his father’s resentment toward the woman who gave Alexander birth. “I’ve been a Mallory much longer than I’ve been a Scottish laird.”
“Well, then, I’ll go with ye when ye buy your horse to protect the Sassenach from being hoodwinked by the locals,” she said with a curt nod, as if that ended the matter. “Dinna fuss with me. ’Twill ease your way.”
But being near her gave Alex no ease. He had to keep in mind that he was trying to rid himself of his betrothed, in the kindest possible way, of course. So there was no point in developing any sort of attachment to her. No need to court or even befriend her. He hunkered behind stiff courtesy to disguise the fact that his gaze kept drifting to Lucinda whenever she was near or that she crowded out even thoughts of his mission for the prime minister when she was not.
But he realized she was right about Scottish attitudes toward his kind. So when Alex headed for the public stables, Lucinda MacOwen’s arm was looped around his elbow and her hands were shoved into a white rabbit-fur muff. The brisk cold painted her cheeks a becoming peach and her pelisse hugged her bosom in a snug embrace.
It was enough to make Alex envy the woolen garment, but he shook the thought from his mind. She might be his fiancée now, but that was an exceedingly temporary situation.
So long as he didn’t do anything to make it permanent. Like seduce the girl. Which unfortunately was an idea that entered his mind several times a day.
That was another reason he needed a horse. The exercise of riding hard would distract him from thinking about the delectable young woman wrapped in several layers of muslin and wool by his side.
And how best to get her out of those layers.
“I generally dinna trade with the likes of ye,” Mr. Gow, the local hostler, said, his wiry brows waving above his deep-set eyes like dozens of insect antennae. “Meanin’ no offense, I’m sure,” he added as a grumbling afterthought.
“Be easy, Mr. Gow,” Lucinda said. “Lord Alexander is half Scottish on his mother’s side. And Himself is the new laird of Bonniebroch, so he is.”
“Weel, be that as it may, ye’re fortunate that a daughter of Erskine MacOwen vouches for ye, your lairdship. Ye’ve the look of a Sassenach about ye.” Mr. Gow’s pinched expression relaxed a bit. “But if Lucinda says otherwise, I’ll take yer money.”
“Not until I see your wares,” Alex said. The man’s condescension pricked his temper but he needed a horse.
“Ye’ve come at a low time o’ year for horseflesh, ye ken. Spring is the best. All the lads come down out of the Highlands with fine beasties to trade then.”
“I can’t wait for spring.” Alex was no closer to locating any Radicals than he was when he first disembarked from the Agatha May. He’d already lost two days waiting while the MacOwen girls packed. “I need a mount now.”
“Weel then, ye’ll be wantin’ Badgemagus.” Mr. Gow led them to a stall where a shaggy-coated beast stood, rocking its weight from side to side. The horse was black as a lump of coal. It glared at them from under a shock of unruly mane.
“He’s plagued with some bad habits.” Alexander noted that the gelding had nibbled all around the wood slats of his stall. As if to prove Alex’s assessment of his temperament, Badgemagus gave the back slats an ill-tempered kick with a saucer-sized hoof. “And riddled with vice to boot.”
“Aye, he is that. But since the Fall, aren’t we all? His last owner fair ruined his mouth too, poor beastie. Might be that’s what’s made him so tetchy,” Mr. Gow said. “But he’s broad of beam and stout enough to pull any conveyance ye’d care to put behind him. And if he’ll let ye ride him, ye’ll find Badgemagus has a sweet gait.”
Alexander snorted. If he’ll let me ride him. He’d never met the horse he couldn’t subdue.
He opened the gate and entered the stall. The horse had one blue eye and one brown. “Is
“Well, then, I’ll go with ye when ye buy your horse to protect the Sassenach from being hoodwinked by the locals,” she said with a curt nod, as if that ended the matter. “Dinna fuss with me. ’Twill ease your way.”
But being near her gave Alex no ease. He had to keep in mind that he was trying to rid himself of his betrothed, in the kindest possible way, of course. So there was no point in developing any sort of attachment to her. No need to court or even befriend her. He hunkered behind stiff courtesy to disguise the fact that his gaze kept drifting to Lucinda whenever she was near or that she crowded out even thoughts of his mission for the prime minister when she was not.
But he realized she was right about Scottish attitudes toward his kind. So when Alex headed for the public stables, Lucinda MacOwen’s arm was looped around his elbow and her hands were shoved into a white rabbit-fur muff. The brisk cold painted her cheeks a becoming peach and her pelisse hugged her bosom in a snug embrace.
It was enough to make Alex envy the woolen garment, but he shook the thought from his mind. She might be his fiancée now, but that was an exceedingly temporary situation.
So long as he didn’t do anything to make it permanent. Like seduce the girl. Which unfortunately was an idea that entered his mind several times a day.
That was another reason he needed a horse. The exercise of riding hard would distract him from thinking about the delectable young woman wrapped in several layers of muslin and wool by his side.
And how best to get her out of those layers.
“I generally dinna trade with the likes of ye,” Mr. Gow, the local hostler, said, his wiry brows waving above his deep-set eyes like dozens of insect antennae. “Meanin’ no offense, I’m sure,” he added as a grumbling afterthought.
“Be easy, Mr. Gow,” Lucinda said. “Lord Alexander is half Scottish on his mother’s side. And Himself is the new laird of Bonniebroch, so he is.”
“Weel, be that as it may, ye’re fortunate that a daughter of Erskine MacOwen vouches for ye, your lairdship. Ye’ve the look of a Sassenach about ye.” Mr. Gow’s pinched expression relaxed a bit. “But if Lucinda says otherwise, I’ll take yer money.”
“Not until I see your wares,” Alex said. The man’s condescension pricked his temper but he needed a horse.
“Ye’ve come at a low time o’ year for horseflesh, ye ken. Spring is the best. All the lads come down out of the Highlands with fine beasties to trade then.”
“I can’t wait for spring.” Alex was no closer to locating any Radicals than he was when he first disembarked from the Agatha May. He’d already lost two days waiting while the MacOwen girls packed. “I need a mount now.”
“Weel then, ye’ll be wantin’ Badgemagus.” Mr. Gow led them to a stall where a shaggy-coated beast stood, rocking its weight from side to side. The horse was black as a lump of coal. It glared at them from under a shock of unruly mane.
“He’s plagued with some bad habits.” Alexander noted that the gelding had nibbled all around the wood slats of his stall. As if to prove Alex’s assessment of his temperament, Badgemagus gave the back slats an ill-tempered kick with a saucer-sized hoof. “And riddled with vice to boot.”
“Aye, he is that. But since the Fall, aren’t we all? His last owner fair ruined his mouth too, poor beastie. Might be that’s what’s made him so tetchy,” Mr. Gow said. “But he’s broad of beam and stout enough to pull any conveyance ye’d care to put behind him. And if he’ll let ye ride him, ye’ll find Badgemagus has a sweet gait.”
Alexander snorted. If he’ll let me ride him. He’d never met the horse he couldn’t subdue.
He opened the gate and entered the stall. The horse had one blue eye and one brown. “Is
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