‘I will manage, thank you.’
He put his hands on his hips and grinned at her. ‘Then climb aboard your flea-ridden nag and ride away.’
‘When I’m ready,’ she muttered.
Ian sank cross-legged beside her. The faint scent of roses filled his nostrils. Roses and heather. Never had he inhaled such a heady combination, although he suspected it was more to do with her than the perfume of the surrounding vegetation.
He folded his arms across his chest. ‘And I will sit here until you do. Or until you come to your senses.’
She rolled away from him onto her knees, presenting a view of her curvaceous bottom that sent a jolt of lust to his groin. Thank God for his plaid and his sporran or she’d be thinking him no better than an animal.
Gilly ran around her and licked her chin. She pushed him away, struggling with her skirts and the dog. With a small grunt, she got to her feet and took a couple of halting steps towards her horse.
Ian sprang up, putting a hand beneath her elbow. ‘Ach, lass, will your pride no let me help you?’
She lowered her head, until all he could see was the top of her dark green velvet bonnet and the silk primroses adorning its green ribbon. ‘It seems I have no choice,’ she said in a low defeated voice. ‘I cannot ride any more today.’
The anguish in the admission knocked the wind from his lungs. Damn it to hell. ‘This is all my fault. I should never have let the dog off the leash.’
Her head shot up. Dark brown eyes, soft as velvet, met his. ‘The fault is mine. I should not have left the track.’
‘Well, it looks as if there is only one answer to our dilemma.’ He put an arm around her shoulders and one carefully beneath her knees and scooped her up.
She gasped. ‘Put me down. I will not let you carry me all the way to Dunross.’
‘I don’t intend to,’ he said, looking down into those soul-deep brown eyes and feeling as if he might drown. This was not a reaction he should be having, not to this woman.
He gritted his teeth and grabbed her horse’s bridle. The dog followed closely at his heels like the best-trained dog in Scotland. Naturally.
‘Then where are we going?’
For no apparent reason the fear in her voice caused him a pang in his chest, though he was damned if he’d let her see it. ‘To find a less objectionable mode of transport.’
At that she laughed. It was as if the sun had come out from behind a cloud and he couldn’t keep from smiling, just a little.
Selina held herself stiffly, trying to maintain some sort of distance between her and his chest. Impossible, when she was in his arms. Strong arms wrapped around her back and under her knees. The steady beat of his heart vibrated against her ribs. A feeling of being safe made her want to slide her arm around his neck and rest her head against his brawny shoulder.
Safe? With him? Had she banged her head when she fell?
The Gilvrys were wild and unruly. The last time she had seen him he’d ganged up on her with his brothers, calling her Sassenach and thief. And he now was their leader. A man who would do anything to be rid of her father from land he considered his. While she could not refuse his help, she must not trust his motives.
At the bottom of the hill they came across a winding cart track. His steps lengthened as he followed the deep wheel ruts round a sweeping corner to where a long narrow loch glistened like beaten steel in the weak sun. Beside it lay a collection of rough stone buildings.
The old water mill. It looked different—not so derelict—and the pagoda-looking chimney at one end looked new. ‘I didn’t think you Gilvrys worked the mill any more.’
‘My father didn’t. I do.’
‘And added a chimney?’
‘Aye.’
Talk about taciturn. ‘Why does the mill need a chimney?’
He hesitated, his expression becoming carefully neutral. ‘To keep the miller warm in the winter.’
A lie. Though it sounded logical enough. What did it matter that he didn’t care to tell her the truth? She didn’t care what the Gilvrys did with their old falling-down mill.
He carried her into the barn and set her down on a hay bale. Immediately, she felt the loss of the strength around her body, and his seductive warmth, whereas he looked glad to be rid of her. Had she not a smidgeon of pride?
Apparently some part of her did not. The childish naïve part that had admired him from the first moment she saw him. The part of her she’d long ago buried.
Silently, he tied Topaz to a post, while Gilly curled up at her feet.
Her thigh wasn’t hurting nearly as much as before. She’d given it a jolt and the bones that had knit badly had decided to protest the rough treatment. But even though the ache had subsided, she doubted she had the strength to manage her horse. She would have to settle for his alternative mode of transport.
The only occupant of the barn was a small dun-coloured pony, which he led from its stall and proceeded to hitch to a flat-bedded wagon.
‘Your chariot awaits, my lady,’ he said wryly.
She rose to her feet, but he gave her no chance to walk, simply scooping her up and depositing her on some empty sacks he’d laid across the bare boards.
He was unbelievably strong, so unlike most of the gentlemen of the ton who defined themselves by their clothes, not their manly attributes. So unlike the elegant Dunstan.
Oh, now that really was being disloyal.
She shifted until her back was supported against the wooden boards along the side. The smell of barley wafted up. A sweet dusty smell.
He frowned. ‘There are no blankets, but I can give you my coat.’
No. She would not go home wrapped in his coat. It was bad enough she had to suffer his help. Wasn’t it?
‘This will do.’ She picked up a couple of the sacks and covered her legs with one and put the other around her shoulders. She flashed a smile and fluttered her lashes in parody. ‘How do I look?’
‘Like a tinker’s wife,’ he said, a twinkle appearing in the depths of his eyes, making him look more attractive than ever. A twinkle she knew better than to trust.
She kept her voice light and breathy, her smile bright. ‘The first stare of tinker fashion, though, surely?’
The corner of his mouth tipped up as if it wanted to smile more than was seemly. ‘Top of the trees, my lady.’
Something about his bantering tone made her feel warm and her smile softened.
They grinned at each other the way they had on those long-ago summer afternoons, before he had turned his back on her so cruelly.
His gaze dropped to her mouth.
Her heart lurched. Her breath caught. Many men had looked at her with heat since her come out. Not once in that time had her heart tumbled over in such a ridiculous fashion. She broke hearts. Men did not touch hers. Ever. That was the way to get hurt.
And besides, she was as good as betrothed to a very worthy man who was utterly besotted.
She turned her face away. ‘We should go.’
‘Aye.