The Winter Sea (Slains, #1)(54)

‘Have a care,’ he said. His voice was not the scraping one that should have matched his face. It had a softer edge but to Sophia’s ears its tone was yet unpleasant, like the whisper of a snake. ‘Ye should keep both eyes open when ye’re walking in my garden.’

She kept her own voice calm. ‘I’ll mind that, Mr Wick.’

‘Aye, see ye do. I widna wish tae see ye come tae harm, a bonnie quinie like yerself.’ His dark eyes stripped her with a slow glance as he held her by the arm.

She pulled away, but he did not release her and she knew that if she struggled it would only please him more. So, standing still, she told him, ‘Let me go.’

‘Ye look a bit unsteady on yer feet,’ he said, and smiled. ‘I’d nae want ye tae fall. Leastwyes, that’s what I’ll tell her ladyship, if ye should have a mind tae speak against me. I’ve been here at Slains a wee while longer than yerself, my quine. Her ladyship puts value on my word.’ His other hand was reaching for her waist as he was speaking, and Sophia realized that, where they were standing, they were all but out of sight of anyone within the house. She felt the panic and revulsion rise like bile within her throat, and choke her words as she repeated, ‘Let me go.’

‘I dinna think I will, the now.’ The hand had reached her waist and clasped it, and begun a progress upwards. ‘I’d best be making certain ye’ve nae done yerself an injury.’

The footsteps on the pathway were a welcome interruption. In an instant Billy Wick had dropped his hands and moved away, so there was nothing untoward in the appearance of the scene that greeted Mr Moray when he came upon them. But he slowed his steps, and with a brief look at Sophia’s face, stopped walking altogether, as his eyes swung, cold and watchful, to the gardener.

‘Good morning, Mr Wick,’ he said, but leaving no time for the other man to make reply, he added, ‘I am sure this lady did not mean to keep ye from your work.’

The gardener scowled, but touched his cap respectfully and, picking up his tools from where he’d set them down beside the path, he slipped away as neatly as a viper in the grass.

Sophia’s shoulders sagged a little with relief. Feeling Moray’s eyes upon her once again, she waited for the questions, but they did not come. He only asked, ‘Is everything all right?’

She could have told him what had happened, but she dared not, for beneath his calm she sensed that he was very capable of violence, in a just cause, and she dared not give him any reason to defend her honor, lest in doing so he called attention to himself. She would not have him be discovered.

So she told him, ‘Yes,’ and smoothed her gown with hands that barely trembled. ‘Thank you. Everything is fine.’

He nodded. ‘Then I’ll not detain you, for I see you are, indeed, quite fully occupied this morning.’

He’d gone past her by the time she found her courage. ‘Mr Moray?’

Once again he stopped, and turned. ‘Aye?’

‘I do find my situation changed.’ She’d said it now. She could not lose her nerve. ‘If you still wish to ride, I could come with you. If you like,’ she finished, conscious of his steady gaze.

He stood a moment in consideration. Then he said, ‘Aye, Mistress Paterson, I’d like that very much.’

She didn’t bother changing from her gown into her borrowed habit. Dust and horsehair could not harm the fabric of her skirts more than the years themselves had done. This gown was the not the oldest one she owned, but she had worn it several seasons and had mended it with care because its color, once deep violet, now a paler shade of lavender, did set off her bright hair to some advantage.

At the stables, Rory brought her out the mare, and ran his hands along the broad girth of the sidesaddle to see it was secure. But it was Moray’s hand that helped Sophia to her mount.

She felt again that shooting charge along her arm that she had felt when they’d first touched, and as she drew her hand back he remarked, ‘Ye should be wearing gloves.’

‘I’ll be all right. My hands are not so soft.’

‘To mine, they are,’ he said, and handed her the gauntlets from his own belt before swinging to the saddle of his gelding, where he sat with so much ease he seemed a part of the great animal. To Rory, he said, ‘If her ladyship should ask, we’ll not be riding far, and we’ll be keeping close to shore. The lass is safe with me.’

‘Aye, Colonel Moray.’ Rory stepped well clear and watched them go, and though he made no comment, from the look of interest on his face Sophia guessed that Kirsty would soon hear of her adventure.

But while Kirsty would undoubtedly approve, Sophia did not know what thoughts the countess or her son might have upon the matter. True enough, the countess had been in the room when Moray had first asked her to go riding after breakfast, but Sophia had declined that offer with such haste the countess had not had the time or need to voice her own opinion. Nonetheless, Sophia reasoned, there could scarce be an objection. Mr Moray was an honorable man and of good family—a woman under his protection surely would not come to harm.

She told herself this last bit for a second time to fortify her confidence. They were beyond the castle now and heading to the south. He held the gelding to an easy walk although she sensed, had he been on his own, he would have settled on a pace more suited to his restlessness. It must, she thought, be difficult for someone such as him, a soldier, bred and trained for action, to be confined to Slains these past few days. She’d often seen him taking refuge in the library among the shelves of books, as though by reading he could give his mind at least a taste of liberty. But mostly he’d reminded her of some caged beast who could but pace the grounds and corridors without a worthy purpose.