wedding night, and with no redeeming aftereffects.
Not that she’d admit to such a humiliating injury. Sinclair must never know.
He jumped off his horse then turned and pulled her down. “You are the most stubborn woman. If something ails you, tell me.”
“It was nothing of consequence.” She gazed over his shoulder, avoiding eye contact. “I merely landed wrong … on the knots of the reins.”
“On your arse?”
Her cheeks flamed hotter.
From the corner of her eye she saw his lips stretch into a pirate grin. “Ah. On your cunny.”
“Don’t you dare laugh!”
He blew out his cheeks. His eyes sparkled with mirth, but to his credit he held back his laughter. “I wouldna dream of it. Wait here.” After pulling the saddlebag from his horse, he patted his animal on the rump, sending him to graze further down in the valley. Heather followed placidly behind.
Sin pulled a wool blanket from the bag and spread it on the ground. He dropped down, legs crossed at the ankle, and patted the spot next to him. “Come down here with me.”
She gave him a wary look, but eased down by his side.
“Lie back.”
“Sin, truly I am fine.”
He pulled off her hat and tossed it to the ground. “I like when you call me Sin. Now do as your husband bids. You have an injury and it is my duty to see to it.”
“Nothing hurts anymore.” Only her pride. But curiosity had her rolling to her back.
He lounged next to her, putting his weight on one elbow. His fingers drew up the hem of her skirts. “Now, tell me exactly where you hurt yourself?”
“Sin!” She twisted her head in every direction, looking for witnesses. “We can’t do this out of doors.” Yet she parted her legs an inch. Scotland was making her reckless. Reckless and foolish and—
“Oh!” she breathed.
He circled his palm over her mons, soothing away any lingering sting. “Feel better.”
She gulped. “Yes, Sin.”
“And do you wish me to stop merely because we are out of doors?”
