The Highlander's Choice by Callie Hutton Read Free Book Online

him to catch up. If there was to be any gawking at bottoms, it would be her peering at his.
    Damn the man for making me think things most improper for a lady.
    …
    Once they reached the open field past the wooded area surrounding the castle, they gave the horses their head. The wind whipped the tie from Liam’s hair, allowing it to blow free. The cool air on his face felt wonderful, reminding him why he loved the Highlands so much. The dandies could keep their London ballrooms and smelly, hot city. Give him fresh air and beautiful scenery any time.
    The lass had no trouble keeping up with him, and a quick glance in her direction told him she was enjoying the ride as much as he. Her hair ribbon too, had come loose and the silky strands of her locks streamed behind her. She turned in his direction, a huge grin on her face, her cheeks rosy from the ride. Her breasts rose and fell with her deep breaths, hardening him in places that would make the ride uncomfortable if he continued to dwell on her.
    They climbed several hills until they came to his favorite spot. Pulling on the reins, he brought the horse to a trot, then a walk. Sybil did the same. They rode for a while until the horses had cooled down, then Liam brought his horse to a stop. Pointing toward the north, he said, “Ye see the castle in the distance, on the fourth hill?”
    Sybil raised her hand to her forehead to block the sun. “Yes. I see it.”
    “’Tis my home, Bedlay Castle. It sets inland about a half mile from the North Sea.”
    “Yes. You’ve said you and Duncan are neighbors.”
    “Aye. We spent many weeks together when we were lads.”
    Leaning back in her saddle, she regarded him, her lively eyes filled with curiosity. “Tell me some more about your family.”
    Liam rested his hands on his thighs and stared off over the verdant hills and valleys, toward his home. “My mum and da were both grandchildren of clans that went through the Jacobite revolution and the Clearances that followed. Made for a strong dislike of the Sassenach.”
    “Ah. You mean me.”
    He grinned at her affronted posture. “Aye.” Truth be told, the time spent with the lass had not proven the things he’d accepted as fact most of his life. Sybil was far from an English princess. All the women here, with the exception of Sybil, Lady Margaret, and Lady Somerville, were Scottish. Yet the lass was the only one who appeared at breakfast each morn, rode the hills in breeches, and hadn’t picked up an embroidery needle since she’d arrived.
    “Do you have siblings?”
    He warmed at the thought of the minxes. “Aye. I have two sisters. Catriona is three and ten, no longer a wee lass. Alanna is two years her senior.”
    “That is quite a gap between you and your sisters. I assume you are much older?”
    “I reached my thirty-first year this past winter. Da wanted more sons, so he kept mum busy, but she lost so many bairns.” He shook his head. “Catriona near killed her.”
    “And your parents?”
    “Da passed away soon after Catriona’s birth. Mum still controls Bedlay, but reminds me every day of my duty to marry and fill the nursery with bairns.” He grinned at her. “She keeps inviting lasses to sup with us. Sometimes I find myself tripping over them.”
    Sybil laughed—that deep, throaty laugh—so strange in such a wee lass. Although this wee lass had plenty of curves a man could wrap his hands around. “Now that I’ve confessed all, tell me about yer family.”
    “My father died rather suddenly a few years ago.” She paused, a sheen of tears in her lovely eyes.
    “You were close?”
    “Yes. He was right there in the middle of our large, noisy family one minute, and dead from a broken neck the next.” Her throat worked as she tried to control her emotions, blinking rapidly to clear her eyes of tears. “My brother is the Duke of Manchester.” She shifted on her saddle to turn to him, a grin on her face. “He is married to a American botanist! Can you