His face softened and he lifted her hand to brush a kiss across her knuckles. Diantha’s toes curled in her boots. “No need to worry. Archie will keep you safe till I collect you.”
With that, he strolled over to where his chestnut stallion attempted to escape from a harassed groom. Gathering the reins, he easily mounted the horse and cantered out of the yard.
Diantha watched him with a sinking heart. He had no trouble leaving her behind.
“Well? Are ye comin’ or no’?” The impatient question interrupted her musing. She nodded to Archie and followed him toward the dapple-gray.
Given the man’s horse-centered view of the world, she approached her lesson with trepidation, but her fears soon evaporated. Once he finished tsking over the shame of a mistress of Duncarie who couldn’t ride, he set about showing her the basics with great patience.
He did immediately correct her when she asked how long he had worked as a groom. “I am aghillie, your ladyship. Grooms only work in the stable, but I am responsible for goings-on all over Rossburn lands.” She cocked her head and he grinned up at her as he led the horse toward a paddock. “Tha’means I let his lordship know if we need to do a burn on the moor so grouse can feed, or if there’s poachers about. Or when Mr. Barclay is tryin’ to do somethin’ daft.”
“So you answer directly to Lord Rossburn? How is it you’re teaching me to ride, then?”
“A ghillie is the laird’s to command. If he says to carry him across a wee bog so his soles dinna get damp, the ghillie does it.”
“How revolting! Surely Lord Rossburn would never demean someone so.”
Archie chuckled. “Weel, if it came to tha’, I might tell Master Kieran to walk on his own legs.”
He lifted his chin. “I taught him to ride when he was a laddie, for the old laird said no one on the estate had my touch wi’ the beasties.” He stroked Dancer’s wither with an affectionate smile. “So o’ course the young laird willna trust anyone but me to teach you. Now sit up straight. You’re a lady, no’ a sack o’ tatties.”
As soon as they reached the open road, Kieran gave the horse its head. Mefisto broke into a gallop. Only a few clouds scudded across the sky and the passing air carried the scent of sun-warmed juniper. Kieran tried to savor the pleasure of riding his lands after months away.
Unfortunately the hurt expression on Diantha’s face kept rising in his mind’s eye. He admitted to himself that part of the reason for abandoning her to Archie’s brusque, if thorough, tutelage stemmed from her earlier words in the library.
They still stung. Diantha accepted him in her bed out of mereduty?
He had always attracted women easily. Even the most censorious dowagers simpered and preened under his coaxing. Matrons and maidens alike batted their eyelashes or attempted their wittiest sallies when he danced with them.
In return for the pleasure his lovers gave him, he was generous—in bed, at any rate. His deepest emotions he kept off limits to outsiders, of course.
Diantha presented a conundrum. Unlike a mistress, he could not dispense with her presence when his interest in her waned. And he refused to countenance his wife giving herself to another man. The image of her supple curves stretched out on another man’s bed arose.
Mefisto broke stride unexpectedly. He realized he had gripped the reins so tightly that the horse tossed his head in annoyance.
It dawned on him that he had no wish for another woman yet, either. In view of his father’s habits, the knowledge relieved him, but that did not solve his dilemma.
The one woman he could not charm was his own wife.
Scowling, he turned the horse onto a trail leading to an upland moor. His steward, Johnston, and Archie had both suggested it for the estate’s sheep. The herd’s normal pasture remained a quagmire after heavy spring rains. In an effort to preserve the animals and their valuable wool, Barclay had ordered them into the nearest tenant’s field. Understandably, the cottar resented the loss of his only arable land, and the sheep had to be moved again.
Kieran slowed Mefisto to a walk and examined the moor as he neared it. The sheep could not stray far, for the only access was across a wooden bridge that spanned a narrow ravine. Heavy growth covered the pasture and an outcrop of rock at the far end might provide a sheltered spot for a shepherd’s hut.
He urged his mount forward. No sooner did Mefisto’s front hooves strike the planks than the animal shied back. Kieran pressed his knees into the rigid sides, but save for breathing, the animal might have been stone.
“What’s gotten into you?” He dismounted and gathered the reins. After a firm tug, the horse followed on stiff legs, apparently satisfied to let the human go first.
The weathered timbers creaked under Kieran’s feet, but that did not surprise him. It took some cajoling before Mefisto placed one hoof gingerly on the span, then another.
A sharp crack vibrated up through Kieran’s boots, and then the entire framework tipped down toward the bottom many feet below. Had he not grasped the horse’s reins, he would have followed. Fortunately, Mefisto danced back again and Kieran suffered nothing more than a few scrapes as the beast inadvertently dragged him to safety.
He struggled to a sitting position and remained there for several moments to catch his breath. He had released the horse, who now regarded him from several paces away. “Yes, I know, you told me so.” The horse snorted and pulled up a mouthful of coarse grass from the side of the road.
As soon as his heartbeat slowed to something resembling normal, Kieran stood and peered down atthe wreckage. He guessed the fall would have been no more than twenty-five feet. It might not have killed him.
But it probably would have. His knees did wobble slightly as he turned back to the horse.
Mefisto lifted his head. Foam still dripped from his mouth, streaked with pink. Kieran’s weight must have cut the tender flesh. Worse, the beast held a hind hoof delicately off the ground as though afraid to step on it.
