The Border Trilogy by Amanda Scott Read Free Book Online Page B

to a faster pace. It was no use though, for a few seconds later Valiant flashed past, and she saw with amazement that his rider was not making use of the light whip he carried. Duncan MacPherson, sportsman that he was, allowed none but the finest horseflesh in his stables, so when she finally reined in beside Douglas to see that the stallion was not even blowing, Mary Kate was filled with admiration.
    “By heaven, sir, that is a magnificent beast.” Breathless from her wild ride, she had no notion of how magnificent she looked herself with her flushed cheeks and her eyes brilliant with excitement. Her hat was askew, and red-gold curls had tumbled out from under it, giving a tousled, little-girl look to her face, but there was nothing childlike in the erectness of her carriage or in the fullness of her soft bosom as it heaved beneath her riding dress.
    Douglas’s grin broadened. “Aye, he is magnificent, sweetheart, and you ride like a borderer, as though you were born in that saddle. ’Tis glad I am to see that you ride safely astride and have not been daft enough to attempt the sidesaddle. ’Tis a loathsome, dangerous contraption at best, I’m thinking.”
    Deep pleasure surged through her at his unexpected compliment. Until that moment her indignation at the unwelcome turn of events had armored her against his charm, but she was suddenly reminded of how quickly he had managed to stir her senses at Critchfield. His flashing smile and the twinkle in his dark eyes warmed her now, and since she heartily agreed with his condemnation of the sidesaddle, an invention beloved by the Calvinists since it was designed to force ladies to keep their legs decorously together while they rode, she silently resolved to observe a truce—for the moment, at least.
    They rode on side by side, maintaining light conversation until hearing each other over the increasing roar of the river became too difficult. Soon afterward, they reached the wide, rushing brook and steep, granite cliff wall that formed the boundary between the MacPherson and Drysdale estates.
    Mary Kate had met Parian Drysdale, Laird of Ardcarach, only once and remembered him as a tall, thin, dour man, not at all the sort one would expect to rule an estate that seemed from her present position to be a lofty, inaccessible mountain fortress. Towering, rugged crags separated Braelairig from Speyside at that point where the fierce, roaring river swept from the rocky, steep-sided glen before proceeding northward through a slightly less rugged portion of the Cairngorm Mountains until its waters spilled at last into the Moray Firth. The sight at the opening to the glen, where brook met river, was wild, fearsome, and breathtaking. One would expect the laird of the aerie above to be plaided, full-bearded, and burly, with piercing eyes, a bellowing voice, and a claymore at the ready. Mary Kate shouted as much to Douglas above the din.
    He laughed and shouted back, “You draw a fine portrait, lass, but isn’t it proper for a scholar like my uncle to dwell upon the heights, too?”
    She agreed but insisted that her fierce Gaelic warrior was a more romantic figure, and they turned back toward Speyside House, following the brook for a short time and then heading across rolling, open fields. When they came to a small, green, wildflower-strewn meadow with a sparkling burn tumbling merrily through its center, Douglas reined in.
    “How about some refreshment, lassie?”
    “An excellent notion, sir, for the water looks most inviting. Have you a cup, or must we make do with our hands? I can do so, you know. Have done since I was a child.”
    “My name is Adam, Mary Kate, and I can do better than a mere cup.” He dismounted and unstrapped a leather bag from his saddle before helping her to alight. “I bullied the fellow at the alehouse where I’m staying into providing a proper meal for us. I ought to warn you at once, I’ve a prodigious appetite.” He selected a broad, flat rock near