Virginia Henley (21 page)

It’s a look of hatred, not disapproval. Your cousin’s malevolence had better be for me!
He mounted Valiant and kept him on a tight rein so that he would not surge forward into a gallop.

“When you ride sidesaddle you use your reins to guide your mount. When you are astride, you can use your knees to give you much more control. She’ll respond to the slightest pressure. Try it.”

Catherine found it strange to feel the animal between her legs with only her stockings separating her flesh from horseflesh.
My legs have never been this far apart in my life!
When the filly quivered, she felt its rippling hide against her inner thighs and realized that riding astride required a far more intimate relationship with your mount than riding sidesaddle.

Hepburn set a slow pace for the first mile. “You’re a fast learner. Is it starting to feel more natural?”

“I am more in control, and being astride makes me feel more free, less constricted. Can we go faster?”

He grinned at her. “Clasp your legs tighter and give her more rein.” He watched as her filly moved into a steady canter.

Cat looked at the way the heavy saddle muscles on his thighs gripped his huge mount. Valiant was a hell of a lot of brute animal to control, yet Hepburn held the reins loosely in one hand. Her eyes lingered on that hand. It was big and powerful, like the rest of his physique. She remembered what his hands had felt like on her body when he’d lifted her in the dance, and she shivered.

He saw her quiver and wondered if riding astride was arousing her. He pictured her naked, then he imagined her straddling him, and it was his turn to shudder. “Ready to gallop?”

She nodded eagerly and he fantasized about her responding to all his suggestions with such reckless abandon.

“Damnation! When I gallop, my skirt rides up and entangles my legs. I wish I could wear breeches!”

He imagined her in leather pants, and then cursed under his breath as his cock became unruly. “We’d better go a bit slower.” He willed himself to think of less prurient matters. “You seem to get along well with your grandfather. Seton isn’t as bad as you imagined.”

“I adore Geordie; he indulges my every whim. He even let me have a little black cat I saw in the stables.”

“Don’t tell me ... you named her Tattoo.”

She stared at him. “How the devil did you know?”

“It just seemed
apropos.
”

“Good God, you know about my tattoo!”
I’ll kill Maggie!

He grinned. “It isn’t a catastrophe, though it certainly sets you apart from other females.” He waggled his black eyebrows. “Impulsiveness is a curse, Hellcat.”

“Then tread carefully. You’re not the only one with a knife.”

“Keep it sheathed. We’re on Hepburn land—Crichton is ahead.”

She saw tenant farms with sheep and cattle. They passed numerous pastures where horses grazed and acres of apple orchards.

He saw that the breeze had loosened tendrils of hair about her face and her golden eyes glowed with the joy of being alive. “I officially proclaim that you know how to ride without a sidesaddle.”

Suddenly, Cat spotted a girl riding like the wind, her red hair flying behind her like a banner. “No, I don’t! That’s how I want to ride. It’s all or nothing for me!”

His glance was admiring. “At last we’ve something in common.”

Crichton Castle sat on the crest of a hill, and as they rode into the courtyard, Catherine was amazed at its beauty. Built of pinkish sandstone, it had an Italianate façade with an arched colonnade. “Such decorative conceits—I love it!”

“Something else we have in common.”

“It looks so modern.”

“This part is. The Earl of Bothwell added it seventeen years back. Originally there was only the keep, the tower, and the gatehouse. The new kitchens and living quarters are above the arched colonnade. The decoration is the Hepburn rose.”

They entered the stables, where Catherine dismounted gracefully and a Hepburn groom took their horses. “Walk slowly,” he teased. “It will feel strange to have your legs back together.”

She glanced away shyly and saw the girl with the red hair.

“Jenny, come and meet Lady Catherine Seton Spencer. She envies the way you ride.”

Jenny approached them eagerly and swept her a curtsy. “My lady.” Her eyes were wide with admiration for the beautiful young female. “I envy yer elegant riding dress!”

“Oh, don’t curtsy, and please call me Cat. If you teach me to ride the way you do, I’ll design an elegant riding dress for you.”

“Truly? But I simply ride like a Hepburn moss-trooper.”

“Exactly! That’s how I want to ride. Will you come to Seton?”

Trying to contain her excitement, Jenny looked at Patrick.

“We’ll see. Tell your mother we have a visitor.”

Catherine walked with Patrick beneath the stone arch and up some stone steps, and entered the living quarters. The chamber was spacious and to one side was a straight stairway that led up to a gallery. Its balustrade was lavishly carved with roses, and Cat suddenly experienced
déjà vu
as if she’d been here before ... almost as if this castle belonged to her.

The housekeeper, Jenny’s mother, came forward with a tankard of ale for Patrick. “Would ye prefer wine or ale from our own brewery, Lady Catherine?”

“Wine,” Patrick decided.

“Ale,” Catherine contradicted, accepting a tankard.

“Ale isn’t a lady’s drink,” he said with a straight face.

“I know. Next time I’ll have whisky. Geordie is teaching me how to tolerate such vile stuff.”

He looked down at her and murmured quizzically, “Will he teach me how to tolerate such a vile woman?”

He thinks I’m a woman!
The thought pleased her inordinately. Suddenly, Cat realized there were a great many females about. Though they kept a respectful distance they were surely taking a good look at her. “Do all these women serve you?”

“Each in her own way, but they are not servants; they are my Hepburn and Stewart clan, with a few Douglases and Elliots thrown in for good measure. Many are my moss-troopers’ wives and daughters.”

“They are flirting with you,” she accused.

“They are Scots lasses; it comes naturally to them.”

Maggie’s words rushed back to her:
Wishful thinking! They’d all like a chance to lie with him and mayhap tame him.

“Drink up and I’ll show you the ancient part of the castle.”

Cat looked at her tankard doubtfully. She had managed about half of the ale but with one more mouthful she would surely burst.

“Let me help you.” He took it from her and drained it.

She tried to match his steps as he led the way to the keep.

“This is the Great Hall.”

The long, vaulted room with its huge open fireplace at one end was occupied by moss-troopers. The moment Hepburn entered, Sabbath and Satan began to lope toward him. Patrick quickly stepped in front of Catherine so they would not overwhelm her. He rubbed their heads and ordered, “Down! Stay down!”

When Catherine saw them sit obediently, she stepped out from behind Hepburn. “Satan, Sabbath, good boys!”

Both hounds lifted their heads and howled their greeting.

Cat couldn’t wipe the grin from her face. “I love animals.”

“And animals love you. Sabbath, however, is a bitch.”

Her eyes widened. “Really? Then it was Satan who brought me to you—”
That was a dream!
“I mean it was Satan who knocked me down in the woods at Richmond.”

Patrick gave her a wolfish grin. “It was Satan both times.”

“The hound’s name is Satan, but you are the devil, Hepburn!”

“Whatever you say, Hellcat. Come, let me show you the view.”

He took her to a large square aperture in the south wall; in effect it was a window without glass. Stretching out below them lay the beautiful Tyne Valley.

“Oh, look, there’s a pair of hawks. I love birds too!” A raven flew onto the window ledge and Catherine was enthralled.

“This is Tor, an extremely intelligent bird. He often flies ahead of me when I go hunting.”

“A tame raven?” she asked.

“Nothing here is tame, Catherine. He is wise enough to know that when a hunter bags a deer, the animal is gutted on the spot so the venison won’t be tainted. He gets a free meal.”

“Ah, very intelligent indeed.” She refused to shudder.

“Well, my lady, if your posterior will allow it, I shall escort you back to Seton.”

“My posterior is no problem, my lord; it is my bloody skirt that prevents me from riding well.”

As they walked back to the stables she wondered if he was trying to get rid of her. She decided that he had shrewdly guessed she was about to take her leave and had decided to precipitate her request. It was his way of being in control.

Patrick led their horses from the stables, then he made a stirrup with his hands to aid her to mount.

Impulsively, Catherine unsheathed her knife and slit the skirt of her riding dress almost to the thigh. She was about to slash her petticoat when Patrick held up his hand in supplication.

“I beg you not reveal your limbs if they resemble Geordie’s.”

“You dare offer me such insult while I have a knife in my hand? I’ll cut your tongue out, you reckless devil!” In spite of her best efforts, she could not keep a straight face. Patrick Hepburn had a wicked humor and she realized that it added to his sexual attraction. Catherine looked about for a mounting block, and, seeing none, had no choice but to accept his help. She placed her booted foot in his clasped hands and ordered, “Close your eyes.” As he bent down, his face was on a level with hers, and when he lowered his eyelids she examined his face closely. He raised black lashes, looked directly into her eyes and caught her gazing at him. Disconcerted, Cat mounted with haste.

The pair of hounds bounded into the courtyard, determined to accompany their master. “Come on, then,” he relented.

As soon as they began to canter past the orchards, Tor flew into a gnarled apple tree and began to caw loudly. Then the raven took wing and followed the dogs.

“Because of the hounds, the raven thinks we are hunting.”

Hepburn let her set the pace. When she began to gallop, the wind stole her ribbon and her hair streamed out behind her. Cat knew that she felt more exhilarated than she could ever remember. Suddenly she began to laugh with the pure joy of the moment.

Hepburn kept a wise silence and let her enjoy herself. When they got closer to Seton, Patrick raised his head and scented the wind. For a fleeting moment, as they passed a thick stand of fir trees, he had the feeling they were being watched, but when the hounds bounded into the wooded grove, the impression faded away.

When they arrived at Winton Castle, he ordered his dogs to heel and Catherine remained in the saddle, expecting him to dismount and lift her down. When he remained mounted, she did not know whether she felt relief or disappointment. “Thank you kindly for the riding lesson, my lord.”

“You will allow Jenny to visit me at Seton?” she begged.

“I’ll see what her father says.”

She watched him gallop away until he was out of sight. Cat dismounted gingerly and rubbed her bottom. Tonight she was dining with Andrew and his mother, Janet. Perhaps if she soaked in a warm bath she’d be able to sit at their table without squirming. First thing tomorrow, she intended to design herself a practical riding dress. Perhaps she and Maggie could go into Edinburgh to buy cloth, and at the same time she could pick out some fancy material for the little girls’ princess dresses.

When Maggie drew back the drapes, Catherine sat up in bed.

“How are yer aches and pains, moans and groans, stones and bones, my lamb?”

“My bum is stiff as a board. I was so tired last night, I almost fell asleep at Andrew’s table, but he didn’t take the least offense. I like him very much, and I like his mother too.”

“Geordie’s sisters, Jessie and Janet, both married Lindsays, and their clan is northwest of Seton.”

“So both Andrew’s and Malcolm’s last name is Lindsay?”

“That’s right. It’s hard to keep the names straight at first.”

“I get the impression that Malcolm wishes his name was Seton.”

“And who wouldn’t want to be a Seton, pray tell me if ye can?”

A short time later, when Cat and Maggie went down to breakfast, Geordie announced, “Ye have early visitors, Catherine.”

She stepped into the Great Hall and saw the red-haired girl she had met yesterday, accompanied by a brawny man in leathers. “Jenny! Oh, I’m so glad you came.”
Thank you, Patrick!

Jenny bobbed a curtsy. “This is my father, my lady.”

Catherine held out her hand. “Mr. Hepburn, thank you for bringing Jenny. She has offered to give me riding lessons. Do you think she could stay for a couple of days, sir?”

“Please, Father?” Jenny implored.

Hepburn finally nodded his consent.

“Thank you, sir. We will escort Jenny safely back to Crichton tomorrow evening,” Catherine promised him.

He nodded again, bent an admonitory look upon his daughter and then departed as silently as he’d arrived.

“Come and have breakfast,” Cat invited.

“I’ve had one, but I can manage another,” Jenny agreed as she followed Catherine into the small dining room.

“This is my grandfather, Geordie Seton, Earl of Winton. This is my new friend, Jenny Hepburn, who’s come to visit.”

“I’m honored to meet you, yer lordship.”

“Sit down, lass. Help yerself to some breakfast.”

“Jenny, this is Maggie.” She turned to Geordie. “We would like to go into Edinburgh this morning. I need to buy material.”

“Ye need a gown fer Court?” he asked.

“Oh, no, most of my clothes are suitable for Court. It is my riding dresses that are woefully inadequate. Since it’s already Tuesday, I have little time to waste.”