They rode the last few yards together.
Glenmore turned at the sound of hooves. His gaze flicked over Isla, lingered a fraction, then settled on Edward.
“Wexford,” he drawled. “I did not expect to see you sullying yourself with Scottish soot.”
“Needs must,” Edward said evenly. “Your Grace.”
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Glenmore asked. “Come to admire my stock? Don’t worry, I have not yet started poaching Wexford bloodlines. Strathmore’s are another matter.”
“These,” Edward said, gesturing toward the paddock, “are Strathmore bloodlines. The brands make that plain enough.”
Glenmore spread his hands. “And who but I saved them from becoming roast beef? When I saw the smoke over your brother-in-law’s charming ruin, I sent my men to cut the horses loose. I might have left them to barbecue. Instead, I sheltered them. You are welcome.”
“There are ways to inform a neighbor of your generosity,” Edward said. “Most of them involve not keeping his property.”
“Strathmore has been … slow to come and claim his wares,” Glenmore said. “In the meantime, the animals are fed, stabled and in no danger of a half-brained groom setting them alight again.”
Isla made a sharp sound. Edward tightened his grip on her rein.
“On behalf of my wife’s family,” he said, voice cool, “allow me to express gratitude for your quick thinking. Once Strathmore’s stables are restored, we will, of course, be removing the horses. If you would be so good as to send word of any costs incurred, they will be settled.”
Glenmore’s smile did not reach his eyes. “Of course. I would not dream of penning another man’s herd indefinitely. Though if Strathmore proves unable to pay for repairs, perhaps a sale could be arranged. I am always in the market for good stock.”
“You will have to look elsewhere,” Isla said sharply. “Strathmore stock is not for sale.”
Glenmore glanced at her again, this time properly. “Lady Isla,” he said, with a mockery of a bow. “I had heard you were inEngland. I assumed you had better sense than to come back to this damp pile.”
“This damp pile is my home,” she snapped.
He shrugged. “We all have our sentimental weaknesses. Some cling to old stones.”
“Your groom,” Edward said, nodding toward the man with the bandaged hands, “looks in need of a surgeon, not a dismissal.”
Glenmore’s lip curled. “If he is too slow to get out of the way of a fire, that is his concern, not mine. I am not a charitable institution.”
“No,” Edward said softly. “You are not.”
“How did he get those burns?” Isla demanded.
“Saving Strathmore’s horses,” Glenmore said carelessly. “Or so he claims. Perhaps he simply fell asleep with a candle. Either way, he is of no further use to me.”
It was enough.
“Very generous,” Edward said, reigning his temper with effort. “We will not take more of your valuable time, Your Grace. Wewill send for the horses when we have somewhere sound to put them. Good day.”
He wheeled his horse, forcing Isla to turn with him. She did, but only after skewering Glenmore with a glare sharp enough to flay. The duke of Glenmore watched them go, expression unreadable.
When they were out of the yard and back on the rough track, Isla hissed, “I will go back and drag the truth out of him with my bare hands.”
“You will not,” Edward said.
“He has our horses,” she snapped.
“We will get them back,” he said. “But not by challenging him to single combat in his own yard.”
“He set that man on fire,” she said.
“He sent that man into a fire,” Edward corrected. “Which is not the same thing, but close enough for damnation.”
