“He covets you,” he ground out.
Her glance was keen. “That does not concern you.”
“It should,” he barked.
She huffed and stalked away, skirt filling outward in the rising wind. Then raindrops began to fall, cold, fat, rapidly increasing. Thunder and then lightning struck almost simultaneously. The boom seemed to shake the earth.
Aedan waved to the Gowans, gesturing for them to climb down into the souterrain for shelter. They clambered inside, whistling for the dog. Aedan grabbed Christina’s arm.
“Go underground,” he ordered. “I left Pog down the hill. I’ve got to get her.”
She pulled away from him, skirts whipping, and picked up her walking stick. “I don’t mind the rain. It’s not that bad. I’m going back to Dundrennan. You can go to Effie’s house. No doubt you will be warmly welcomed there,” she called back as she marched down the slope.
Aedan strode after her. “Whatever is the matter?” he demanded. “You have achieved your goal. You’ve proven the wall is ancient and stopped my road cold,” he said, annoyed.
“That was not my goal,” she said, hurrying on.
“This place will be seen as a triumph. Your name will always be associated with it. And there will be no damned road through here once the scholars have had their way.”
She stopped, whirled. Her winsome loveliness turned to a fierce beauty that took him down like a felled tree. Remorseful, touched, he reached out for her. She smacked his hand with the walking stick.
“Ow! Damn it.”
“There is no need to swear. And I doubt a woman’s name would survive in the research and writing to follow.Cairn Drishan will become Edgar’s find. But none of that is important to me. Besides, I never intended to stop your road. If I accomplished anything here, it was only in making another mistake!”
He blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing,” she said, while the rain whipped at them.
She turned, digging the stick furiously into the earth as she walked.
Bewildered, he hastened after her. Where the slope eased into the moor, she took off at a half run, skirts swirling, stick propelling her steps. Raindrops struck the earth, driving hard. He ran, then remembered the horse.
He dashed sideways to find Pog and untie her lead from a shrub, mounting quickly. Fighting the winds, he turned the horse’s head and cantered after Christina as she ran over the moorland road toward Dundrennan. Pog’s hooves were fast and sure on the graveled top coat, slower on the damp turf, but he caught up with the girl in moments.
He wanted to drag her into the saddle, kiss sense into her, and tell her the truth that begged to be said. He reached down for her, but she batted his hand away.
“Let me take you home,” he said, riding alongside.
“I want to walk.”
“It’s raining.”
“I like it. I am not a hothouse flower.”
“No. More like a prickly briar,” he groused. “I will not ride off and leave you in a thunderstorm.” Rain soaked them both now. If he had brought the gig instead of the horse, he could have thrown her into it.
“I’ve been out in rain before.”
“You’ll ruin your hat,” he pointed out.
She put a hand to the brim. “I have other hats.”
“Not as fetching as that one,” he drawled.
She gave him a dark look and rushed ahead. Pog snorted, and at Aedan’s urging, covered ground quickly to catch up.
“Ride home with me,” Aedan said. “Gunnie will have my head if bonny Mrs. Blackburn takes ill from being out in the rain.”
