The Winter Sea (Slains, #1)(60)

I wrote his words down, and Sophia’s voice spoke up with a response, and in a minute I had pulled the plug and stepped out of the bathtub and was buttoning my clothes so I could head for the computer, smiling faintly at the thought of how the worst things in my life sometimes inspired the best plot twists.

When I’d stood and talked to Graham in the stables, only yesterday, surrounded by the horses and the dog curled in the hay, so like the scene that I’d just written in my book, I had been thinking how life echoed art.

And now the time had come, I thought, for art to echo life.





VII

MORAY’S GAZE HAD SWUNG away and out to sea, and suddenly he pulled upon the gelding’s reins and brought him to a standstill.

Stopping too, Sophia asked, ‘What is it?’

Even as she spoke the words, she saw it, too—a ship, just coming into view around the jagged headland to the south. She could not see its colors yet, but something in the way it seemed to prowl the coastline made her apprehensive.

Moray, with no change of his expression, turned his horse. ‘’Tis time we started back.’

She made no argument, but turning with him, followed at that same slow, measured walk that gained them little ground before the silent, purposeful advance of those full sails. Sophia knew he only held them to that pace for her own comfort, and that chivalry would keep him from increasing it, so of her own accord she urged the mare into a rolling canter that would speed their progress.

Moray, left behind a moment, unprepared, was quickly at her side again, and when they reached the stableyard of Slains he stretched a hand to take the bridle of the mare and hold her steady as she halted.

He was not exactly smiling, but his eyes held deep amusement. ‘I believe ’tis proper form, when running races, to inform the other party when to start.’ Swinging himself from the saddle, he came and put his two hands round her waist to help her down.

Sophia said, ‘I did not mean to race. I only—’

‘Aye,’ he said. ‘I ken what ye intended.’ She was standing on the ground now, but he did not take his hands away. He held her very differently than Billy Wick had done—his hands were gentle, and she knew that she had but to move to step clear of their circle…but she felt no will to move. The horse, still standing warm against her back, became a living wall that blocked her view of everything except John Moray’s shoulders, and his face as he looked down at her. ‘If ever ye do find my pace too slow,’ he told her, quietly, ‘ye only have to tell me.’

She knew he was not speaking of their ride. She felt the flush begin to rise along her throat, her neck, her cheeks, while in her chest her heartbeat leaped against her stays with…what? Not fear, but something strangely kin to that emotion, as she thought of what might happen if she were to give him any answer.

‘Colonel Moray!’ Running feet approached and Rory broke upon them, taking little notice this time of their close position. Other things of more importance occupied him now. He said, ‘Her ladyship does ask for you, without delay.’

Sophia felt the hands fall from her waist as Moray gave a formal nod and took his leave of her. ‘Ye will excuse me?’

‘Certainly.’ She was relieved to find she had a voice and that it sounded almost normal, and was more relieved yet to discover, when she took a step, that her still-trembling legs could move at all, and hold her upright.

She was still wearing Moray’s gloves. She drew them off reluctantly, but by the time she’d turned to give them back he had already gone halfway across the yard, the black cape fastened to his shoulders swinging evenly in rhythm with his soldier’s stride. Sophia tore her gaze from him and, folding the worn leather of both gauntlets in her hand, she turned back, meaning to ask Rory if he knew what ship was now approaching Slains. But he had left her, too, and now had nearly reached the stable door, with both the horses safe in hand.

Standing in the yard there by herself she felt a moment’s panic, and it spurred her on to lift her skirts and run, as reckless as a child, toward the great door through which Moray had just passed.

Inside, the sudden dimness left her blind, and she collided with the figure of a man. It was not Moray.

‘Cousin,’ said the Earl of Erroll, in his pleasant voice. ‘Where would you seek to go in such a hurry?’

‘Do forgive me,’ said Sophia, with the hand that held the gloves behind her back. ‘There is a ship…’

‘The Royal William, aye. I am just come to find you, as it happens, since my mother does inform me that the captain of this ship does take an interest in your welfare, and will surely wish to see you in attendance with the family when he comes ashore.’ His smile was kind, and teasing as a brother’s. ‘Do you wish to change your gown?’

She smoothed the fabric with her free hand, conscious of the dust from riding, but her fingers, when they reached her waist, recalled the warmth of Moray’s hand upon that place, and suddenly she did not wish to change her gown just yet, as though by doing so she stood to lose the memory of his touch. ‘I thank you, no,’ she said, and clenched her hidden hand more firmly round the leather gloves she held.

‘Then come.’ The earl held out his arm. ‘We will await your Captain Gordon in the drawing room.’

The countess joined them there some minutes later. ‘Mr Moray,’ she announced, ‘agrees to keep to his own chamber till we know that Captain Gordon comes alone.’