Chapter Five
Catherine settled into the saddle on the giant black warhorse, realizing with some frustration that she was still dressed for dinner. Her hair was curled and powdered, she wore formal silks and velvets, and the priceless Drumloch jewels were strung prettily around her neck.
“I don’t suppose you’d permit me to go back inside and put on something more… appropriate.”
The horse tossed his big black head, and his shiny mane flung about as he whinnied and grumbled.
“Nay, lassie,” the Highlander replied as he checked his saddlebags to make sure nothing was missing. “No time for that. Besides, I wouldn’t want you to change your mind about not turning me in.”
He swung up behind her and gathered the reins in his hands, then urged the monstrous snorting creature out of the stable to the meadow beyond. They galloped hard until they reached the forest; then the Highlander drew lightly on the reins.
“Whoa.”His horse slowed to a walk.
“It’s very dark in here,” Catherine said as they entered the pitch-black depths of the wood.
Unable to see much of anything through the silent, murky gloom, she became more intensely aware of what she couldfeel—the firm wall of the Highlander’s chest at her back, rubbing up against her.
“How will we see where we are going?” she asked, struggling to ignore the vital sensation of his big, hard body, so close to her own.
“Leave that to me.” The creature’s hooves plodded heavily over the damp ground. “How long will it be before someone notices your absence?”
“Not until morning. Though my maid will notice later tonight.”
“Will she speak up?”
Catherine considered it. “No, she’s quiet and discreet. I believe she will wait for someone to question her.”
Catherine’s eyes adjusted eventually to the reduced light, and she was thankful at least for the full moon, which provided some illumination through the thick autumn foliage.
The horse picked his way gallantly over the leaves and dry twigs, and they soon found a narrow bridle path that took them farther away from the manor house.
“What is your name, Highlander?” she asked. “You have not yet revealed it.”
“I am Lachlan MacDonald, former Laird of War at Kinloch Castle.”
“Ah. A powerful and battle-seasoned warrior. I should have known.”
He gave no reply, and she did not press him for one, for she had not accompanied him on this journey in order to become better acquainted. All she wanted was to meet the man who had allegedly been her lover. She had so many questions for him.
But what if she found him hideous? What if he was cruel?
What if she still loved him?
“Tell me about Angus,” she blurted out, hoping to quench some of her curiosity and ease the nerve-racking fires of doubt in her belly.
“What do you want me to say?”
“Anything. Why do they call him the Lion?”
“Because he is a fierce and ruthless warrior, famous for his killing exploits during the rebellion.”
“The Jacobite Rebellion?” Her family had claimed she was a passionate supporter of the cause before she went missing.
John, on the other hand, was a Hanoverian.
“Aye. His father raised an army for the battle at Sherrifmuir.”
“That is particularly interesting,” she said. “Catherine Montgomery’s father, the former earl, died in that battle.” She turned her head to the side. “Does the Lion’s father still live?”
