Page 27 of Hard-Hearted Highlander
Miss Kent smiled, then glanced nervously at Rabbie. He nodded. “Aye, then,” he said. “Let’s be about it. I’ll see to the mounts.” He strode to the door, passing his fiancée without a word as he stepped out of the room.
It seemed several minutes before the ladies followed him out onto the drive. The Mackenzie horses had been brought round, and another from the Kent stables—horses bought for a song from some Highlander in desperate need of funds, Rabbie guessed—and a lad from the stable was on hand to help Miss Kent mount her horse. It took more than one effort, for the horse was tall and Miss Kent was small and obviously inexperienced.
Rabbie glanced at the maid. She was not dressed for riding, he realized. “You’re no’ attending your mistress?”
She shook her head, but kept her gaze straight ahead, still refusing to look at him.
Rabbie, however, glared at her. “I didna think you allowed your little sparrow out of your sight, then.”
She looked at him then, her hazel gaze full of loathing. “Oh, I rarely do. But this time, I can’t bear the company.”
Rabbie stepped closer to her, so close that he could see the flecks of brown in her eyes, a barely noticeable smear of dirt across one cheek, a sprinkle of freckles across her slender nose. “You think yourself clever, lass. You still seem to believe you might chasten me into behavior you deem appropriate.”
“I think that’s impossible.”
“It’s impossible, aye. A word of advice, then—I wouldna risk my displeasure.”
One of her fine, dark brows rose skeptically above the other.
His gaze flicked over her again, lingering a moment on her mouth. The feeling of madness rose up in him again, and he walked away, his cloak flying out behind him. He tossed himself up on his horse and wheeled it around, then said rather gruffly, “Aye, we go now.”
His sister and Miss Kent dutifully trotted behind him. Thank God for it, for Rabbie didn’t know what he might have done had they not. His thoughts were more jumbled than usual, and he felt incapable of conversation or rational thought for a few moments. He was aware of an unsettling curiosity brewing in him. That woman was like a book—as if he’d opened one with the certainty it would be dull, but then finding something compelling enough to make him want to turn the page.
That he wanted to turn that page was perhaps the most unsettling idea to have entered his thoughts in a very long while.
CHAPTER EIGHT
BERNADETTESPENTTHEafternoon tidying things—herself, her room—and she even made an attempt to tidy Avaline’s. But she’d been chased away by the chambermaid, who took umbrage with her efforts.
With no tasks to occupy her, Bernadette wandered aimlessly about the grounds. She spoke to Niall MacDonald, who had come to speak to Lord Kent and was now on his way to parts unknown.
“You’re leaving?” Bernadette said, perhaps a bit plaintively, thinking that she might have someone to talk to.
“Aye, that I am. I’ve work elsewhere.” He’d tipped his hat, and turned his horse about, intending to ride on. But he paused and glanced back at her. “Have a care in the hills, Miss Holly.”
“What do you mean?”
“There is bad blood between the Scots and the English,” he said. “Bad blood between some clans, as well. Mind you have a care.” And with that cryptic warning, he rode on.
Bernadette hardly gave it another thought. She had yet to see another living soul on her morning walks, other than the least friendly Scot of all, Mr. Mackenzie.
Without Mr. MacDonald to divert her, Bernadette tried to read. Yet she hardly saw a word—her thoughts were racing, her mind on that hard-hearted man and the things he’d said to her today. He cared for no one but himself, was the worst sort of person.
And yet, that uncivilized man seemed wholly different from the one who had stood on the cliff. She’d known instantly who it was when she’d stumbled across him—his was a foreboding presence, even at a distance. She’d paused, confused as to what he was doing there, and made uneasy by how uncomfortably close he stood to the edge. She’d been struck with the sick feeling that he might fall. Or worse—jump.
He’d obviously known how close to the edge he was, but still, Bernadette had fought a gut instinct to call out, to warn him that he stood too close. She might have done so, too, had he not suddenly stepped back from the edge.
And then, of course, he’d seen her there, and she’d panicked.
It was so strange, she thought now, with the luxury of a few hours alone to gather her thoughts. There had been something dark and desperate about him up on that cliff. Something that made her skin crawl even now. And something that made her feel an uncomfortable, unwanted twinge of compassion.
When Bernadette at last conceded that reading was a futile endeavor, she took to restlessly roaming the house. Unfortunately, she could hear Lord Kent haranguing his wife, which made her feel sick. So she took another long walk, Mr. MacDonald’s warnings notwithstanding.
It seemed as if she was walking miles and miles every day now, anything to escape the tension at Killeaven. But there were only so many miles she could walk before hunger or dark skies or a fear of becoming hopelessly lost drove her back. Today, she returned with pangs of hunger, and was walking up the drive when she heard horses approaching. She glanced over her shoulder and noticed one horse was far in front of the others. It was obviously Mackenzie, racing as if the devil chased him. Behind him, Avaline’s and Miss Mackenzie’s horses trotted companionably along.
Naturally, Mackenzie galloped right past her, the horse’s speed kicking up the hem of her gown. Bernadette coughed, waving the dust of the road from her face, then continued on, reaching the front drive at the same time Avaline and Miss Mackenzie reached it. They were nattering away with each other and called out a friendly greeting to her.
In the drive, Avaline’s fiancé did not bother to come down from his mount, not even to help his fiancée from hers. He looked on insouciantly as the stable hand appeared to assist Avaline. The poor girl stumbled when her feet touched the ground, no doubt a result of being unaccustomed to riding for such a long period of time.
