Page 50 of Christmas at Castle Dunrannoch
“Same with horses.” Rye nodded. “Take Charon there, the Hanovarian I was ridin’. He wouldn’t look at anyone when I first came. Since he threw his master, no one’s wanted anythin’ to do with him. It’s a shame, pure and simple, but Charon and I are gettin’ along just fine. He’s been starved of affection is all.”
Rye leant forward.The room had toasted up nicely but he opened the stove to add more fuel, poking at the embers to stir up the flames.
She was resting her chin on her knees, looking at him, her eyes wide; hazel green with amber flecks, and lashes tipped in gold. It had been her eyes he’d noticed first, when Charon had brought him near on top of her, almost knocking her down. They’d given each other a fright—no doubt about that.
He’d been foolish, setting out when he could see mist rolling down the hills. As he’d saddled the horse, Campbell had warned him against it, but he hadn’t been able to face a whole day inside. There were too many women at Dunrannoch. He wasn’t used to it—all that chatter about not much at all.
Lavinia hadn’t laid it out for him explicitly but it was obvious what they had in mind, and he could hardly blame them. Dunrannoch was their home. It was only natural they’d want to safeguard their place in it. His grandfather was tenacious all right, but he wouldn’t see out too many more years.
Rye had known the deal. Coming over here, taking on the mantle that could have been his father’s, he’d a duty to continue the line—and that meant finding a wife.
Or being provisioned with one.
He’d only been at Dunrannoch a couple of weeks but, already, he was being backed into a corner. Not that they weren’t amenable, those cousins of his: Fiona, Blair, Bonnie, Cora and Elsbeth. All dark haired and blue-eyed and pretty as porcelain dolls. As far as he could tell, there wasn’t much to choose between them. Perhaps that was the problem. It felt like picking a shirt from a whole pile stitched just the same.
Damn! He was an ungrateful son of a bitch.
Of course, he’d planned to settle down one day and raise a brood. He just hadn’t realized it would happen so quickly. Any other fella would’ve been feeling like a kid in a confectionary shop; instead, he’d only been feeling trapped.
Until now.
Until Miss Ursula Abernathy, sitting there with her honeyed hair all loose about her shoulders, and those dainty bare feet, pale as milk. One long, thick ribbon of satin caramel curled down one side, reaching over the curve of her breast, all the way to her waist.
He’d a yearning to find out how soft it was but he’d made himself sit far enough away that he wouldn’t overstep the boundaries. As it was, he’d have to spin a tale to keep her reputation intact.
He couldn’t make out if she was flirting with him, with that velvety look in her eyes. When her nose wasn’t wrinkling in disapproval, she sure was pretty.
He’d no idea what she was thinking right now.
Nor what she’d say when she worked out who he was.
He hadn’t lied. Not exactly. He just hadn’t wanted to tell her—not yet. In case it changed how she acted towards him.
And though he might not be telling Miss Ursula Abernathy the whole truth, he was darned sure she was holding a few things back herself.
They sat for a long while, drinking the last of the brandy, saying not much at all. Rye tried hard to keep himself from staring. She’d closed her eyes, tilting her head on one side. Her lips were pale pink and petal-plump, parted in just the right way for kissing.
When riled, she was prickly as a cactus—but kissing her would smooth that out some. That, and holding her close, convincing her that she was safe—that nothing bad could reach her.
“You’re tired, little bear.” He pushed back a lock of hair from her cheek. “You should get to bed before y’ tump over.”
Drowsy, she opened one eye. “Where will you sleep?”
“Right here. I’ve slept on rougher ground. I’ll be fine.” Even as he said it, he was thinking of how he’d like to curl up behind her and tuck her into him. He wanted her close enough that he’d be able to smell her hair.
If he were honest, he wanted the roundedness of her behind pressed up against him too, but he shoved that thought away quickly. She trusted him, and he wouldn’t do anything to make her regret that.
“Come on now.” He got her under the arms, raising her up.
He shouldn’t have given her the last tot of brandy. She wasn’t used to liquor.
Reaching the wooden cot, she lay down at once, tucking her knees up. It couldn’t be too comfortable; the horsehair mattress was losing its stuffing. He laid the rough blanket over her and she said nothing but, as he stepped away she reached out one arm, her fingers brushing his lower thigh.
“Keep me warm.”
“You want me to hold you?” His voiced came out cracked. He knew it was a bad idea but God help him, he was only human.
She nodded and rolled over, leaving space for him. Not much, but just enough. If he turned in the night, he’d pitch right out and onto the floor.
