Page 22 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess
With a strangled cry, she bolted from her seat into the crowd.
“Lydia!” Richard called desperately, but it was no use.
While the roar was primal, it was swallowed by the race, the crowd.
He surged forward like a man possessed. He shoved past startled onlookers in a desperate pursuit.
“Lydia!”
Catriona was enjoying the race, cheering on the horses, when she swore that she saw a flash of frantic movement in her periphery.
A small, pale face, streaked with terror, disappearing into the crowd.
Could it be little Lydia? Surely not. And yet…
Her instincts took over the operation of her body as she got up from her seat.
If that was Lydia and she needed her help, she would not forgive herself for ignoring the feeling.
“Please excuse me,” she said hastily to her mother and Lady Marchant, who were busy watching the race.
They must have assumed she had to relieve herself, as they did not protest. Catriona also expected they may have put a small wager on the race, which also held their interest.
She quickly made her way towards the quieter, less manicured area behind the stands.
The scent of hay and manure made her cover her nose, not in disgust but just at the sensory onslaught. She shook her head as she scanned the area around her.
She made her way a bit further from the beaten path, where she found the duke kneeling beside Lydia.
The poor girl was now a storm of inconsolable sobs. Her small frame was wracked with violent tremors.
Catriona, her own breath coming in ragged gasps from the exertion, approached tentatively.
“Is she all right?” she asked.
The duke’s head snapped up as he took in the words he was hearing. He instinctively moved to shield Lydia with his body.
“Give us some privacy, Miss MacTavish. I can handle this matter,” he growled.
Catriona took another step closer with her hands in the air as if in surrender.
“I just want to help,” she insisted. “Naethin’ more.”.
“I don’tneedyour help,” Richard snapped back, his eyes flashing with a wounded intensity.
“With all due respect, Yer Grace,” Catriona retorted, her own temper flaring at his inconsiderate tone, “ye dinnae seem to be doin’ a particularly good job of consoling the poor child. Is yer pride more important than her comfort?”
Lydia’s sobs hitched slightly as she also began to realize that Catriona was there. She poked her head out of her hands and gazed up at her. Then, she reached out from behind Richard’s broad arms for Catriona.
Instinct again took over Catriona’s movements as her body acted of its own accord. She knelt gently beside Lydia, dropping her voice to a soothing murmur.
“What is it, sweetheart? What frightened ye so?”
Lydia’s eyes met Catriona’s, and again, she felt the connection between them. The girl fluttered her tiny hands outwards, mimicking a violent burst.
Understanding dawned in Catriona’s eyes.
The gunshot. That must’ve scared her.
