“No, Alec. I don’t want that.”
“Why?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.
“Because you’ll know where to find me. It’s better if we part without any attachments.” She turned and began to walk toward the castle. He caught her arm, drew her back.
“You’ll know where to find me, though. You’ll come back to me if you need help, won’t you?” He wanted her again, wanted to drag her down, lay her in the ferns, and let them find her in his arms, but he could not.
He had responsibilities. How he hated the word.
He turned away, frustrated, angry, and headed back into the woods.
“Aren’t you coming back to the castle?” she called after him.
He stopped. “I think I’ll take another swim,” he said. He came back and kissed her forehead. “Good night, Caroline,” he said softly.
She met his eyes. “Good night, Alec.”
He knew she stood and watched him walk away, but he didn’t look back.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-NINE
The hunting party waited for the mist to clear before setting off into the hills to hunt. Leith glanced at the straggling trail of folk behind him and pushed his tam back to look at his companion. “What exactly are we looking for, Jock?”
Jock scanned the heather, the woods by the loch, and the slopes that led up toward the old tower. “Anything the Sassenachs can shoot at.”
Leith puffed his cheeks and blew air out. “Grouse season doesn’t start for nigh on a fortnight.”
Jock spit into the heather. “Aye, I ken it. The Sassenachs ken it as well. Let’s hope the grouse don’t ken it.”
“There are hares about. Will they do?”
Jock sighed. “So long as they don’t shoot the sheep, it’s fine with me.”
He ducked as a shot rang out, and Leith dove into the heather. A bird on the wing flapped away, squawking its displeasure, but unharmed. “That’s a bonxie!” Leith pointed. “Ye can’t eat those!” He picked up his tam and gaped at the bullet hole.
The gull wheeled and came to dive at its would-be murderer. Several ladies in the party screeched, sounding like gulls themselves, and the men ducked and tried to reload at the same time. Only the laird and his sisters waved their arms to drive the bird off. Leith brushed dirt off his trews and Jock elbowed him.
“Come on, lad. Start looking for something they can shoot. Point it out and run like hell the other way.”
Lottie watched as Sophie pulled her elegant cashmere shawl more tightly over the heavy coat that was buttoned to her chin. Her nose was red with chill. In Lottie’s opinion, the weather was quite pleasant, though a silver mist lay over the hillsides.
“Perhaps Lord Somerson, Charlotte, and Countess Devorguilla were sensible to stay behind. I do hope the weather stays fair,” Sophie said anxiously. “Is this considered fair?”
“I don’t know, but you’re quite right—in England, we’d stay indoors with Mama, and be bored,” Lottie replied.
“How are we supposed to even see anything, let alone shoot it in all this fog?” Sophie complained. “The wet grass will quite ruin my boots.”
“You should have worn sturdier ones,” Lottie said. “I wore my riding boots—see?”
Sophie sniffed. “But these match my gown. They’re hand-dyed to match perfectly. What will I wear if they’re ruined?” She shifted the dainty bow quiver on her shoulder. Even the quiver matched her boots, and the fletching of the arrows matched the feathers in her jaunty little cap.
“D’you suppose one of the gentlemen would lend me a gun and teach me how to shoot?” Lottie asked.
Sophie looked horrified. “Good heaven, Lottie, you can’t mean it! A gun?”
Lottie raised her chin. “I do mean it. My father forbids it, which makes me all the keener to try.”
“My father says archery is the only suitable type of shooting for a lady.”
