Page 37 of Bonetide

It waits for me.

Chapter

Nine

Ican’t stand being in this cottage for another day.

Two days of restless work in the studio. Two evenings of looking at the dark bay from the kitchen window and pretending I’m not looking at it, pretending I’m not searching for him. The castle is like a splinter under my skin, one I can’t get out no matter what I do.

So I walk.

I take the path behind the cottage, the one that climbs the slope through the bracken to the moor. The morning is clear and warm for once. The dew has evaporated and the bees are buzzing merrily in the heather. I’ve brought the sketchbook and the canvas bag I’ve started using for cuttings, and I’ve told myself I’m going to do my job.

I’ve told myself a lot of things.

I’m maybe half a mile up the moor, sitting on a stone with the sketchbook open on my knee, when I hear it.

The hollow tread of hooves on peat. A rhythm that isn’t the wind.

I look up.

Alasdair is coming across the moor toward me, and to my utter surprise, he’s astride a brown horse.

No saddle. No bridle. His hands rest loose on the horse’s neck like he’s resting them there, not steering. He’s in black trousers and a black shirt with the sleeves rolled, and his feet are bare. His hair is loose against his jaw.

He pulls up about ten feet from me. The horse, a stocky bay mare with a long black tail and the rough coat of something that lives outside, stands and watches me with liquid eyes. I know a good horseperson can have complete control over a horse by just steering with the calves alone but generally there is some sort of verbal command to stop and I didn’t hear him give the horse one.

“Good morning,” Alasdair says in his thick brogue. I’m suddenly very aware that I am down low and he is on a lofty perch, peering down at me.

“Good morning,” I reply as I quickly shut the sketchbook and get to my feet.

“You seemed in a hurry earlier,” he comments.

I can’t help but narrow my eyes at him. I don’t know why I have such animosity toward him this morning but I do. Maybe because it’s getting a little annoying being watched all the time.

“I had to get out of the house.”

“Aye.” His eyes flick down the slope toward my cottage, then back to me. “I thought I’d find you on this side today.”

I raise a brow, wondering what that means.

“After the other day when you went exploring,” he finishes.

Ah. So he knows I was poking around his property. Only he doesn’t seem to be bothered by the idea the way I’m bothered by him showing up around the cottage.

I ignore the comment though and gesture to the horse with my sketchbook. “Pretty well trained. No bridle.”

“She prefers it.”

“The horse does?”

“Aye. We’ve an understanding.”

The horse watches me with the deep liquid patience of an animal who’d rather be eating. Unlike the white one, this horse seems perfectly ordinary. Though the man on its back is anything but.

“Speaking of horses.” I tuck the pencil behind my ear. “I saw a white one in the trees. On the road to your castle.”

“Ah,” he says with a small nod. “I wondered if you would. Did you go near him?”