‘Not Mr McDougall’s new under-secretary?’ she said in a sort of wail.
He’d been right. She didn’t like it one bit. ‘Indeed.’
‘I expected someone older. More—’
More what? Better dressed? He’d worn comfortable clothes for travelling first by boat and then on foot. He could imagine the sort of dandified gentlemen she was used to. ‘I am sorry if I disappoint.’
She gave him a look askance that he could not interpret. Annoyance, probably, because he did not have a silver tongue like his brothers. He always said what came into his head.
He kicked at a pebble. By all accounts, where females were concerned, honesty was not the best policy.
The silence had been going on for some time now, he realised. She was looking at him expectantly. No doubt waiting for him to say something witty or charming.
It wasn’t his style. He’d always felt completely left-footed with teasing and quick repartee. Too much theory and not enough practice, Logan, his youngest brother, always jibed.
The only time he’d ever tried anything of the sort had been at school in Inverness when he’d fallen hard for the headmaster’s daughter. She’d been horrified at the temerity of a lowly third son even daring an approach. He’d never again wanted to go through such a mortifying experience.
Hence his rather cold-blooded courting of Molly. He’d been surprised at the relief he’d felt when her father suggested he look elsewhere.
The woman at his side was still looking at him, waiting for him to say something.
‘It is a fine day for a ride,’ he said finally.
‘Except for the brigands,’ she said, tilting her head and affording him a full view of her face and the teasing curve to her lips.
A smile he answered with one of his own. ‘And the fact that your horse went lame.’
‘And the chill in the wind from the north,’ she added, her smile broadening.
‘And the dust.’
‘In fact, not a good day for riding at all,’ she finished.
He bowed slightly. ‘I stand corrected.’
She chuckled, a sweet soft sound that made his heart lurch as if it had stopped to listen. Inwardly, he shook his head at his odd imaginings. They were most unlike him.
They rounded a bend in the road, the castle, its towers and turrets, reflected in the loch at the foot of its walls. Damn. He’d forgotten just how tall those towers were. He hoped to God his duties didn’t take him to the top.
‘Carrick Castle,’ she announced.
‘I see it.’ Of course he saw it. It was huge. ‘I have been here before.’
Another of those quick glances up at his face and he noticed that her dark lashes were tipped with gold.
‘Not since I arrived last winter,’ she said. ‘I would have remembered.’
Now what did she mean by that? ‘I was last here more than a year ago.’
She stopped and faced him.
As he stared into those clear green eyes fringed with sooty lashes, his chest tightened with painful longing. The kind he’d experienced as a lad when he realised he would never be like his brothers—dashing like Drew, or devil-may-care like Logan. Always analytical, he was the kind to look before he leaped into danger. To weigh the odds, while Logan scoffed at his words of caution. Ian simply made use of his knowledge as it suited him.
And now he wanted what? To cut a daring figure to this lovely young woman? Wouldn’t that be hypocritical?
‘I’d be obliged if you would not say anything to Lord Carrick about what happened today,’ she said.
About the kiss. And a delicious kiss it had been, too. One he would not mind repeating, if she hadn’t been under his employer’s care. ‘I’d be a fool to talk about it, now, wouldn’t I?’
She gave him a blank look, then coloured. She caught her full bottom lip with perfect, tiny white teeth and he almost groaned out loud as his body tightened. A completely unacceptable reaction. He shuttered his expression.
‘I meant the footpads,’ she explained.
Oh, now he saw the trap. She planned to involve him in some web of deceit. ‘I see,’ he said, feeling unaccountably disappointed.
It must have shown in his face because she rushed on. ‘You were right. I should not have gone without a groom. Naturally, I will not do so again.’
That did not explain why she had done it this time. What in the devil’s name was she up to? Was she carrying on some sort of clandestine relationship? He would not put it past a female who would hold three men at bay with a pistol. This was not water he wanted to swim in. He started to shake his head.
She put a light hand on his arm. Her touch seemed to sear right through the wool of his coat to his skin. ‘Please.’
Once more he stared into those green eyes and had the feeling he might drown in their depths. His gaze dropped to her mouth. His body tightened with the anticipation of kissing her again.
‘Promise me, Mr Gilvry,’ she said, tightening her grip on his sleeve. ‘Please. It was a mistake I won’t repeat.’
The touch burned, but it was the pleading in her eyes that made him feel weak. And then there was that kiss. Something he should not have allowed. Something she could have easily held over his head, yet had not. ‘Verra well,’ he said gruffly. ‘I’ll say nothing, provided you keep your promise.’ Damn it all, he sounded like a stuffy older brother. Or a schoolteacher. Which he was, but not hers, for which he should be very thankful.
‘And there is no need to mention I was on my way to town when we met.’
He huffed out a breath and nodded. In for a penny, in for a pound, as it were. ‘All right.’
Her face lit with a smile that left him breathless. ‘Thank you. For everything.’ She danced away.
The girl was a witch. There was no other word for a woman who could twist him around her finger with such ease. He would not let it happen again. His future here was at stake.
He followed her under a stone arch ruptured by the teeth of an ancient portcullis overhead and into the courtyard. He looked about him. The castle wasn’t large by Edinburgh or Inverness standards, but it had served its owners well over the centuries. Its granite tower looked out over the harbour and the town it guarded. A curtain wall encompassed several outbuildings added over the years.
A stable lad took the horse’s reins from his hand.
‘Careful,’ she said looking over her shoulder. ‘He’s quite lame.’
The lad touched his forelock. ‘Yes, my lady.’ He looked enquiringly at Niall.
‘Niall Gilvry,’ he said.
‘You are expected,’ the boy said. ‘You’ll find Mr McDougall in there.’ He jerked a thumb at one of the buildings on the far side the courtyard and walked off, leaving him to find his own way.
Niall turned to bid the Lady Jenna farewell, but she was already mounting the steps to the main entrance on the first floor. She didn’t spare him a backwards glance. She’d extracted a promise and now he didn’t exist. Good thing, too. So why this sense of loss when she was the most irritatingly reckless and undoubtedly manipulative female he’d ever met?
Cursing himself for a fool, he went in search of McDougall.
His assigned room was at the base of the tower, for which he was heartily grateful, and while it had no window, it was near the side door into the courtyard where his office was located. There was little