To Catch a Highlander (14 page)

Once ye make up yer mind to do something 'tis better t' stumble o'er the small hillock of jump-ahead than t' bash yer head on the jagged rocks of did-nothing.

Old Woman Nora from
Loch Lomond
to her three wee granddaughters one cold evening

An hour later, Dougal decided that Sophia MacFarlane was indeed part gypsy. Though Poseidon clearly outmatched Sophia's bay, it was all Dougal could do to keep up with her. She even managed to pull ahead sometimes, damn it all.

If he were more familiar with the terrain, he would have put an end to such nonsense, of course. But as tempting as it was to show the vixen who was the better rider, he wasn't about to put Poseidon in harm's way.

The sight of Sophia's trim figure galloping ahead had irritated him enough to cause menacing clouds to gather overhead, but then Dougal realized that there were distinct advantages to allowing the pert Miss MacFarlane to ride in front. For one, he was afforded a delightful view of her narrow waist and lushly curved behind.

Dougal allowed his gaze to drift there now. Nice.
Very
nice. His irritation cooled even more as he admired her sapphire-blue riding habit, appreciating the severe lines that molded to her figure, curving lovingly around her hip as she rode before him sidesaddle, her skirts fluttering as she galloped. A rakish hat with a long, floating scarf completed the picture.

Never had Dougal met a woman with such unconscious beauty. She sparkled and shined from within, as much as she did from without. He found it increasingly difficult to remember that she was attempting to trick him out of MacFarlane House.

As they rode out of the small forest, she pulled her mare to a walk, allowing Dougal to pull up beside her. She glanced up at the clouds that had gathered but were now sifting away. "For a few moments there, I thought it might rain."

He eyed the white lace that adorned the deep V of the habit, framing her décolletage most temptingly. "I don't think it will."

She glanced at him, her eyes appearing a deeper blue, reflecting the color of her habit. "But the sky—" She glanced up, then frowned. "Why, it's completely clearing! It looked as if it might storm but ten minutes ago."

"The wind has blown all of the clouds away."

"Yes, but—" Her gaze rested on him, suspicion clear in their blue depths.

"But what?" he asked gently.

She opened her mouth, then closed it. "Nothing," she muttered. "We should return; it's getting hot."

So the delicious Sophia had heard of the MacLean curse. It was such a part of Dougal's life that he didn't think about it unless forced to. Ignoring Sophia's evident curiosity, he merely said, "It is getting warmer."

"We'll walk the horses back." She leaned forward and patted her mare's neck.

Dougal enjoyed an even more excellent view of her décolletage. "I was willing to walk the horses the entire way." He nudged Poseidon forward until the two horses were even. "
You
were the one who wanted to canter madly down the road."

Sophia straightened, a delightful smile curving her lips. "Not used to being bested, are you?"

"No," he said bluntly. "Poseidon could outrun your mare, and you know it. But I'm not about to risk galloping over a field I don't know. There could have been rabbit holes."

"Of course. Rabbit holes. I understand."

He frowned, about to defend his actions further, when he noted a twinkle in her gaze. The little minx was taunting him. For some reason, that improved his mood, and he said with a smile, "Sophia, my love, don't tempt a sinner. I am not afraid of you or your horse, and you damn well know it."

"I'm sure you have a
reason
for not wishing to race," she returned in a demure voice, though her eyes sparkled with laughter. "I am just not certain you have a just cause."

"I have both. The reason for not racing you is the potential harm to the animals; and the just cause is that I wish to keep you alone for as long as possible. And that will be more difficult to do once we reach the house."

Her brows rose, a faint color touching her cheeks. "Oh."

His lips twitched. "That's all you can say now? After all that posturing? You are a tease, my lady."

"I don't consider myself so."

"No woman does, and yet most are." He gestured toward the stand of trees that covered the hillside across the valley. "Tell me, is the property heavily wooded?"

"There are several stands of trees, and the rest is tenant-farmed. Our tenants do very well. We've made several improvements over the last few years, and the new irrigation system has greatly helped during the dry season."

Her voice was filled with pride, the sort that came with years of ownership. Dougal recognized the tone because his own brother Hugh was fairly eaten up with it. One could hardly speak to the man without hearing how many bushels of this he could produce, how many calves had been thrown, and all sorts of unrequested information. How had the daughter of a gambler become passionate about such things?

"The water system took us almost two years to complete, because the—" She caught Dougal's amused gaze and added hastily, "Or so I've heard."

"I see." He did see, too. Miss Sophia MacFarlane held a more than common affection for her land.

He pointed to a small thatched cottage nestled in a glen. "Is that one of the tenant holdings? It appears to be in very good repair."

She flicked a glance at the cottage and shrugged. "I suppose. I hadn't really noticed."

Ah, so she was all cool composure now, her enthusiasm hidden behind a veil of propriety.

A faint flicker of disappointment made him determined to shake her façade. "How many tenants are there?"

"Fourteen families. Several are third-generation."

"Interesting. Since this is my land now, these are important things to know."

Sophia's lovely face lost all expression, and she turned away to regard the vista that spread before them—the purple mountains in the distance, the hazy glen below, the verdant fields stretched in between.

She gestured toward a steep hill, pockmarked with large boulders. "Much of this land is untenable. It's rocky and hard."

"It looks as if it could still be used."

"Well, it can't," she said sharply. "Furthermore, there's marshland on the other side of these hills. No one can even live near it, because the mist produces ill humors."

"Ill humors?"

"Yes. The entire place is encircled in thick forest, too." She lowered her voice. "They say there are wolves there, the size of humans."

"I like wolves," Dougal said mildly. "The larger, the better."

She blinked.

"They're great sport for hunting. And I am an
avid
hunter." He glanced across her, lingering at certain areas. "As you may have guessed."

Her face bloomed with color, the delicate pink tracing along the creamy line of her cheeks. She looked away, and he was afforded an excellent view of her profile and the full curve of her lower lip. She had a mouth that begged to be tasted, and he was more than willing to do so.

Dougal wasn't used to denying himself. When he wanted something, he got it. It was that easy, and there was no reason to think she was going to be any different. She might have more spirit and a damned bit more mystery to her than most, but he would win. He knew it with a certainty that made him smile.

As they passed under a large oak tree, the brim of her hat cast her eyes into shadow. "I was wondering about something."

"What?"

"What does a man like you want with a place like MacFarlane House?" At his raised brows, she shrugged. "It's out here in the middle of nowhere."

"My brothers and I were raised in the country. My mother died when I was young, and my father believed that boys needed plenty of fresh air and that the longer they were out of the house, the less likely they were to break anything inside it."

Her eyes crinkled with amusement.

"So my brothers and I spent a good deal of spare time fishing in the streams, riding horses, and getting into trouble whenever we could."

"You mentioned your brothers before. How many do you have?"

"Fi—" He clamped his mouth closed. "Three."

She looked curious. "Three? You seem uncertain."

Poseidon shied to one side, and Dougal realized he was clutching the reins as if his life depended on it. It had been two years since his youngest brother had died, yet still it was difficult to talk about. He forced himself to say in a calmer voice, "I have three brothers."

"Ah." There was nothing but acceptance in her voice.

He hesitated. He wasn't given to making confidences, and yet… why not? Perhaps she would open up more if he gave a little. A very little.

He steeled himself and managed to say, "I had one other brother, Callum. He was the youngest."

She waited quietly.

"He—"
Died
, The word caught in his throat, hanging there until he thought he'd choke. The pounding of emotion shocked him; he'd thought he was over this. But that was the way it was. He'd manage to mention Callum without trouble sometimes, only to have the name slice through him the next.

Damn it all, emotion was the reason Callum had died, and he'd be damned if
he'd
succumb. Dougal said in a cold voice, "My family is no concern of yours."

Sophia stiffened, and she snapped, "Pardon me for making conversation. I must assume you're tired from our long ride." She leaned forward, her cheeks flushed. "Which explains why you have become cranky and ill tempered."

Never in all of Dougal's adult life had anyone dared to call him cranky or ill tempered! A gust of hot wind ruffled across them. "I am sorry if my desire not to discuss my family has upset you, but I don't feel that it's necessary."

Her lips thinned, and she turned away. "None of this is necessary, my lord. We can proceed in silence."

He frowned. "Sophia, I—"

"Since you wish to keep things on a more formal level, it's
Miss
MacFarlane."

She was encircled with chilled politeness, and Dougal's irritation swelled. Overhead, the clouds began to gather yet again. "Don't be missish," he snapped. "Just because I have no desire to speak about—"

She clicked at her horse, and suddenly, they were cantering down the path, gone so quickly Dougal had no time to react.

Damn that woman! How dare she
? Black and boiling, clouds poured from the north and spread across the sky. Dougal dug his heels into Poseidon's sides and galloped after Sophia.

Sophia heard the thunder of Poseidon's hooves as the horse and its furious rider gained on her. She leaned low and urged her mount on. The sudden wind blew leaves across the road, and the trees overhead swayed madly. Sophia's hat flew from her head, stealing hairpins as it was blown up into the sky, the scarf swirling with it.

Sophia's hair tumbled down. She shoved it back and raced on. Her heart pounded against her throat as the house came into sight. Though Dougal was gaining, she still might reach the safety of the house. She
had
to make it, because if he caught her—

Lightning crashed, and a tree just a pasture away exploded, burning bits of wood showering down. Sophia's little mare ran harder, terror overtaking her.

Good God, was it possible the stories of the curse was true? It had been clear only moments before. Yet when Dougal had grown angry—

Poseidon appeared in the corner of Sophia's sight. He'd caught up to them!

Sophia galloped madly through the gates. Just as she came within view of the barn, a gloved hand reached past her, grabbed the reins, and pulled both Poseidon and her mare to a halt.

The little mare tossed her head in protest, but Dougal held tight, and she soon stood obedient to his control, breathing heavily, her sides heaving.

Her mistress glared at Dougal. "How
dare
you pull up my horse in such a fashion!"

"And how dare you mock me?" He dismounted, holding his temper in check with the greatest effort.

The storm that boiled overhead begged to be released; he could feel the pressure, but he refused to bow.

Shelton
raced across the yard to meet him. "There ye be, me lord! I seen the storm and thought—" The groom caught the tension between Sophia and Dougal, for he closed his mouth and began to back away, his gaze darting up to the gathering storm.

Dougal tossed the reins for both horses to the groom. "There's a tree on fire in one of the fields. See to it that someone checks on it."

Shelton
sighed. "Not again—" He sent a nervous glance at Sophia. "I'll see to it meself."

"Thank you. The horses have been run hard. Please see that they are tended to, as well."

"Yes, me lord."

Dougal reached up to assist Sophia from her saddle. She gripped the pommel and glared at him, daring him to move her. "Come," he said impatiently, reaching for her. "It might rain." Though it wouldn't if she'd just stop being so damned stubborn.