Chapter Three #4
She resisted the urge to look behind her.
Gazing on Warwickshire so far in the distance just might be more than her composure could bear.
At least she might keep herself from tears.
Crying would be useless. She had so often considered Lady Mary to be weak for all her sobbing.
That doubled her resolve to remain calm as the day drew longer.
The earl only drew his men to a halt twice.
Both times he did it near a river so that the horses might drink.
Her feet were asleep and dismounting sent prickles of pain up her numb legs.
She had never sat on a horse so long. There had never been any need to.
Horses were expensive and they generated further cost in stables and feed.
Besides, her life had been Warwickshire.
The villages and the castle proper. Her feet served her well enough for traveling between them.
She didn’t earn enough in an entire year to even buy a horse as fine as the one she was riding today.
Giving the mare a pat, Anne smoothed her fingers over its shiny coat.
“She’s a fine animal, to be sure.” Turning her head, Anne found one of the McJames’ retainers a few feet behind her. He studied her with eyes the same shade as a summer sky. He was fair-haired as well; quite the opposite of the earl.
“Indeed, she is very beautiful.”
He lifted a hand to firmly pat the horse on its hindquarter. “Strong. That’s what matters.”
Releasing the reins, Anne let the mare have her freedom. With a soft nicker, the mare followed the other horses toward the edge of the river.
“My brother bred her from his own stock. McJames’ horses are the best in Scotland.”
“I can see that.”
The Scot peered at her trying to see past her face veil. When she didn’t lift it, his gaze slid down her frame, inspecting her exactly as he had the mare.
“I thought English ladies wore gloves to keep their hands soft.”
Anne was grateful for her veil because it hid the sudden widening of her eyes. She curled her frozen fingers into fists.
“I forgot them this morning.” She cringed because she made yet another error. As a lady, her maid should have seen to the task of fetching her gloves. “When you were spotted approaching, I became flustered.”
A grin appeared on the Scot. “Now don’t go telling my brother that. His ego disnae need any stroking.” He actually winked at her. The playful expression stunned her because she’d never quite pictured Scotsmen relaxed.
“Well then, you’d better take care of your needs before we mount up again.” He pointed to a large outcropping of boulders and her face burned scarlet.
“Yes, thank you.” Her voice squeaked as her blush deepened. She felt like every pair of eyes was focused on her as she walked toward the rocks. Returning took a great deal of discipline as she ordered herself to stop being so childish. The body had needs; it was no reason for blushing.
More of the men were turned her way now, studying her as she drew closer to the water.
The earl was already back on his steed, watching them from several feet above.
He scanned the horizon, his face set in hard lines.
He wasn’t relaxed or jovial. Solid determination radiated from him as he swept the entire surrounding area before letting his gaze settle on her.
Her cheeks warmed again, the tiny response tingling as it went through her flesh. She worried her lower lip as she found herself staring back at him, unable to break the connection. He actually frowned before looking away. Her pride bristled, the hot stain on her cheeks annoying.
How could she blush for him?
And why did he find her unpleasing?
Her anger stunned her, numbing her mind as she tried to decide why she cared what the man thought of her. If he found her ugly, all the better. It would certainly make avoiding the bedding easier.
Yet she could not deny the surge of disappointment that went through her. It was as real as the kilt-wearing men near her. Quite unexpected but still a firm reality.
“The two of you will just have to wait.”
There was a male chuckle as the earl’s brother returned leading her mare. He smirked at her while offering her a hand to mount. Anne reached for the saddle horn instead, lodging one foot in the stirrup and pushing her body up into the air on her own.
Humph, she’d be very well and good on her own.
“Well now, I’ve never seen an English lady who could do that. Maybe my brother made a better choice than he thinks.”
Looking down at the Scot, Anne was tempted to flip her veil back so that he might see the frown she was aiming at him.
It was another impulse, one that was very hard to resist. She found the man grinning from ear to ear, his sky blue eyes sparkling with mischief.
Her anger fled as she noted how much he reminded her of Bonnie.
“You know a great deal about English women, do you?”
His lips lowered into a pensive line. “I’ve attended yer queen’s court with my brother, so aye, I know a wee bit.” His eyes flickered with something that looked like distrust. “Ye’re not exactly what I expected when my brother told me we were off to fetch ye home.”
He looked at her with a critical eye that made her wonder just what she was lacking in his opinion.
“As we are strangers, I declined to form any opinions of you or your brother before I met you both.”
One of his eyebrows rose. A soft scoff pasted his lips and his eyes glittered with amusement.
“Och well, there’s a tone I recall well. Ye English lasses must be descended from Valkyries because ye have the north wind living inside ye. Icy as snow ye are when ye’re of the mind to freeze a man with your words.”
Anne bit back an apology. Philipa’s words rose above her impulse. Becoming too familiar with any of these men was unwise considering the precarious position of her family. Still, she was not the one casting rude comments about. No matter the situation, she was not weak willed.
“My name is Cullen.” He offered her a folded cloth. “Here’s something to eat. It’s a two-day ride to Sterling castle. Ye’ll need yer strength.”
“Thank you.” Her voice was low as she took the offering.
Cullen hooked a leather cord attached to a full wine skin over the saddle horn.
Her cheeks heated again, this time in shame for being so outspoken.
She shouldn’t allow Philipa to turn her into a bitter-hearted person.
But she held her comments, sealing them behind her lips for fear of what might yet happen to her family.
She had to play her role, at least until her sire discovered her plight.
Cullen nodded. “Welcome to the family.”
His voice was gruff. She deserved it for being so haughty.
Regret pierced her as he walked toward his own horse.
She had regret for so many things that weren’t in her power to change.
Everything about where she found herself was frustrating.
She’d heard a lot of sermons on kindness being the key to unlocking good solutions, but today she was hard-pressed to figure a way to deal with her dilemma in a Christian way.
There was nothing virtuous about her position. It was steeped in sin and the stain was smearing with each word she spoke. Philipa had truly poisoned herself with hatred because no woman with a heart could send someone into such a situation.
But being correct didn’t help her. All of her reasoning and justifications of being the victim failed to fend off the guilt chewing on her.
Truly, speaking to the saints was unlikely to bring her any help.
Not when she considered that all of those holy figures had martyred themselves rather than act unchristian.
Even knowing that didn’t open her lips. She kept them sealed and sat, firmly resolved to play her assigned role as the earl motioned them forward.
Her counterfeit role.