Page 54 of Claiming His Scottish Duchess
The stables were quiet, the air cool and damp with the promise of morning. She saddled her favorite mare, a spirited chestnut, her movements swift and practiced.
As she urged the mare out of the stable yard, she spotted Richard in the distance.
“Blast it,” she muttered under her breath.
He was already mounted on his powerful black stallion, his face etched with the same restless energy that had driven her from her bed.
Aye, he cannae sleep either.
Their eyes met, a silent acknowledgment of their shared sleeplessness as they nodded to each other in greeting.
Catriona’s gaze drifted past him. In the distant horizon, she could make out a faint, thin wisp of smoke curling upwards. She could just make out the dark silhouette of a small cottage, nestled in the rolling hills.
An impulsive idea sparked in her mind, a reckless desire to outrun the shadows that haunted her.
She turned to Richard, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Good morning, Yer Grace,” she said, “How about a race to wake us up properly?”
“It’s the middle of the night, Duchess,” Richard’s brow furrowed. “And the ground is wet from the dew.”
“Are ye afraid?” Catriona taunted, a playful smirk curving her lips. “A wee mornin’ ride too much for the mighty Duke?”
She knew she was pushing him, in fact, deliberately provoking him, but she couldn’t resist the urge to break through.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he growled, but the corner of his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. “Very well, my wife. But don’t expect me to go easy on you.”
“I wouldnae dream of it!” Catriona retorted, her eyes sparkling with fire. “Let’s race to the cottage. Ready?”
Without waiting for his reply, she spurred her mare forward, leaping into a gallop, its hooves thundered on the damp earth.
“Little minx,” Richard cursed under his breath, his deep voice carrying an edge of amusement.
He followed close behind as she picked up speed.
They raced across the estate, the wind whipping through their hair. The thrill of speed was a welcome distraction from their inner demons.
Catriona, to Richard’s surprise, proved to be a formidable opponent. She rode with fierce determination, her seat steady and capable hands light on the reins. She knew the land well after her many rides with Lydia, taking advantage of shortcuts and hidden paths that Richard, despite his familiarity with the estate, had overlooked.
The sky, once overcast but calm, had darkened into something far more menacing. Wind whipped across the open fields,rustling branches and flattening grass. Thunder growled low in the distance, and a sudden hush fell across the trees like a warning.
Richard reined in his stallion, pulling alongside Catriona to meet her.
“We need to turn back,” he shouted over the rising wind. “A storm is brewing.”
Catriona glanced upward. He expected protest, maybe even stubbornness. But what he saw instead was a quick calculation in her eyes, something alert and cautious.
“If we turn back now, we’ll be ridin’ straight into it,” she said, voice clear despite the wind. “The cottage is closer. Dry ground, stone walls. We’ll make it there in half the time.”
“It’s barely more than a shed,” he countered. “We’d do better to?—”
“We’d be fools to try,” she cut in, not unkindly, but firm. Her mare shifted beneath her, uneasy now, ears pinned, and nostrils flared. “If the trails flood or the trees come down, we’ll be stranded.”
Richard hesitated. He didn’t like changing plans mid-course, didn’t like the thought of sheltering in a crumbling gamekeeper’s cottage with the wind howling through the boards. But she wasn’t wrong.
Another crack of thunder echoed above them, louder this time. The first drops of rain began to splatter across his coat.
“Damn it,” he muttered.
Catriona leaned slightly in the saddle, rubbing her mare’s neck, whispering something low and soothing. Her expression was tight, focused—but not panicked.
